js&cs.thebridge-第26部分

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　　The　temperature　and　humidity　continued　to　increase；　and　he　noticed　that　the　woods　were　getting　progressively　more　dense　and　green　to　either　side。　The　swollen　air　grew　rich　with　smells：　pungent；　florid；　chlorophyll…dense；　earthy　and　heady　all　at　once。
　　And　beneath；　it　all：　an　acrid；　chemical　tang　。。。
　　It　whispered　like　foil　against　his　back　molars；　tickled　the　hairs　of　his　nostrils　with　the　suggestion　of　stinging　pain。　It　wasn't　a　smell　he　recognized…the　entire　olfactory　gestalt　had　a　queasily　alien　feel…but　it　left　a　bad　first　impression。
　　〃Stop　the　truck；〃　he　said。　Pyle　looked　at　him；　surprised；　he　had　still　been　talking。　〃Now。〃　Pyle　obeyed。　A　thin　sliver　of　disfort　wedged　itself　in　Deitz's　forehead；　like　a　tiny　phantom　drill　bit　boring　into　his　brain。
　　And　his　lips　began　to　tingle。
　　The　radio　squawked：　〃What's　going　on？〃　It　was　Beckett；　from　the　truck　behind　them。　Deitz　took　the　radio；　brought　the　mouthpiece　to　his　lips。　He　turned　to　Pyle；　and　to　Franklyn　in　the　back；　addressing　the　entire　crew　at　once。
　　〃Suit　up；〃　he　said。　〃That　means　everybody。　And　get　your　heads　on　straight。　This　one　doesn't　look　good。〃
　　
　　There　were　two　HazMat　trucks　on　Toad　Road；　nondescript　except　for　several　small　yet　tasteful　warning　placards　on　the　back。　The　effect　was　designed　to　minimize　their　presence　to　the　world　around　them；　much　as　their　bulky　protective　suits　and　gear　were　designed　to　keep　out　the　world　of　shit　they　routinely　plunged　themselves　into。
　　Inside　the　trucks　were　the　vacuum　hoses　and　containment　barrels；　spill　booms　like　enormous　toxic　tampons　filled　with　superabsorbent　polyester　down。　Inside　the　trucks　were　the　only　people　both　qualified　and　crazy　enough　to　use　them。　But　as　far　as　the　rest　of　the　world　was　concerned；　they　might　as　well　have　been　delivering　beer。　No　one　would　ever　know。
　　There　were　only　five　other　men　on　the　team　today：　Beckett；　Burroughs；　Hooper；　Pyle；　and　Franklyn。　Deitz　listened　to　them　talk　as　they　donned　their　space　suits；　none　of　them　were　what　you'd　call　happy　to　be　here。　HazMat　was　a　largely　volunteer　organization；　and　an　NFL　Sunday　was　likely　to　find　a　lot　of　people…far　smarter　than　Deitz　and　pany；　evidently…somehow　managing　to　accidentally　lose　their　beepers。　Westerberg　and　Ilginfritz；　for　example；　those　bastards　were　probably　already　drunk　for　the　game。
　　Collectively；　his　team　had　been　on　nearly　a　hundred　cleanup　missions：　mostly　small…scale；　unpublicized　local　incidents。　Deitz；　on　the　other　hand；　had　personally　served　on　over　three　hundred；　spanning　more　than　a　decade；　from　New　York　to　the　Great　Lakes　to　the　Gulf　of　Mexico。　He'd　fought　the　fires　when　Control　Chemical　shot　its　flaming　wad　over　Elizabeth；　New　Jersey　back　in　'79；　then　been　back　up　to　suck　sludge　in　'90；　when　Exxon　vomited　a　half…million　gallons　of　heating　oil　into　the　Arthur　Kill。　He'd　manned　the　pumps　off　the　St。　Clair　River　for　seventy…two　hours　straight；　when　a　submerged　dioxin　blob　from　leaking　storage　caverns　threatened　the　population　of　southern　Ontario　like　something　from　a　bad　sci…fi　movie。
　　Austin　Deitz　really　thought　that　he'd　seen　it　all；　and　by　ordinary　standards；　it　was　certainly　true。
　　It　did　nothing　to　prepare　him　for　what　happened　next。
　　
　　When　they　were　all　safely；　hermetically　sealed；　the　convoy　proceeded　cautiously　on　ahead。　A　tense　silence　had　fallen　over　the　crew；　evidently；　they'd　taken　his　message　to　heart。
　　A　hundred　yards　deeper　into　the　woods；　Deitz　spotted　something　large　in　the　road　ahead。　It　looked；　from　that　distance；　like　some　sort　of　natural　roadblock…the　forest　overspilling　its　bounds；　squeezing　in　from　either　side　until　the　road　was　reduced　to　a　foot　trail's　width…though　the　dense　shadows　kept　it　obscured　from　clear　view。
　　This　isn't　right；　he　told　himself；　consulting　the　pulsively　anal　tax　map　the　county　had　provided。　This　is　supposed　to　go　through　to　the　bridge。
　　That　was　when　he　noticed　the　police　car's　remains。
　　It　was　sitting　in　a　ditch　to　the　side　of　the　road；　its　ass　in　the　air；　steam　wafting　up　from　under　the　hood。　At　least　Deitz　thought　it　was　the　hood。　It　was　kind　of　hard　to　tell。
　　Because　the　entire　cruiser　was　crawling　with　thick；　tendinous　vines　that　moved　as　if　rustled　by　the　breeze。
　　They　covered　the　vehicle　so　thoroughly；　so　prehensively；　that　it　looked　like　topiary　sculpture　in　the　shape　of　a　police　car。
　　〃Jesus　Christ。〃　Pyle　saw　it；　too：　twenty　yards　and　closing　now；　as　the　track　slowed　down　to　a　crawl。　Burroughs；　behind　them；　mirrored　the　gesture　without　knowing　why。
　　The　roadblock　lay　just　beyond　it：　the　wreckage　of　a　tree；　also　thoroughly　overgrown；　a　swath　carved　through　it　like　a　jagged；　organic　fortress　gate。　The　heavy；　hot；　foul…smelling　breeze　came　from　somewhere　deeper　in　the　woods；　blowing　discernibly　through　the　breach。
　　〃I　don't　understand；〃　said　Franklyn。　His　voice；　transmitting　off　his　lapel　mike；　was　a　timid　little…boy　peep。
　　Deitz　understood　exactly　how　he　felt；　just　looking　out　the　window　made　him　want　to　call　a　cop。　The　problem；　of　course；　was　that　in　this　case；　they　were　the　cops；　or　the　cop…equivalents。　They　were　the　ones　you　called；　in　these　situations；　there　was　no　one　else。
　　〃That's　why　we're　here；〃　Deitz　said；　trying　hard　to　sound　more　confident　than　he　felt。　He　felt　his　military　training　mercifully　kick　in；　take　over　where　he　did　not　care　to　tread　alone。　〃Ladies；　I　want　soil　samples　and　preliminary　readings　in　fifteen　minutes；〃　he　continued。　〃Pyle；　radio　back　and　let　them　know　we've　got　a　situation　here。　The　second　we've　got　what　we　need；　we're　gone。〃
　　Then　he　opened　the　door；　and　stepped　into　another　world。
　　The　crew　nervously；　painstakingly　checked　their　gear　and　then　followed；　tramping　along　the　moist　resilient　surface　of　the　road。　It　wasn't　like　any　form　of　clay　Deitz　had　ever　seen；　not　to　mention　ordinary　mud；　it　was　almost　rubbery　in　its　stubborn　surface　tension。
　　Hooper　had　the　camcorder；　was　getting　it　all　on　tape。　He　was　the　first　to　note　the　fresh；　deep　tire　tracks　underfoot：　signs　of　some　recent　Baja　driving　that　even　now　receded；　filling　up　as　the　ground　absorbed　the　puddle　runoff。　One　particularly　deep　indentation　was　man…sized。
　　Strange。　Like　somebody　had　laid　down　and　made　a　mud…angel；　Deitz　thought。
　　〃Austin。〃　It　was　Pyle。　There　was　a　lot　of　static　interference；　but　even　that　couldn't　hide　the　agitation　in　his　voice。　〃I　。。。　I　can't　raise　anyone。　We　must　be　in　a　dead　spot　or　something　。。。　〃
　　〃Fuck！〃　Deitz　hissed；　regretted　the　outburst　even　as　it　happened。　He　turned　and　saw　the　men　look　to　each　other；　could　feel　their　apprehension　plete　a　circuit　between　them。　He　was　not　outside　of　the　loop。
　　〃Keep　trying；〃　he　addended；　terse　and　clipped。　This　was　no　time　to　get　sloppy；　they　needed　him　focused；　to　stay　focused　themselves。　〃Beckett。　Burroughs。　You　can　take　the　soil　sample　right　off　the　road。　Franklyn；　those　puddles　will　do。　Let's　get　this　over　with。〃
　　Which　left　him；　of　course；　to　deal　with　the　vines。
　　Deitz　approached　the　car　slowly；　taking　continuous　mental　notes。　The　vines：　he'd　never　seen　anything　like　them。　They　had　a　greasy…looking；　muted　sheen；　again；　the　word　rubbery　came　to　mind。
　　At　the　ends；　the　shoots　were　narrow　and　serrated；　clustered　in　rings　of　threes　and　fours　and　curling　around　the　edges；　laced　with　pink　veins　thin　as　baby's　skin。　They　opened　up　at　the　thicker；　more　mature　trunk；　sprouting　broad；　thick　leaves：　pear…shaped　and　fluted；　the　veins　etched　in　rich　scarlet　piping。
　　Pale　tendrils　spiraled　out　from　underneath　the　leaves；　anchoring　them　to　the　metal　of　the　car。　Once　anchored；　they　pulled　the　dense　weight　of　the　vine　forward；　where　smaller　tendrils　reached　out　like　flying　buttresses；　bracing　the　heavy　trunk。
　　Stranger　still；　Deitz　realized；　he　could　watch　them　doing　it。
　　Now；　he'd　seen　rapid　vines　before。　Down　South；　he'd　known　kudzu　to　take　over　whole　acres　in　a　matter　of　days。
　　But　in　a　matter　of　minutes　。。。
　　The　mass　shifted　as　one　tendril；　thick　as　his　thumb；　settled　like　a　dog　on　a　favorite　rug　onto　the　roof　of　the　cruiser。　Deitz　stepped　back　involuntarily；　saw　that　the　growth　traced　down　into　the　drainage　ditch　on　the　car's　blind　side；　all　the　way　back　into　the　wo