js&cs.thebridge-第66部分

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　　〃Don't；〃　she　repeated；　and　squeezed　him　one　more　time　before　letting　go。　She　was　afraid　to　take　it　any　further　than　that。　If　they　were　lucky；　they　might　see　each　other　on　the　other　side　of　all　this。　And　if　not　。。。
　　Don't　。。。
　　But　somehow；　he　couldn't　help　himself。
　　
　　Outside；　even　the　drizzle　had　tapered　down　to　nothing　at　last。　The　clouds　remained　hanging　overhead；　made　a　guillotine's　blade　of　the　sky。　The　fire　to　the　north　was　still　raging；　flickering　bright　against　its　razored　skyline。
　　The　cold　had　rolled　in　now；　Gary　noted：　a　good　ten…to…twelve…degree　drop。　A　grayish…black　ash　wafted　down　like　snow；　hissing　as　it　landed。
　　Gary　kept　his　bike　in　the　repair　bay；　which　was　probably　why　it　survived　the　storm。　He　donned　his　leathers　carefully；　making　sure　he　was　as　airtight　as　possible。　Then　he　put　on　his　helmet；　making　doubly　sure　the　faceplate　was　snapped　into　place。　He　wasn't　taking　any　chances。
　　Once　dressed；　he　took　a　deep　breath　and　threw　open　the　big　bay　door。　Kirk　was　there；　motor　humming；　ready　to　roll。　He　gave　Gary　a　deadly　serious　thumbs…up　sign。
　　Gary　nodded。　〃Yeah；　fuck　you；　too；〃　he　said　under　his　breath；　as　he　clambered　onto　the　softtail　and　started　the　bike　up。
　　The　Harley　roared　to　life。
　　And；　together；　they　rode　off　into　Hell。
　　
　　
　　　Fifty…Five
　　　
　　Gary　burned　down　the　wide　one…way　slope　of　East　Market　Street；　heading　for　the　tower　just　as　fast　as　Kirk's　cranky　six…cylinder　would　allow。　The　speedometer　nudged　eighty；　Gary　could　push　it　way　over　one　hundred　without　popping　a　sweat；　but　Kirk　was　already　weaving。
　　C'mon；　punch　it；　he　urged。　Don't　make　me　leave　you。
　　Downtown　Paradise　whipped　by　in　a　blur　of　hellish　detail；　its　middle　American　quaintness　slick　with　poison　rain　and　backed　by　a　throbbing　storm　front　that　glowed　a　brilliant　brimstone　hue。　It　was　Nagasaki　by　way　of　Love　Canal；　Dante　doing　Norman　Rockwell　doing　Bedlam。
　　Because　everywhere　lay　the　chaos　and　carnage。　Crashed　auto　carcasses　rammed　through　shops'　plate…glass　windows；　their　belly　fires　feeding　ruptured　gas　mains　and　stoking　a　score　of　conflagrations。　Former　citizens　caught　off…guard　by　the　storm　and　blast　lay　stiff　and　silted；　stick　figures　sculpted　in　blistered　ash。　A　handful　of　still…living　sinners　had　evidently　gone　mad　and　taken　to　the　streets；　repressed　libidos　unchecked　in　the　absence　of　a　just　and　angry　God。
　　And　then　there　were　the　creatures；　the　malformed　alien　things。　They　curled　up　in　doorways　and　vestibules；　caught　sidewalk　shadows　that　fended　off　the　dancing；　flickering　fire。　Some　of　them　were　nearly　as　big　as　the　buildings　they　dozed　in　the　shelter　of。
　　He　found　himself　marveling　at　their　slumber；　and　wondering　if　they　dreamed。
　　Gary　twisted　the　throttle；　slaloming　through　abandoned　and　wrecked　vehicles；　hauling　ass　for　the　outskirts　of　town　with　Kirk　hot　on　his　tail。　His　hands　were　tingling：　the　condensation　on　his　gloves　working　its　way　into　the　seams；　trying　to　find　a　breach。　His　mind　was　a　schizophrenic　relay　race：　unable　to　believe　what　was　happening；　unable　to　deny　it。　He　cursed　and　sped　up；　inadvertently　opening　a　gap　between　the　bike　and　the　wagon。
　　They　hit　the　intersection　of　Market　and　Memory　Lane　with　some　sixty　yards　between　them；　at　eighty…six　miles　an　hour；　they　cleared　the　intersection　less　than　two　seconds　apart。
　　Time　enough　for　Gary　to　make　it。
　　Kirk　wasn't　so　lucky。
　　Dean's　tanker　truck　passed　between　them　as　they　barreled　through；　the　remains　of　Dean　at　the　wheel：　a　man…sized　mass　of　gristle　and　tumors。　Twenty…five　years　of　bad　habits　had　left　him　so　toxic　that　when　it　finally　awoke；　he　promptly　exploded。　What　was　left　unconsciously　manned　the　helm；　skeletal　hands　dripping　chunks　as　they　raked　the　wheel。
　　The　truck　roared　through　the　crossing　and　blindsided　Kirk；　catching　the　wagon　just　over　the　right　rear　wheel　well　and　crumpling　it　like　an　aluminum　can。
　　An　experienced　driver　Kirk　Bogarde　was　not。　His　reaction　was　instant；　and　utterly　wrong：　slamming　the　brakes　and　oversteering　radically；　then　countering　in　a　wild　seesaw　motion。　The　car　responded　by　spinning　into　a　gut…churning　three…sixty。
　　Gary　looked　back　just　in　time　to　catch　sight　of　the　wagon　hopping　the　curb　near　the　edge　of　the　K…mart　parking　lot　and　broadsiding　the　concrete　retaining　wall；　spitting　sparks　and　stray　metal。
　　〃SHIT！〃　he　cursed；　skidding　to　a　halt。　He　spun　the　softtail　neatly　in　the　middle　of　Market　Street　and　looked　back。
　　Paradise　was　doomed；　of　that　he　was　certain。　Kirk's　car　was　a　good　three　hundred　yards　behind　on　the　burning　street；　hugging　the　low　wall；　its　right　side　crushed　from　bumper　to　bumper。　Gary　seriously　wondered　if　Kirk　was　dead；　and　had　no　real　desire　to　go　and　find　out。
　　He　gunned　the　engine；　weighing　his　obligations：　to　go　on；　to　go　back；　to　just　go　home　and　get　the　hell　out　of　there。
　　Then　Kirk's　headlights　flashed　pleadingly；　over　and　over　and　over；　going　hi　lo　hi　lo　hi　lo　hi　lo。
　　〃SHIT！〃　Gary　cried　out。　He　knew　he　didn't　have　any　choice。　He　revved　the　throttle　against　every　instinct。
　　And　turned　the　bike　around。
　　
　　〃Please　。。。　〃　Kirk　worked　the　headlights　desperately　and　fought　the　urge　to　black　out。　〃Don't　leave　me！〃　he　said。
　　Between　the　blood　and　the　crushed　glass；　he　couldn't　see　a　goddamned　thing。　The　front　windshield　was　starred　from　the　impact　and　sparkling；　there　was　a　corresponding　inch…long　gash　on　his　forehead。　It　felt　like　his　left　leg　was　broken；　too。　Otherwise　he　thought　he　got　off　lucky。
　　At　least；　until　he　saw　the　Parade。
　　It　was　ing　right　toward　him；　from　the　southeast：　sweeping　down　Memory　Lane；　spilling　across　the　K…mart　parking　lot；　chewing　up　everything　in　its　path。　It　clanged　and　rasped　like　a　demolition　derby　show；　Vlad　the　Impaler　on　a　Funny　Car　Saturday。　Eight　hundred　fresh　victims　stoked　its　mass。
　　Kirk　was　determined　not　to　be　the　eight　hundredth　and　first。
　　〃NAHHHH！〃　he　cried；　adrenaline　resurging　through　him　as　he　fumbled　with　the　seat　belt。　Blood　slicked　his　grip；　he　couldn't　get　it　undone。
　　The　Parade　rumbled　closer。　Sixty　yards。　Fifty。　He　could　see　the　twitching　bits　and　pieces　hanging　from　its　many　sharp　and　whirring　surfaces。　Forty　yards。　Thirty。　The　smell　of　burning　rubber　and　diesel　and　flesh　flooded　his　senses。
　　And　that　was　when　Kirk　got　his　first　glimpse　of　the　NewSpawn。
　　It　was　the　size　of　a　cocker　spaniel；　chunky　and　malformed；　its　snout　hardened　and　drawn　into　a　beak　of　sorts。　Its　front　claws　elongated　into　digits　like　fingers；　like　hands。　It　pounced　and　skittered　across　the　hood　of　the　car；　toward　the　shotgun…side　door　。。。
　　〃NO；　GOD！〃　he　screamed；　as　it　weaseled　its　head　in　through　the　crack　in　the　window。　His　hand　flew　to　the　window　crank；　frantically　rolling　it　shut。　The　spawn　caught；　spat　black　venom　blood。　Kirk　squeezed　off　its　head　with　his　glass　guillotine。
　　Then　the　driver's　door　flew　open　beside　him；　and　before　Kirk　could　scream；　the　figure　with　the　knife　brought　its　blade　to　his　chest　。。。
　　。。。　and　Gary　was　there；　saying　can　you　stand？　as　his　Buck　knife　sawed　through　the　seat　belt。　Kirk　nodded　yes　and　hoped　he　was　right；　fighting　a　wave　of　vertigo　as　Gary　reached　past　him　to　grab　the　camcorder　off　the　seat　。。。
　　。。。　just　as　the　first　juggernaut　loomed　before　the　car；　a　giant　metal　scorpion…thing　with　a　crown　of　steel　thorns　and　a　three…year…old　blond　girl's　head　impaled　upon　it。　Its　huge　rusted　stinger　craned　slowly　up　above　its　own　blunt　head；　creaking　as　it　drew　a　bead　。。。
　　。。。　then　whipped　down；　astonishingly　fast；　dragging　a　screech　from　Kirk's　lungs　as　he　threw　himself　sideways；　glass　exploding　in　his　face；　the　taste　of　metal　throbbing　in　his　teeth；　the　skewer　dinging　off　Gary's　helmet　before　imbedding　in　the　upholstery；　the　chassis；　the　road　。。。
　　。。。　and　then　they　were　running：　Gary　in　the　lead；　Kirk　half…dragged　along　behind。　The　Harley　was　waiting；　thank　God。　Their　last　friend　on　Earth；　it　obeyed　their　mands；　doing　a　hundred　and　thirty　per　down　Market　Street。
　　On　its　way　to　the　tower。
　　At　the　peak　of　Mount　Hope。
　　
　　
　　　Fifty…Six
　　　
　　For　a　second　there；　Micki　thought　she　heard　a　motorcycle　in　the　distance：　the　shrill　whine　of　an　overrewed　engin