jefflong.yearzero-第68部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


n　Christmas；　one　free　of　the　primal　Christ　lurking　in　those　fevered　imaginations　below？　They　were　like　ancestors　muttering　down　there。　Ancestors　with　knives。　It　wasn't　right。
　The　pilgrims'　religious　fervor　was　stark　and　frightening。　Surveillance　cameras　mounted　west　of　the　river　showed　a　city　of　patched　North　Face　tents；　rusting　lean…tos　made　of　corrugated　metal；　cardboard　shanties；　stones　piled　as　windbreaks；　and　hollows　clawed　into　the　earth；　dung　everywhere。　It　reminded　Nathan　Lee　of　Everest　base　camp　near　the　end　of　a　climbing　season；　the　wild　hair；　the　glittering　eyes。　Nighttime　temperatures　dipped　into　the　teens。　People　slept　beneath　windshields　pulled　from　abandoned　cars。　They　slept　in　the　open；　some　of　them　all　but　naked。　Trapped　by　the　valley　walls　and　a　ceiling　of　cold　air；　their　wood　smoke　clung　overhead　in　a　layer　of　brown　smog。　The　hills　were　denuded　of　wood　and　brush　from　Taos　all　the　way　south　to　Santa　Fe。　The　towns　themselves　looked　gnawed　to　the　ground　by　giant　termites。　Anything　wood　was　carted　into　the　maw　of　the　camp　and　used　for　fuel。
　They　were　cold。　If　a　thing　could　be　burned　for　heat；　they　burned　it。　There　was　one　exception；　their　crosses。　The　pilgrims　had　erected　a　mile…long　row　of　them　along　their　side　of　the　Rio　Grande。　Big　and　sturdy；　the　crosses　were　made　of　pine　and　they　faced　Los　Alamos。
　The　river　was　just　a　wide　stream　at　this　time　of　the　year。　Crossing　over　would　have　been　easy。　And　yet；　for　some　reason；　the　unwele　visitors　stayed　on　the　eastern　banks。　Los　Alamos　took　fort　in　that　self…restraint。　Some　sort　of　executive　intelligence　had　to　be　at　work　in　the　massive　camp；　it　was　a　matter　of　deductive　reasoning。　The　pilgrims　were　policing　themselves；　feeding　themselves；　tending　to　their　needs；　distributing　the　shipments　of　food。　Above　all；　they　were　holding　to　the　unspoken　border。　That　meant　they　had　to　have　a　leader…or　leaders…who　understood　the　notion　of　sovereignty。
　And　yet　they　couldn't　seem　to　locate　the　pilgrims'　leader；　not　from　a　distance　with　their　cameras。　Los　Alamos's　intelligence　department　pored　over　aerial　images；　but　there　was　no　defined　center　to　the　mob；　no　hub　to　the　reeling　mass　of　people。　For　whatever　reason；　the　leader　chose　to　remain　concealed　and　unnamed；　operating　out　of　sight；　a　mystery。　They　went　on　searching。　If　only　he　would　present　himself；　the　city　would　gladly…eagerly…formalize　their　coexistence。　They　would　offer　to　increase　the　humanitarian　food　shipments。　In　return；　the　leaders　of　the　siege　would　surely　agree　to　a　treaty　recognizing　the　river　border　and　cementing　the　peace。
　Nathan　Lee　thought　differently。　He　looked　at　that　long　row　of　crosses　made　of　wood；　wood　that　could　have　been　burned　by　freezing　people；　but　was　not。　He　saw　a　horde　led　by　an　idea；　not　leaders。　He　doubted　anyone　spoke　for　them。　They　were　kept　in　check；　not　by　reason；　but　by　a　shared　emotion。　They　were　a　pool　of　raw　fuel　waiting　to　be　lit。
　And　still　the　generals　did　nothing。
　　
　ONDECEMBER14；　the　remote　cams　carried　a　savage　new　picture　of　the　camp。　Overnight　a　dozen　of　the　riverside　crosses　had　e　to　bear　living　men。　The　men　shifted　in　pain　on　the　crosses；　their　arms　roped　to　the　cross　beams；　some　in　ragged　Fruit　of　the　Looms；　others　naked。
　The　emergency　council　was　stunned。　The　esteemed　Baptist　minister　with　his　bushy　white　sideburns　was　speechless。
　〃Are　they　criminals？〃　someone　asked。　〃It　must　be。　They're　being　punished　for　breaking　the　law。　They　have　laws。　They　have　punishment。　That's　good。〃
　Nathan　Lee　got　closer　to　the　TV　and　saw　little　platforms　for　the　crucified　to　stand　on。　〃They'repenitentes；〃　he　told　them。
　Even　as　they　watched；　a　few　replacements　were　boosted　up　to　take　their　turns　on　the　crosses。　The　〃crucified〃　men　pulled　their　arms　from　the　ropes　and　got　down。　Again　Los　Alamos　found　a　fortable　logic。　〃They're　nothing　but　stunt　men；〃　a　council　member　mented。
　〃How　can　they　stand　the　cold？〃　someone　remarked。　〃I　can　almost　feel　the　splinters。〃
　〃What　will　it　lead　to？〃　a　woman　asked。
　〃It's　harmless；〃　her　neighbor　said。
　〃It's　violent。　Even　if　it's　violence　to　themselves。〃
　〃It's　only　theater；〃　a　sociologist　pronounced。　〃Their　suffering　is　a　form　of　entertainment。　The　crosses　are　a　stage。〃
　Nathan　Lee　disagreed；　but　kept　it　to　himself。　Couldn't　they　see　that　the　occupied　crosses　faced　Los　Alamos？　The　encampment　was　sending　the　city　a　message　in　flesh。
　The　radical　few　became　many。　In　the　warmer　hours　of　midday；　all　of　the　crosses　along　the　river　came　to　be　inhabited。　Nathan　Lee　was　reminded　of　accounts　of　the　aftermath　of　Spartacus's　slave　revolt　and　the　Jews'　rebellion　in　Jerusalem。　Men　writhed　on　crosses　perched　among　tents　and　wrecked　cars。　Families　wept　at　their　feet。　Smoke　drifted　up　in　mean　curls。
　　
　MAYBE　ESCAPEwas　his　natural　condition。　With　every　passing　hour；　Nathan　Lee　imagined　the　footsteps　of　fresh　plague　victims　joining　the　siege；　sealing　off　the　valley。　It　seemed　increasingly　unlikely　the　city　could　ever　be　evacuated　to　the　WIPP　sanctuary；　which　he　shunned　anyway。　He　kept　looking　west。　The　headless　volcano　beckoned。　The　temptations　came　on　the　afternoon　breeze。Take　your　love；　they　whispered；flee　into　the　desert。
　There　were　hundreds　of　Anasazi　cave　dwellings　in　the　Four　Corners　region。　With　the　Captain's　help；　he'd　plotted　them　on　a　map。　He　could　flee　with　Miranda；　hole　up；　outwait　the　fanatics　streaming　toward　Los　Alamos；　and　then　run　loose　through　the　world　with　what　was　left　of　their　time。　It　would　mean　betraying　her　father；　to　whom　he'd　promised　to　deliver　Miranda；　or　trying　to　betray　him。　Nathan　Lee　took　it　for　granted　that　Paul　Abbot　had　his　every　move　under　the　tightest　surveillance。　He　was　more　of　a　prisoner　than　the　prisoners　in　Miranda's　basement。　Even　if　he　could　escape　Los　Alamos；　Miranda　would　never　agree　to　leave　with　him。　Her　devotion　to　the　city…her　utter　faith　in　it…baffled　and　frustrated　him。　She　acted　as　if　she'd　been　born　here。
　And　so；　for　now；　Nathan　Lee　resigned　himself。　He　did　the　next　best　thing　to　making　his　own　escape。　He　devised　the　clones'　escape。
　The　notion　gratified　him。　He　despised　what　had　been　done　to　them。　They　and　their　sacrificed　brothers　had　been　used　a　thousand　different　ways　by　Los　Alamos；　from　serving　as　lab　subjects　to　titillating　the　city's　mystical　itch。　Now　they　could　be　used　one　final　time；　as　his　surrogate　for　breaking　free。
　〃I'm　thinking　the　boys　should　get　turned　loose；〃　he　announced　to　the　Captain　in　the　quiet　of　one　afternoon。　They　were　watching　the　yard　over　cameras。　Over　the　weeks；　the　prisoners　had　slowly　begun　to　trickle　up　from　their　cells　and　brave　the　sun　again。　Ben　was　the　stalwart；　first　every　morning；　last　at　dusk；　walking；　feeding　the　fire；　walking；　walking；　getting　those　muscles　ready。　Nathan　Lee　could　see　his　mind　at　work。　Ben　had　not　missed　a　day。　For　weeks　he'd　had　the　place　to　himself。　Now　it　was　inhabited　again。　The　burnt　sacrifices　of　birds　and　squirrels　resumed；　though　the　season　was　getting　cold　and　they'd　largely　hunted　the　place　out。
　At　the　moment；　Ben　was　walking　the　wall　circuit。　Big；　loping　strides　carried　him　around　the　yard。　Men　followed　behind；　the　earnest　ones　matching　his　pace；　the　slower　ones　yakking　away。
　By　the　fire；　Eesho　was　holding　forth　about　the　ing　armageddon。　It　had　been　over　a　month　since　Ochs　had　kowtowed　to　him；　but　the　encounter　continued　to　whet　his　appetite　for　disciples。　Borrowing　from　Revelation　and　from　the　War　Scroll　of　the　Dead　Sea　Scrolls；　he　had　patched　together　a　hybrid　parable　about　a　giant　demon；　one　of　the　Sons　of　Darkness；　begging　him　for　forgiveness；　and　a　queen　of　the　dead；　a　woman　with　green　eyes　and　hair　like　red　gold　whose　name　was　Miranda；　and　her　slaves；　who　were　Nathan　Lee　and　Izzy。　Each　day　his　sermons　became　a　little　bolder　and　more　intricate。
　〃About　time　someone　brought　that　up；〃　the　Captain　replied。
　Nathan　Lee　was　surprised。　〃Then　you're　not　opposed　to　them　going　free？〃
　〃I　wouldn't　treat　a　dog　the　way　we've　had　to　treat　those　men。〃
　Nathan　Lee　was　astonished。　〃But　you're　their　keeper；〃　he　protested。
　〃Better　me　than　most；〃　said　the　Captain。　〃Anyhow；　I　had　this　hunch　someone　like　you　might　show　up。　And　then　it　would　need　someone　like　me　to　be　where　I　am；　doing　what　I'm　doing；　who　could　nod　his　head　yes。〃
　Nathan　Lee　guessed　that　was　one　way　to　view　the　universe。　〃You're　going　to　let　them　go？〃　he　reiterated。
　〃Not　yet。　And　not　me；〃　said　the　Captain。　〃But　when　the　time's　right；　I'm　all　for　you。〃
　〃Well；　all　right　then；〃　Nathan　Lee　said；　trying　to　believe　his　luck。　〃So　when　is　the　right　time？〃
　As　it　developed；　the　Captain　had　put　a　great　deal　of　thought　to　it　already。　For　the　next　several　hours；　they　might　as　well　have　been　discussing　the　release　of　zoo　animals　into　the　wilderness。　The　clones　were　too　wild；　and　at　the　same　time　too　tame。　They　were　dangerous；　but　habituated。　They　couldn't　be　freed　anywhere　close　to　the　city；　or　they　might　try　to　return　and　prey　upon　it。　Sending　them　down　to　the　pilgrim　camp　would　be　like　throwing　them　into　quicksand。　It　was　a　pit　of　despair　and　deprivations　down　along　the　river。　If　the　deck　sweeps　had　not　been　called　off；　they　could　have　been　transferred　by　helicopter　to　some　distant　place；　but　now　that　wasn't　an　option　either。　After　Miranda's　directive　shutting　down　human　experimentation；　Los　Alamos　had　ceased　the　harvesting　of　cities；　which　were　probably　finished　anyway。
　Their　release；　in　short；　would　have　to　wait　until　E…Day；　their　fabled　evacuation　date。　Nathan　Lee　worried　that　if　and　when　that　day　ever　arrived；　there　would　be　so　much　chaos　the　guards　might　forget　to　open　the　cells。　In　crossing　America；　he　had　heard　stories　of　prisons　and　zoos　filled　with　the　carcasses　of　captives　who　had　starved　to　death。　The　Captain　took　the　job　of　programming　the　cell　doors　to　automatically　open　an　hour　after　the　city　emptied。
　In　the　meantime；　Nathan　Lee　wanted　to　prepare　the　clones　for　alien　times。　They　knew　how　to　quarry　limestone；　sow　wheat；　work　leather；　smith　iron；　and　herd　goats。　But　survival　in　the　ruins　of　America　was　going　to　require　different　skills。　One　can　of　spoiled　food　could　wipe　them　out　with　botulism。　One　wrong　highway　could　land　them　in　the　Canadian　winter。　The　cities　might　be　dead；　but　they　were　still　mechanically　alive；　and　deadly。　The　cl