gns.theplutopact-第3部分
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Chapter 1
Muir…burning time； mid…February when the heather is brittle after a dry spell； the old growth igniting easily and the fire spreading； leaving in its wake a charred and ugly landscape。 But only a temporary disfiguration of Nature's kingdom； for within weeks the new growth will sprout lush and green； tender shoots for the hungry grouse to devour； cover in which to hatch their young； hidden from the sharp eye of the gliding buzzard or eagle； safety from the prowling fox。
Moorland fires had their own special fascination for Jock Leggett。 The dancing orange tongues； the way they ate up everything in their path； a leaping tide of destruction； crackling and hissing like an army of angry dragons； thwarted when they reached the fire…break which Jock had carefully scythed around the patch to be burned。 Then he began all over again； working zestfully so that from his croft that night he could gaze out upon the big squares of smouldering ashes and know that it was all his own work。 It crossed his mind once what he would have done had he lived within the bounds of a city； Edinburgh or Glasgow； instead of on the outskirts of Craiglowrie。 It was a frightening thought because he knew he would have had to set fire to something。 He couldn't live without fire； as though he had been spawned in hell。
The Balzur legend didn't frighten Jock…not one little bit。 Balzur had been a man of fire； and he'd died as he'd lived； not uttering a single scream even when the blaze was at its fiercest； turning his flesh to dripping fat； like the burning of a candle。
All the same Jock wasn't happy。 With the sweet smell of heather smoke in his nostrils he gazed down with smarting eyes upon the activity in the valley below him。 Bulldozers levelled the rugged terrain； a gang of men were already erecting a high barbed…wire fence around the perimeter of what the Craiglowrie Herald announced would be the most up…to…date nuclear waste reprocessing plant in the world。 Coyle； the editor； had nicknamed it 'Holocaust'； and if anything went wrong that was what it would be； a blazing hell on earth。 Jock conjured up a mental picture； sky…high flames that would light up the sky for miles around； the smell of burning flesh heavy in the atmosphere。 It wasn't that which worried him most； though； because he didn't really understand anything about nuclear recycling。 It was what these bastards were doing to the valley that upset him。 This was just the start； they'd need more and more land and they'd take it as they wanted it； regardless of sheep or grouse or the hill folk who eked out a living the simple way。 One day there would be nothing here but barbed…wire pounds and squat featureless buildings…like being taken over by the Russians。
Jock coughed as some of the smoke got down into his lungs。 It was sweet； like tobacco smoke； and made him feel heady until he couldn't breathe and had to back away out of the eddying clouds。 He wondered what would happen to these slopes in years to e。 They'd be barren…the moor above too…all incorporated in this latest foolhardy venture by Man； the suicide course of modern civilization。 It would be nice to burn them off now； whilst there was still heather to burn； a kind of defiant gesture to this bureaucracy which was spreading up from south of the border。 They wanted barren landscapes； then bloody well gi' it 'em； a black stinking charred desert！
The blood coursed fiercely through Jock Leggett's veins； his wizened； weatherbeaten features clouded with anger； gnarled hands clenched at the tiny moving dots down below。 The grouse and their predators would be driven to another habitat； and then another； and another； until there was nowhere left for them to go。 Man； too； would bee an extinct species。
Jock had already seen the best of his life。 Nostalgic memories flooded back： the moor as it used to be when the gentlemen shooters came by horse…drawn carriages in the days when his father was gamekeeper here； wining and dining in the lodges at night…lodges now fallen into decay because sportsmen today jetted up for a day's shooting and had no time to savour the other； more worthwhile aspects of their trip。 A hundred brace was average for a day then； now thirty was considered good。 Leisure had been replaced by haste； an urgency to get everything over and done with。 Selfishness and greed 。 。 。
Yes； Jock decided； today was as good a day as any for a big fire； a freshening westerly wind to fan the flames； and drive the blaze downwards towards the monstrosity that was destroying the valley below。 Sweeping flames that would destroy everything in their path。 And nobody would be able to prove a thing； since dozens of muir…burns got out of control every spring。
Hidden by the smoke from anybody who might be watching down below； Jock Leggett moved away； and picked out a clump of gorse suitable for starting the big blaze。 He dropped to his knees in the heather； the matchbox rattling in his hand。 No change of mind； no regrets。 This was going to be the end of an era。 In a way it was like being God。
Some dead gorse flared and crackled； sparks igniting several more fires in the rough brown grass that lay around。 Wisps of smoke thickened。 Soon rivers of flame merged into an ocean inferno…roaring as the wind caught it。
Jock Leggett remained kneeling； almost as though he had not the strength to struggle to his feet。 And everywhere it had grown much darker； as the thickening smoke hung in the sky； shutting out the sun。 The blaze was really getting a hold now。 Jock smiled feebly as he moved downhill。 Soon the smoke would block out the sunlight from the entire valley…a hellish night in the midst of day。
Let that day be darkness。 Let not God regard it from above； neither let the light shine upon it。 Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it。 Let a cloud dwell upon it。 Let the blackness of the day terrify it。
And then came the heat； scorching the old gamekeeper； smarting his eyes with a painful dryness。 Through the billowing smoke he could clearly see a ten…foot wall of flame…ing back towards him！
He lost his balance as his foot caught up in some tangled heather； and he fell back。 His mouth opened but the cry of terror was no more than a wheeze。
Let that day be darkness。
His fear escalated。 The wind had changed suddenly to an easterly direction。 No longer was the blaze being carried down towards Craiglowrie。 Instead it was moving back uphill； the flames all around him as they raced towards the moor above。
Jock Leggett closed his eyes； but he could not shut out the living hell all around him。 Then suddenly he was aware that he was no longer alone！
A man 。。。 He could see him clearly； seemingly impervious to the fire which raged about him。 A ragged figure materialising out of the black smoke。 A face that belonged to a corpse in the final stages of decay。 Hairless and blackened。 Eyes that glowed brightly； or else reflected the inferno that surely must consume him any moment。 Blistered lips stretched into a mirthless smile 。 。 。 uttering soundless words。
This is how it once was； and is now； and shall be again。 A land of fires； destroying。 Only I can live； for Pluto himself gave me everlasting life to carry out his bidding。 You shall die… just as the people of this valley shall die。 My curse is at hand。 For I； Balzur； rule this place； and I shall rise again amidst its ashes。 I have brought fire and death 。 。 。
Leggett managed a scream； but he had not the strength to attempt a futile flight。
The heat scorched his flesh； his clothing smouldered。 He sank back； staring wildly into the encroaching flames。 But the old man was no longer visible…just a shapeless wisp of smoke amidst the inferno。
He prayed for death but it did not e。 His body was now ablaze； with a hissing sound like wet logs make on a roaring fire。 Strange shapes came and went…a host of demons mocking him in his last hour； delighting in his pain and terror。 Shrill voices。 Laughter。
Pledge your soul and Pluto will grant everlasting life。
Jock Leggett wanted to do just that。 Somehow he forced his mouth open； but he couldn't find the words； his brain numbed。
And then the full force of the advancing fire was upon him； consuming him utterly and passing on。
Chapter 2
'You're crazy； every bloody one of you！'
The man who had spoken now looked steadily at each of the other eleven men occupying places at the same long table in the largest room of the Craiglowrie town hall。 Eyes met his； then dropped。 Fingers drummed nervously on the polished mahogany table top。 Somebody coughed 。。。 an embarrassed silence 。 。 。 a match scraped。
'Furthermore'…Bob Coyle was not one to be deterred by an overwhelming contrasting opinion…'you're greedy for power。 How much more do you think this valley can take？ Look what's happened to it。 Remember the town most of us were brought up in？ Sheep grazed the hillsides； we lived peacefully； happily； and we had security。 Look at what we've got now； something that could be a third…class suburban area of any duty industrial town in Britain…only worse。 We're living under a cloud of radioactivity。 One leak 。 。 。 And now you're going to let them take the whole of the north end of the valley…the rest of it…until there isn't a blade of grass or a clump of heather left。 What about us； our children？ It's got to be stopped now； before it's too late！'
Silence again； each pair of eyes glancing at Bob Coyle。 At thirty…seven he had the physique and appearance of a man ten years younger。 Dark wavy hair reaching down to his collar with scarcely a fleck of grey； rugged features inherited from his forefathers； the flock masters who had eked a living from the steep； windswept slopes of the valley； the deep blue eyes that now flashed angrily。 His clothes； too； indicated the individualism which he valued so highly。 Never before； in the history of town council meetings； had sweater and slacks been worn。 Tweed suits were reserved for these occasions； sometimes a kilt amongst the more tradit
