sk.runningman-第33部分

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　　〃Please　don't；〃　she　said。　〃Please　don't　make　that　man　。　。　。　have　to　try　you。　I　never　did　anything　to　you。　I　want　to　go　home　to　my　husband。　We　have　a　daughter；　too。　She's　six。　She'll　wonder　where　her　mommy　is。〃
　　Richards　felt　his　eyebrow　rise　and　fall　twice　in　an　involuntary　tic。　He　didn't　want　her　to　be　that　good。　Not　that　good。
　　〃He's　dumb；〃　he　told　her；　trying　not　to　speak　for　an　unseen　audience；　〃but　I　don't　think　he's　that　dumb。　It　will　be　all　right；　Mrs。　Williams。〃
　　〃That's　easy　for　you　to　say。　You've　got　nothing　to　lose。〃
　　He　didn't　answer　her。　She　was　so　patently　right。　Nothing；　anyway；　that　he　hadn't　lost　already。
　　〃Show　it　to　him；〃　she　pleaded。　〃For　God's　sake；　why　don't　you　show　it　to　him？　Then　he'd　have　to　believe　you　。　。　。　call　off　the　people　on　the　ground。　They're　tracking　us　with　missiles。　I　heard　him　say　so。〃
　　〃I　can't　show　him；〃　Richards　said。　〃To　take　it　out　of　my　pocket　would　mean　putting　the　ring　on　safety　or　taking　the　full　risk　of　blowing　us　up　accidentally。　Besides；〃　he　added；　injecting　mockery　into　his　voice；　〃I　don't　think　I'd　show　him　if　I　could。　He's　the　maggot　with　something　to　lose。　Let　him　sweat　it。〃
　　〃I　don't　think　I　can　stand　it；〃　she　said　dully。　〃I　almost　think　I'd　rather　joggle　you　and　have　it　over。　That's　the　way　it's　going　to　end　anyway；　isn't　it？〃
　　〃You　haven't…〃　he　began；　and　then　the　door　between　first　and　second　was　snapped　open　and　McCone　half　strode；　half　lunged　through。　His　face　was　calm；　but　beneath　the　calm　was　an　odd　sheeny　look　which　Richards　recognized　immediately。　The　sheen　of　fear；　white　and　waxy　and　glowing。
　　〃Mrs。　Williams；〃　he　said　briskly。　〃Coffee；　if　you　please。　For　seven。　You'll　have　to　play　stewardess　on　this　flight；　I'm　afraid。〃
　　She　got　up　without　looking　at　either　of　them。　〃Where？〃
　　〃Forward；〃　McCone　said　smoothly。　〃Just　follow　your　nose。〃　He　was　a　mild；　blinking　sort　of　man…and　ready　to　lunge　at　Amelia　Williams　the　moment　she　showed　a　sign　of　going　for　Richards。
　　She　made　her　way　up　the　aisle　without　looking　back。
　　McCone　stared　at　Richards　and　said：　〃Would　you　give　this　up　if　I　could　promise　you　amnesty；　pal？〃
　　〃Pal。　That　word　sounds　really　greasy　in　your　mouth；　〃　Richards　marveled。　He　flexed　his　free　hand；　looked　at　it。　The　hand　was　caked　with　small　runnels　of　dried　blood；　dotted　with　tiny　scrapes　and　scratches　from　his　broken…ankle　hike　through　the　southern　Maine　woods。　〃Really　greasy。　You　make　it　sound　like　two　pounds　of　fatty　hamburger　cooking　in　the　pan。　The　only　kind　you　can　get　at　the　Welfare　Stores　in　Co…Op　City。　〃　He　looked　at　McCone's　well…concealed　pot。　〃That；　now。　That　looks　more　like　a　steak　gut。　Prime　cut。　No　fat　on　prime　cut　except　that　crinkly　little　ring　around　the　outside　right？〃
　　〃Amnesty；〃　McCone　repeated。　〃How　does　that　word　sound？〃
　　〃Like　a　lie；〃　Richards　said；　smiling。　〃Like　a　fat　fucking　lie。　Don't　you　think　I　know　you're　nothing　but　the　hired　help？〃
　　McCone　flushed。　It　was　not　a　soft　flush　at　all；　it　was　hard　and　red　and　bricklike。　〃It's　going　to　be　good　to　have　you　on　my　home　court；〃　he　said。　〃We've　got　hi…impact　slugs　that　will　make　your　head　look　like　a　pumpkin　dropped　on　a　sidewalk　from　the　top　floor　of　a　skyscraper。　Gas　filled。　They　explode　on　contact。　A　gut　shot；　on　the　other　hand…〃
　　Richards　screamed：　〃Here　it　goes！　I'm　pulling　the　ring！〃
　　McCone　screeched。　He　staggered　back　two　steps；　his　rump　hit　the　well…padded　arm　of　seat　number　95　across　the　way；　he　overbalanced　and　fell　into　it　like　a　man　into　a　sling；　his　arms　flailing　the　air　around　his　head　in　crazed　warding…off　gestures。
　　His　hands　froze　about　his　head　like　petrified　birds；　splay　fingered。　His　face　stared　through　their　grotesque　frame　like　a　plaster　death…mask　on　which　someone　had　hung　a　pair　of　gold…rimmed　spectacles　for　a　joke。
　　Richards　began　to　laugh。　The　noise　of　it　was　cracked　at　first；　hesitant；　foreign　to　his　own　ears。　How　long　had　it　been　since　he　had　had　a　real　laugh；　an　honest　one；　the　kind　that　es　freely　and　helplessly　from　the　deepest　root　of　the　stomach？　It　seemed　to　him　that　he　had　never　had　one　in　his　whole　gray；　straggling；　earnest　life。　But　he　was　having　one　now。
　　You　bastard。
　　McCone's　voice　had　failed　him；　he　could　only　mouth　the　words。　His　face　was　twisted　and　scrunched　like　the　face　of　a　badly　used　teddy　bear。
　　Richards　laughed。　He　held　on　to　one　arm　of　his　seat　with　his　free　hand　and　just　laughed　and　laughed　and　laughed。
　　
　　Minus　022　and　COUNTING
　　When　Holloway's　voice　informed　Richards　that　the　plane　was　crossing　the　bonier　between　Canada　and　the　state　of　Vermont　（Richards　supposed　he　knew　his　business；　he　himself　could　see　nothing　but　darkness　below　them；　interrupted　by　occasional　clusters　of　light）；　he　set　his　coffee　down　carefully　and　said：
　　〃Could　you　supply　me　with　a　map　of　North　America；　Captain　Holloway？〃
　　〃Physical　or　political？〃　A　new　voice　cut　in。　The　navigator's；　Richards　supposed。　Now　he　was　supposed　to　play　obligingly　dumb　and　not　know　which　map　he　wanted。　Which　he　didn't。
　　〃Both；〃　he　said　flatly。
　　〃Are　you　going　to　send　the　woman　up　for　them？〃
　　〃What's　your　name；　pal？〃
　　The　hesitant　pause　of　a　man　who　realizes　with　sudden　trepidation　that　he　has　been　singled　out。　〃Donahue。〃
　　〃You've　got　legs；　Donahue。　Suppose　you　trot　them　back　here　yourself。〃
　　Donahue　trotted　them　back。　He　had　long　hair　bed　back　greaser　fashion　and　pants　tailored　tight　enough　to　show　what　looked　like　a　bag　of　golf　balls　at　the　crotch。　The　maps　were　encased　in　limp　plastic。　Richards　didn't　know　what　Donahue's　balls　were　encased　in。
　　〃I　didn't　mean　to　mouth　off；〃　he　said　unwillingly。　Richards　thought　he　could　peg　him。　Well…off　young　men　with　a　lot　of　free　time　often　spent　much　of　it　roaming　the　shabby　pleasure　areas　of　the　big　cities；　roaming　in　well…heeled　packs；　sometimes　on　foot；　more　often　on　choppers。　They　were　queer…stompers。　Queers；　of　course；　had　to　be　eradicated。　Save　our　bathrooms　for　democracy。　They　rarely　ventured　beyond　the　twilight　pleasure　areas　into　the　full　darkness　of　the　ghettos。　When　they　did；　they　got　the　shit　kicked　out　of　them。
　　Donahue　shifted　uneasily　under　Richards's　long　gaze。　〃Anything　else？〃
　　〃You　a　queer…stomper；　pal？〃
　　〃Huh？〃
　　〃Never　mind。　Go　on　back。　Help　them　fly　the　plane。〃
　　Donahue　went　back　at　a　fast　shuffle。
　　Richards　quickly　discovered　that　the　map　with　the　towns　and　cities　and　roads　was　the　political　map。　Pressing　one　finger　down　from　Derry　to　the　Canada…Vermont　border　in　a　western…reaching　straightedge；　he　located　their　approximate　position。
　　〃Captain　Holloway？〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃Turn　lleft。〃
　　〃Huh？〃　Holloway　sounded　frankly　startled。
　　〃South；　I　mean。　Due　south。　And　remember…〃
　　〃I'm　remembering；〃　Holloway　said。　〃Don't　worry。〃
　　The　plane　banked。　McCone　sat　hunched　in　the　seat　he　had　fallen　into；　staring　at　Richards　with　hungry；　wanting　eyes。
　　
　　Minus　021　and　COUNTING
　　Richards　found　himself　drifting　in　and　out　of　a　daze；　and　it　frightened　him。　The　steady　drone　of　the　engines　were　insidious；　hypnotic。　McCone　was　aware　of　what　was　happening；　and　his　leaning　posture　became　more　and　more　vulpine。　Amelia　was　also　aware。　She　cringed　miserably　in　a　forward　seat　near　the　galley；　watching　them　both。
　　Richards　drank　two　more　cups　of　coffee。　Not　much　help。　It　was　being　increasingly　difficult　to　concentrate　on　the　coordination　of　his　map　and　Holloway's　toneless　mentary　on　their　outlaw　flight。
　　Finally　he　drove　his　fist　into　his　side　where　the　bullet　had　taken　him。　The　pain　was　immediate　and　intense；　like　a　dash　of　cold　water　in　the　face。　A　whistling　half…whispered　screech　issued　from　either　side　of　his　clenched　mouth；　like　stereo。　Fresh　blood　wet　his　shirt　and　sieved　through　onto　his　hand。
　　Amelia　moaned。
　　〃We'll　be　passing　over　Albany　in　about　six　minutes；〃　Holloway　said。　〃If　you　look　out；　you'll　see　it　ing　up　on　your　left。〃
　　〃Relax；〃　Richards　said　to　no　one；　to　himself。　〃Relax。　Just　relax。〃
　　God；　will　it　be　over　soon？　Yes。　Quite　soon。
　　It　was　quarter　to　eight。
　　
　　Minus　020　and　COUNTING
　　It　could　have　been　a　bad　dream；　a　nightmare　that　had　crawled　out　of　the　dark　and　into　the　unhealthy　limelight　of　his　half…awake　mind…more　properly　a　vision　or　an　hallucination。　His　brain　was　working　and　concentrating　on　one　level；　dealing　with　the　problem　of　navigation　and　the　constant　danger　of　McCone。　On　another；　something　black　was　taking　place。　Things　were　moving　in　the　dark。
　　Track　on。　Positive。
　　Huge；　whining　servomechanisms　turning　in　the　dark；　in　the　night。　Infrared　eyes　glowing　in　unknown　spectrums。　Pale　green　foxfire　of　dials　and　swinging　radar　scopes。
　　Lock。　We　have　a　lock。
　　Trucks　rumbling　along　back…country　roads；　and　on　triangulated　flatbeds　two　hundred　miles　apart；　microwave　dishes　swing　at　the　night　sky。　Endless　streams　of　electrons　fly　out　on　invisible　batwings。　Bounce；　echo。　The　strong　blip　and　the　fading　afterimage　lingering　until　the　returning　swing　of　light　illuminates　it　in　a　slightly　more　southerly　position。
　　Solid？
　　Yeah。　Two　hundred　miles　south　of　Newark。　It　could　be　Newark。
　　Newark's　on　Red；　also　southern　New　York。
　　Executive　Hold　still　in　effect？
　　That's　right。
　　We　had　him　dead…bang　over　Albany。
　　Be　cool；　pal。
　　Trucks　thundering　through　closed　towns　where　people　look　out　of　cardboard…patched　windows　with　terrified；　hating　eyes。　Roaring　like　prehistoric　beasts　in　the　night。
　　Open　the　holes。
　　Huge；　grinding　motors　slide　huge　concrete　dunce…caps　aside；　shunting　them　down　gleaming　steel　tracks。　Circular　silos　like　the　entrances　to　the　underworld　of　the　Morlocks。　Gasps　of　liquid　hydrogen　escaping　into　the　air。
　　Tracking。　We　are　tracking；　Newark。
　　Roger；　Springfield。　Keep　us　in。
　　Drunks　sleeping　in　alleys　wake　foggily　to　the　thunder　of　the　passing　tracks　and　stare　mutely　at　the　slices　of　sky　between　close…leaning　buildings。　Their　eyes　are　faded　and　yellow；　their　mouths　are　dripping　lines。　Hands　pull　with　senile　reflex　for　newsies　to　protect　against　the　autumn　cold；　but　the　newsies　are　no　longer　there；　the　Free…Vee　has　killed　the　last　of　them。　Free…Vee　is　king　of　the　world。　Hallelujah。　Rich　folks　smoke　Dokes。　The　yellow　eyes　catch　an　unknown　glimpse　of