gns.throwback-第42部分

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。　Pneumonia　probably；　came　on　when　the　weather　changed。　Maybe　I'll　rest　up　for　a　few　days。'　He　spread　his　arms；　spoke　more　directly。　'You're　wele　to　stay　here　as　long　as　you　like。　Get　it？　You。。。　stay。。。　here　。。。'
　　
　　She　nodded。　Phil　Winder　had　taught　her　how　to　wash　dishes　and　she　would　repay　this　strange　man　for　his　hospitality。　He　wouldn't　expect　anything　else；　he　was　too　ill。
　　
　　'Say；　that's　cute；　real　cute。'　He　watched　her　at　the　sink　from　the　armchair。　'Never　thought　you　lot　would　be　able　to　master　household　chores。　Have　to　make　a　note　of　that。　I'll　sub…title　it　〃How　I　lived　with　a　trained　throwback〃。'　He　laughed　and　coughed　again。
　　
　　'Got　you　lot　all　worked　out。'　Rod　Savage　talked　incessantly　in　spite　of　the　fact　that　it　was　a　strain。　'For　weeks　now　you've　been　gathering　in　the　hills。　Couldn't　understand　it；　anybody　with　any　sense　would　stick　to　the　valleys　and　lowlands　with　winter　ing　on。　Then　I　hit　on　it。　The　old　Iron　Age　trade　route　starts　from　here；　I　found　an　old　book　about　it；　the　route　marked　on　a　map。　Through　these　hills；　heading　south。　Not　that　you've　got　anything　to　trade　or　anybody　to　trade　with　but　old　instincts　die　hard。　You're　massing　for　the　great　trek　south。　You　need　a　warmer　climate　and　that's　where　you're　going；　but　if　you　ask　me　you've　left　it　too　damned　late'
　　
　　Jackie　slept　on　the　sofa　that　night；　lay　and　listened　to　the　wind　howling；　buffeting　the　cottage；　driving　the　snow　against　the　walls；　building　up　deep　drifts。　And　hour　after　hour　Rod　Savage　lay　and　coughed。　She　heard　him　turning　restlessly　in　his　bed　directly　above　the　tiny　living…room；　remembered　that　woman　who　had　had　to　be　carried；　and　the　body　in　the　snow。
　　
　　She　dozed　uneasily。　Tonight　her　lover　did　not　e；　she　called　out　for　him；　willed　him　to　join　her；　but　he　never　came。　Strange　dreams　of　a　land　where　everybody　except　herself　was　dead；　the　hills　and　forests　littered　with　bodies　where　the　fevered　coughing　illness　had　taken　its　toll。
　　
　　Only　she　remained；　alone　in　a　dead　hell；　wanting　to　die　but　living；　forced　to　walk　the　silent　land　in　search　of　a　will…o'…the…wisp　that　no　longer　came　to　taunt　her。　A　land　of　cold　and　hunger　and　thirst。
　　
　　When　finally　she　awoke　she　was　not　sure　whether　it　was　light　or　not；　went　to　the　window　and　rubbed　a　patch　in　the　condensation。　A　virgin　white　curtain　of　snow　covered　the　outside　of　the　glass　pane。　She　turned　back　in　despair；　wondered　if　she　could　find　sticks　and　paper　with　which　to　light　a　fire。
　　
　　The　wind　had　dropped。　Suddenly　she　was　aware　of　the　total　stillness；　the　cloying　silence。　And　with　it　came　a　feeling　bordering　on　panic。　Rod　Savage　was　no　longer　turning　restlessly　in　his　bed　upstairs　and　coughing　incessantly。　No　sound　came　from　above。
　　
　　And　that　was　when　Jackie's　dream　came　back　to　her；　of　a　land　where　everybody　except　herself　was　dead。
　　
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　TWENTY…THREE
　　
　　SYLVIA　HAD　found　the　village　within　an　hour　or　so　of　leaving　the　cottage；　had　e　upon　it　suddenly　in　the　thick　hill…fog。　She　could　have　drawn　back；　fled　before　the　occupants　caught　sight　of　her。　But　she　didn't。
　　
　　She　walked　slowly；　dazedly　into　the　settlement。　The　snow　was　falling　steadily；　a　refreshing　wind　threatening　to　whip　it　into　a　blizzard。　A　strange　atmosphere　which　she　sensed　immediately；　a　kind　of　bustle　of　activity　which　had　suddenly　e　to　a　stop。　Loaded　litters；　the　snow　already　beginning　to　cover　them　with　a　white　film；　a　cluster　of　men　who　eyed　her　with　a　mixture　of　curiosity　and　apathy。　We　were　about　to　leave　but　we've　changed　our　minds。　Who　are　you　and　what　are　you　doing　here？
　　
　　They　were　all　packed　up　and　ready　to　go。　Where　to？　Sylvia　came　to　a　halt　before　the　group；　eyed　them　question…ingly；　felt　she　had　to　say　something。　They　would　not　understand；　but　it　didn't　matter。　Thinking；　talking；　was　being　increasingly　difficult；　her　brain　fogged　and　sluggish。
　　
　　'My　name's　Sylvia。　My　husband's　dead。'　Grief　that　had　been　threatening　like　thunderheads　on　the　horizon　suddenly　hit　her。　Unrestricted　sobs。　One　of　them　pointed　to　the　nearest　dwelling…place。　Go　in　there；　woman；　out　of　the　cold。
　　
　　She　walked　shakily　towards　it；　paused　in　the　entrance。　The　interior　was　dark；　had　a　sharp　unpleasant　odour　about　it。　She　waited　for　her　vision　to　adjust　to　the　gloom；　saw　through　a　liquid　misty　flood；　distorted　shapes；　somebody　lay　on　a　bed　in　the　corner；　not　moving。　A　woman　was　stretched　out　on　some　hides　by　the　wall；　and　it　was　quite　obvious　that　she　was　dead。　A　fit　of　uncontrollable　coughing　attracted　her　attention　and　she　turned　her　head　and　made　out　a　boy　of　perhaps　ten　years　of　age　squatting　beyond　the　dying　embers　of　the　fire。　Tiny　rivulets　of　blood　trickled　down　his　chin。　He　saw　her　but　his　expression　did　not　register　surprise；　just　acceptance。
　　
　　'You're　all　ill。'　She　spoke　aloud。　'You　need　help；　a　doctor。'　Now　that　was　a　silly　thing　to　say　because　there　weren't　any　doctors　left。　They　were　all　out　there；　any　one　of　these　menfolk　might　have　been　a　doctor　once。　Before　all　this。　What　was　a　doctor？　She　could　not　really　remember；　somebody　who　helped　you；　perhaps。
　　
　　She　stood　just　inside　the　open　doorway；　looked　back　outside。　Several　more　people　were　emerging　from　the　other　huts　bearing　litters　on　which　lay　prone　bodies　wrapped　in　animal　hides；　scarcely　seeming　able　to　lift　the　weight　of　them。　A　conference。　They　were　pointing；　arguing。　Sylvia　did　not　need　an　interpreter　to　understand　what　they　were　saying。
　　
　　We　must　go　even　though　we　are　ill　and　dying。　The　snow　is　here；　winter　is　upon　us。　If　we　stay　here　we　shall　starve。　Go　now　whilst　there　is　still　a　little　time　left。
　　
　　A　woman　appeared　from　somewhere；　came　into　the　hut　and　with　some　difficulty　lifted　up　the　sick　boy。　He　began　to　cry；　coughed　some　more　blood。　Sylvia　made　as　if　to　help　but　some　inhibition　checked　her。　She　was　a　stranger　here；　an　intruder　in…a　different　way　of　life；　they　might　resent　her　interference。　She　felt　self…conscious。
　　
　　The　child　was　taken　out；　room　made　for　him　on　one　of　the　stretchers　alongside　the　still　form　of　a　red…headed　man　who　might　already　have　been　dead。　They　were　hurrying　now；　seeming　to　have　to　force　their　limbs　into　jerky　movements。　Sylvia　was　ignored；　perhaps　they　had　forgotten　her。　Very　soon　they　would　all　be　gone　and　she　would　be　left　here　in　this　deserted　place　of　death。
　　
　　Panic；　almost　running　out　to　them；　the　snow　ing　faster　now。　For　God's　sake　don't　go　without　me；　don't　leave　me　here。　Please！　I'm　one　of　you　now…look　at　me！　
　　
　　The　litter　on　to　which　they　had　just　placed　the　boy　was　lowered　back　on　to　the　ground；　two　of　them　were　straining　to　lift　the　man　off。　He　was　dead；　there　was　no　point　in　taking　him　with　them。　They　dragged　him　free；　laid　him　down　in　the　snow。　You　did　not　bury　your　dead；　you　left　them　for　the　wild　dogs　and　foxes。
　　
　　'I　want　to　go　with　you；'　Sylvia　cried；　clutched　at　one　of　them。　Til　walk；　I　promise　I　won't　be　a　nuisance；　but　don't　leave　me　behind！'　A　flash　of　lucid　speech　and　then　it　was　gone　again　and　words　were　meaningless　to　her。
　　
　　They　looked　at　one　another；　grunted。　Arguing　again。　They　had　no　room　for　passengers；　anybody　who　went　on　the　trek　had　a　part　to　play。　You　must　help　to　carry　the　sick；　woman。　And　if　you　fail　then　you　will　be　abandoned。　Nobody　will　help　you。
　　
　　Sylvia　took　the　handles　of　the　stretcher；　the　boy's　mother　going　in　front。　Between　them　they　could　manage　now　that　the　weight　of　the　adult　corpse　had　been　removed。　A　slow　procession；　the　men　in　front；　the　women　bringing　up　the　rear。
　　
　　The　snow　eased　off　a　little　and　away　to　her　right　Sylvia　saw　and　recognised　the　outline　of　the　Quinn　smallholding；　like　a　miniature　toy　farm　set　out　on　an　uneven　white　sheet。　One　brief　wave　of　nostalgia　but　she　pushed　it　forcibly　away。　Jon　was　nothing　to　her；　never　had　been；　only　somebody　to　fill　a　gap　while　Eric　was　away。　A　lump　caught　in　her　throat。　Poor　Eric；　this　didn't　have　to　happen　to　him。　But　it　had。　If　only　she　hadn't　been　one　of　the　unlucky　survivors。　But　she　would　not　survive　long　now；　none　of　them　would。　Eric？　Who　was　Eric？　Her　mind　slipped　again；　became　a　vacuum。
　　
　　The　descent　was　steep　and　slippery。　Once　the　woman　in　front　lost　her　footing　and　somehow　Sylvia　managed　to　prevent　the　stretcher　from　tipping　over；　steadied　it　down　on　to　the　snow。　The　hide　blankets　slid　to　one　side　and　she　saw　the　boy。　Oh　God；　his　body　shook　with　the　fever；　he　was　delirious；　mouthing　meaningless　animal　noises。　His　bright　eyes　saw　her；　weak　arms　tried　to　reach　out　for　her　but　they　had　not　the　strength；　he　thought　she　was　his　mother。
　　
　　Sylvia　helped　the　distraught　woman　wrap　him　up　again　and　then　they　had　to　hurry　to　catch　up　with　the　others。　Once　they　reached　the　floor　of　the　narrow　valley　their　pace　was　slowed；　the　snow　much　deeper　here；　wading　up　to　their　thighs。
　　
　　Sylvia　wished　she　could　ask　them　where　they　were　going。　There　was　a　definite　purposefulness　about　their　route；　an　urgency　driving　them　on；　keeping　them　going　when　their　physical　strength　was　failing。　She　glanced　up　at　the　sky；　judged　that　it　was　well　into　the　afternoon；　the　sun　a　fiery　red　ball　now　that　the　clouds　had　dispersed。　Tonight　there　would　be　a　hard　frost。

　　
　　They　paused　for　a　spell　and　she　was　handed　some　strips　of　dried　meat；　bit　on　it　hungrily　but　had　difficulty　in　chewing　it。　It　had　a　smoky　flavour　where　it　had　been　dried　over　a　smouldering　fire。　Revolting；　but　she　knew　she　had　to　eat　it。　Then；　wearily；　they　set　off　again。
　　
　　She　heard　the　approaching　helicopter　long　before　it　came　into　sight　over　a　strip　of　woodland　in　front。　The　whining；　chainsaw…like　noise　getting　louder　and　louder；　her　panions　looking　at　one　another　in　alarm；　setting　down　their　loads。　Frightened；　wanting　to　run　but　not　knowing　in　which　direction　to　flee。　It　seemed　to　kick…start　her　memory；　jerked　her　back　to　civilised　thinking。
　　
　　'It's　all　right；　it's　a　helicopter；'　she　shouted。　They　would　not　have　understood　even　if　they　had　been　able　to　hear　her　above　the　din。
　　
　　A　helicopter！　Her　brain　reeled；　a　shipwrecked　mariner　suddenly　seeing　the　smoke　from　an　approaching　steamer　on　the　skyline　after　months　of　waiting　in　vain