jefflong.yearzero-第75节

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！


　The　generals　looked　like　a　row　of　Buddhas；　not　a　worry。　〃When　the　time　es；〃　one　said；　〃we　will　part　the　waters。〃
　〃What's　that　supposed　to　mean？〃
　The　general　smiled。　〃Just　Bible　talk。〃　He　offered　no　other　explanations。
　〃Feed　them；〃　the　minister　argued。　〃We　have　plenty。　Give　them　the　bread　of　life。〃
　〃And　encourage　more　to　e？〃　someone　said。
　〃They　e　in　peace；〃　said　the　minister。　He　sounded　like　an　old　movie；The　Day　the　Earth　Stood　Still。
　〃They　may　have　e　in　peace；〃　a　woman　said；　〃but　they'll　never　leave　that　way。　They've　e　too　far　with　nothing　to　lose。　They　have　nowhere　to　return　to。　They're　contaminating　each　other。　They're　never　going　home。　They've　got　Los　Alamos　in　their　sights。〃
　〃Show　them　mercy；〃　said　the　minister；　〃and　they　will　do　the　same。〃
　They　heckled　him。　〃You're　out　of　your　tree；　reverend。〃
　Miranda　intervened。　She　looked　at　the　generals。　〃What　do　you　remend？〃
　The　generals　put　their　hands　over　their　microphones　and　spoke　among　themselves。　They　nodded　their　heads。　Finally　one　general　spoke。　〃We're　better　off　knowing　where　they　are　than　trying　to　figure　out　where　they're　hiding。　Let　them　e。　All　of　them。　As　long　as　they　don't　cross　the　river；　we're　safe。〃
　〃You're　not　going　to　do　anything？〃　a　molecular　engineer　plained。　〃Strafe　them。〃　People　booed　his　suggestion。　〃I　mean　along　the　edges；〃　he　qualified。　〃Drop　a　few　bombs　on　our　side　of　the　valley。　Shake　them　up。　Back　them　off。〃
　〃We're　not　in　the　business　of　bluffing；〃　said　the　general。
　〃But　we　have　to　do　something。〃
　〃We　will　watch　and　wait。　And　feed　them；〃　said　the　general。
　〃What！〃
　The　minister　closed　his　eyes　in　thanksgiving。
　〃The　reverend　has　a　good　idea。　It　works　in　our　favor；〃　the　general　continued。　〃Give　them　food　and　supplies。　Keep　them　in　place。〃
　〃You　sound　like　peaceniks　out　of　Santa　Fe；〃　said　a　lab　chief。　〃Love　and　charity。　They're　an　army　gathering　down　there。　I've　seen　guns　and　rogue　soldiers　on　the　remote　cams。　Every　day　they're　getting　stronger。〃
　The　general　hunched　upon　the　table　and　his　shoulders　were　like　wings。　〃Everyday　they　get　weaker；〃　he　clarified。　〃If　they　sit　there　long　enough；　they'll　die　off　by　themselves。〃
　They　considered　that。　Their　charity　would　be　their　weapon。　It　satisfied　them。　Deeply。
　And　so　they　began　to　feed　their　enemy。
　
　32
　Penitentes
　
　DECEMBER
　It　was　that　time　of　year　when　little　girls　and　boys　became　sugar　plum　fairies　and　mice。　The　Bolshoi's　second　annual　presentation　ofThe　Nutcracker　was　right　around　the　corner。　The　remnants　of　the　Denver　symphony　dug　up　its　Tchaikovsky。　A　famous　Broadway　producer　who　had　taken　shelter　here　warred　with　a　famous　Hollywood　producer　over　the　staging；　lights；　and　credit。
　Wreaths　of　evergreen　boughs　appeared。　The　trees　in　the　park　sprouted　red　bows　and　Styrofoam　candycanes。　Thousands　offarolitos　lined　the　walkways；　paper　bags　weighted　with　sand　and　each　holding　a　candle。　Nathan　Lee　didn't　think　there　could　be　so　many　candles　left　in　all　of　Los　Alamos。　Like　the　children　at　school；　Tara　learned　about　Hanukah　and　dreidels；　Kwanzaa；　the　baby　Jesus　in　a　manger；　and　Santa。　She　was　kept　at　home；　of　course；　a　shy　girl　still　given　to　dark　outbursts。　Thanks　to　the　Captain's　old　record　collection；　she　was　crooning　carols　from　Perry　o。
　Researchers　showed　up　for　work　with　pink　cheeks　and　thick　sweaters。　The　microwaves　smelled　like　apple　cider。　In　lieu　of　mistletoe；　a　few　red　chilies　hung　over　office　doors。　Out　came　the　beakers　of　home…brew　lovingly　distilled　in　lab　glassware。　Everyone　was　determined　not　to　have　the　holiday　spoiled。
　And　yet　the　invaders　were　there。
　In　the　space　of　a　few　weeks；　the　plague　camp　along　the　Rio　had　grown　to　epic　proportions。　Earlier　military　estimates　were　off　by　magnitudes　of　ten。　There　were　nearly　a　million　people　down　there；　with　more　on　the　way；　America's　last　spasm　of　colonial　movement；　bony　and　wind…chapped；　squatting　on　the　edge　of　Oz。　From　the　air；　they　looked　like　a　great　migratory　herd　of　animals。　Or　Woodstock。
　The　city　resented　their　siege。　Weren't　the　scientists　working　night　and　day　to　find　a　cure　for　them？　Didn't　the　people　of　Los　Alamos　deserve　their　own　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　th