pzb.lostsouls-第50节
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〃Zilllllaaaah 。 。 。〃
〃Pleeeeeezzze？。。。〃
〃Not one drop。 Not one pink sugar drop。〃
They might eat it； too； thought Christian。 They just might； even if it was Nothing's half…brother or …sister。 The idea did not strike Christian as particularly immoral； but it made him sad。 He stood silently before them； considering Zillah。 Those eyes； and the perfect pink lips twisted in amusement or disgust； and his entourage clustered around him。
For a moment Christian almost disliked them。 Not Nothing； but the other three。 He hated their insouciance； their cheerful cruelty。 They didn't care about the girl。 Their time in Missing Mile was done。 They would go on to New Orleans and carry on their never…ending party without a backward glance。 It did not matter to them that another girl's belly would swell with a malignant child； a child that would eventually rip her open and bleed her dry。
〃You must get rid of it；〃 he had told her。 He'd been out behind the trailer cutting the last roses of the season。 The bushes were dry now； brown and gnarled。 Somehow he would have to stretch his ine from the bartending job to pay the rent on the trailer and buy the sweets and liquor that the others throve upon。
Nothing had already offered to look for a job； he was goodhearted； but what place would hire a boy who looked so young and so strange？ And Molochai； Twig； and Zillah were used to their luxurious nomadic life； travelling from city to city； living off the blood and money of their kills。 But in Missing Mile there were no wealthy victims。 There were only drifters and bastard children and travellers who had lost their way。
As he was cutting the last rose； a great frothy pink…orange thing whose veined petals curled delicately into red at the edges； the girl Ann came up behind him and touched his sleeve。 Christian had seen her near the trailer before； trying to look through the windows； tugging at the doors of the black van。 He had not known precisely what had happened between her and Zillah。 When she told him； Christian's heart sank。 Had Zillah grown up not at all in fifteen years？ Had he never heard of condoms？
〃I'll have a beautiful baby；〃 she said。 〃With green； green eyes。
〃It will kill you；〃 he told her。 〃They'll leave you and you'll be alone； and it will kill you。〃 He turned to face her； the huge rose in one hand； a rusty pair of scissors in the other。 〃Listen to me。 You have to get rid of it。 You must。〃
〃Why？〃
Christian met her eyes。 Ann's eyes danced like spiders； they gleamed； empty of reason； She had not looked that way a month ago at the Sacred Yew。 Already Zillah's essence was infecting her as it had infected Jessy。
He could tell her the truth。 That Zillah was of another race； a race whose seed was bloody poison。 That Zillah's baby would rip her apart inside and she would die as Jessy had died fifteen years ago； her thighs sticky with blood； her eyes rolled back silver…rimmed in her head。 Yes； he might tell her all that。 She was already mad enough to believe it。 But if she knew what danger she was in； she might tell someone else。 She might convince someone。 And that would endanger Nothing； would endanger Zillah and the others。 The young； the fine； the fire of a dying race。 No。 He could not betray them。
〃You must get rid of it because he will leave you；〃 Christian said lamely。 〃You'll be alone。〃
〃I'll follow them wherever they go；〃 Ann said。 〃I'll follow Zillah。〃
Her hair hung loose about her face； straggling； bright as flames。 She was just a girl。 A girl like Jessy； a human girl who should have a life without fear or pain caused by the whims of others。 A girl who should have healthy children that she could live to care for。 Babies she could nurse at her breast； babies that would not feed upon the tissue of her innards。
Christian knew he could not let the others leave him a second time。 He could not watch that black van disappear down the road and wonder whether he would ever see it again。 If they left Missing Mile； he would follow them。 They would protect him from Wallace Creech。 And if Ann followed too； perhaps he could convince her。 Perhaps there would be some way to keep her from giving birth to another of Zillah's beautiful； deadly children。
〃They'll go to New Orleans；〃 he told her。 〃To the French Quarter。〃 There； it was done。 She might follow them； she might find them。 She might not。
Christian turned away toward the trailer。 He did not look back at the girl who stood by the rosebushes； the girl with funereal black lace tied in her bright hair。 The girl who even though there was no physical resemblance； none at all； reminded him so strongly of Jessy fifteen years ago。
The same bewitched light shone in her eyes。
Chapter 24
After they left the Halloween party； Ghost drove to Ann's house。 Her Datsun was not parked in the driveway； but her father's red Buick was。 Ghost didn't want to talk to Simon Bransby； not tonight； not about all this。 And he could see that there was no light on in Ann's corner room。
Ghost swung past the Greyhound station over by the old Farmer's Hardware store。 Ann's car was in the parking lot； but it already looked abandoned。 The bus station was dark； no one sat on the lone bench out back。 The southbound night bus came through Missing Mile every night at 10：05。 It was long gone。
Ghost drove back to Burnt Church Road； grabbed their toothbrushes and Steve's bag of pot； and pointed the car out of town。 He could think of nothing better to do。 New Orleans； Steve had said； and Ann was probably headed there too。
Steve slumped against the passenger door； his breathing deep； heavy； exhausted。 He was in no shape to answer questions。 So Ghost took N。C。 42 south out of Missing Mile without looking over his shoulder。 He knew he would be back。 He and Steve could travel anywhere； but they always came back to Missing Mile。
The road made him as nervous as a racehorse。 He wasn't good at driving； not like Steve。 Driving was in Steve's blood。 But the highway billowed and writhed before Ghost's eyes； stars glittered in the rearview mirror； the moon dodged shreds of pale cloud。 The night was dark； then bright； then dark again。
Halloween night。 A bad time to travel。 What might be keeping pace with the T…bird？ What strange eyes might mark the car's passage？ Ghost kept the windows cranked tight shut； kept his nostrils flared for trouble。
As he drove past Miz Catlin's place； Ghost saw a lone candle flickering in the front window。 Miz Catlin knew enough to stay inside tonight； her small fire warming the good spirits and keeping the bad ones away。
With a longing that ached in his bones； Ghost wished he were asleep between the crisp faded sheets of Miz Catlin's guest bed。 He had spent so many childhood nights in that bed； napping； waking and tossing； twining his fingers in his hair and trying to hear the quiet conversations of Miz Catlin and his grandmother in the next room。 Sometimes they spoke of things he couldn't understand； things that frightened him； names he could never recall when clear sunlight spilled through the windowpanes the next morning。 Astaroth。 He thought he remembered that。 Or was it asafoetida？ Sometimes； as old women will； they spoke of recipes and grown children and husbands strayed or buried。 Still Ghost had listened rapt； turning over each word he could hear； keeping it like a jewel…colored pebble or a broken blue eggshell somewhere in his mind。
And sometimes 。 。 。 sometimes they spoke of him。 At those times he thought his ears would pull loose from his head and fly away； so hard did they stretch to listen。
〃He won't ever have it easy； Deliverance。 The boy's gift is just too damn strong。〃 That was Miz Catlin。 She meant him； Ghost。 The gift was the things he knew； or felt； without having any way to know。 The things he couldn't tell just anybody； the things his grandmother always understood。
〃I know it； Catlin。 Nobody with the gift ever has an easy time； 'specially not when they're as open…hearted as my Ghost。 Let that boy try to tell a lie and his forehead turns to glass。〃 That was his grandmother； her voice softer than Miz Catlin's； her words softer too。 〃But I trust him to use it well。 He'll never hurt anybody with his gift。〃 Her voice had lowered then。 〃The only thing I worry about is； his gift might hurt him。 He'll spend his life feeling everybody else's pain。 Takes a lot of strength not to lay down and be crushed under that weight。〃
Ghost jerked awake and tossed his head。 He was being lulled to sleep by voices from the past； by the night road； by the spirits drifting between midnight and dawn。 As he drove past the graveyard outside Corinth； Ghost saw the humped stones palely gleaming； the rags of mist that rose from the cold ground。
He felt the hair at the back of his neck trying to stand up。 Lie down and be quiet； he told it。 Those graves weren't dangerous。 Even if spirits roamed there； they were just people。 Frightened； maybe； because their bodies were rotting and drying and dusting away。 Frightened and maybe even angry。 But still people。 They couldn't hurt him or Steve。 Not like some things。 Some of the monsters were alive。
Ghost thought of Miles Hum
