stephen king - mist-第20节
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no interest in seeing answered。
The tapping on the windows began to die away。 Ollie turned toward me and started to say something； but before he could do more than open his mouth； something came out of the fog and snatched one of the crawling things off the glass。 I think I screamed。 I'm not sure。
It was a flying thing。 Beyond that I could not have said for sure。 The fog appeared to darken in exactly the way Ollie had described； only the dark smutch didn't fade away； it solidified into something with flapping； leathery wings； an albino…white body； and reddish eyes。 it thudded into the glass hard enough to make it shiver。 Its beak opened。 It scooped the pink thing in and was gone。 The whole incident took no more than five seconds。 I had a bare final impression of the pink thing wiggling and flapping as it went down the hatch； the way a small fish will wiggle and flap in the beak of a seagull。
Now there was another thud； and yet another。 People began screaming again； and there was a stampede toward the back of the store。 Then there was a more piercing scream； one of pain； and Ollie said； 〃Oh my God； that old lady fell down and they just ran over her。〃
He ran back through the checkout aisle。 I turned to follow； and then I saw something that stopped me dead where I was standing。
High up and to my right； one of the lawn…food bags was sliding slowly backward。 Tom Smalley was right under it； staring out into the mist through his loophole。
Another of the pink bugs landed on the thick plate glass of the loophole where Ollie and I had been standing。 One of the flying things swooped down and grabbed it。 The old woman who had been trampled went on screaming in a shrill； cracked voice。
That bag。 That sliding bag。
〃Smalley！〃 I shouted。 〃Look out' Heads up！〃
In the general confusion； he never heard me。 The bag teetered； then fell。 It struck him squarely on…the head。 He went down hard； catching his jaw on the shelf that ran below the show window。
One of the albino flying things was squirming its way through the jagged hole in the glass。 I could hear the soft scraping sound that it made； now that some of the screaming had stopped。 Its red eyes glittered in its triangular head； which was slightly cocked to one side。 A heavy； hooked beak opened and closed rapaciously。 It looked a bit like the paintings of pterodactyls you may have seen in the dinosaur books； more like something out of a lunatic's nightmare。
I grabbed one of the torches and slam…dunked it into a can of charcoal lighter fluid； tipping it over and spilling a pool of the stuff across the floor。
The flying creature paused on top of the lawn…Food bags； glaring around； shifting slowly and malignantly from one taloned foot to； the other。 It was a stupid creature； I am quite sure of that。 Twice it tried to spread its wings； which struck the walls and then folded themselves over its hunched back like the wings of a griffin。 The third time it tried； it lost its balance and fell clumsily from its perch； still trying to spread its wings。 It landed on Tom Smalley's back。 One flex of its claws and Tom's shirt ripped wide open。 Blood began to flow。
I was there； less than three feet away； My torch was dripping lighter fluid。 I was emotionally pumped up to kill it if I could 。。。 and then realized I had no matches to light it with。 I had used the last one lighting a cigar for Mr。 McVey an hour ago。
The place was in pandemonium now。 People had seen the thing roosting on Smalley's back； something no one in the world had seen before。 it darted its head forward at a questing angle； and tore a chunk of meat from the back of Smalley's neck。
I was getting ready to use the torch as a bludgeon when the cloth…wrapped head of it suddenly blazed alight。 Dan Miller was there； holding a Zippo lighter with a Marine emblem on it。 His face was as harsh as a rock with horror and fury。
〃Kill it；〃 he said hoarsely。 〃Kill it if you can。〃 Standing beside him was Ollie。 He had Mrs。 Dumfries' 。38 in his hand； but he had no clear shot。
The thing spread its wings and flapped them once …apparently not to fly away but to secure a better hold on its prey…and then its leathery…white； membranous wings enfolded poor Smalley's entire upper body。 Then the sounds came…mortal tearing sounds that I cannot bear to describe in any detail。
All of this happened in bare seconds。 Then I thrust my torch at the thing。 There was the sensation of striking
something with no more real substance than a box kite。 The next moment the entire creature was blazing。 It made a screeching sound and its wings spread； its head jerked and its reddish eyes rolled with what I most sincerely hope was great agony。 It took off with a sound like linen bedsheets flapping on a clothesline in a stiff spring breeze。 It uttered that rusty shrieking sound again。
Heads turned to follow its flaming； dying course。 I think that nothing in the entire business stands in my memory so strongly as that bird…thing blazing a zigzagging course above the aisles of the 'Federal Supermarket； dropping charred and smoking bits of itself here and there。 it finally crashed into the spaghetti sauces； splattering Ragu and Prince and Prima Salsa everywhere like gouts of blood。 it was little more than ash and bone。 The smell of its burning was high and sickening。 And underlying it like a counterpoint was the thin and acrid stench of the mist； eddying in through the broken place in the glass。
For a moment there was utter silence。 We were united in the black wonder of that brightly flaming deathflight。 Then someone howled。 Others screamed。 And from somewhere in the back I could hear my son crying。
A hand grabbed me。 it was Bud Brown。 His eyes were bulging from their sockets。 His lips were drawn back from his false teeth in a snarl。 〃One of those other things；〃 he said； and pointed。
One of the bugs bad e in through the hole and it now。 perched on a lawn…food bag； housefly wings buzzing…you could hear them； it sounded like a cheap department… store electric fan…eyes bulging from their stalks。 its pink and noxiously plump body was aspirating rapidly。
I moved toward it。 My torch was guttering but not yet out。 But Mrs。 Reppler； the third…grade teacher； beat me to it。 She was maybe fifty…five； maybe sixty； rope…thin。 Her body had a tough； dried…out look that always makes me think of beef jerky。
She had a can of Raid in each hand like some crazy gunslinger in an existential edy。 She uttered a snarl of anger that would have done credit to a caveman splitting the skull of an enemy。 Holding the pressure cans out at the full length of each arm； she pressed the buttons。 A thick spray of insect…killer coated the thing。 It went into throes of agony； twisting and turning crazily and at last falling from the bags； bouncing off the body of Tom Smalley…who was dead beyond any doubt or question…and finally landing on the floor。 Its wings buzzed madly； but they weren't taking it anywhere； they were too heavily coated with Raid。 A few moments later the wings slowed； then stopped。 It was dead。
You could hear people crying now。 And moaning。 The old lady who had been trampled was moaning。 And you could hear laughter。 The laughter of the damned。 Mrs。 Reppler stood over her kill； her thin chest rising and failing rapidly。
Hatlen and Miller had found one of those dollies that the stockboys use to trundle cases of things around the store； and together they heaved it atop the lawn…food bags； blocking off the wedge…shaped hole in the glass。 As a temporary measure； it was a good one。
Amanda Dumfries came forward like a sleepwalker。 In one hand she held a plastic floor bucket。 In the other she held a whisk broom； still done up in its see…through wrapping。 She bent； her eyes still wide and blank； and swept the dead pink thing … bug； slug； whatever it was…into the bucket。 You could hear the crackle of the wrapping on the whisk broom as it brushed the floor。 She walked over to the OUT door。 There were none of the bugs on it。 She opened it a little way and threw the bucket out。 It landed on its side and rolled back and forth in ever…decreasing arcs。 One of the pink things buzzed out of the night； landed on the floor pail； and began to crawl over it。
Amanda burst into tears。 I walked over and put an arm around her shoulders。
At one thirty the following morning I was sitting with my back against the white enamel side of the meat counter in a semidoze。 Billy's head was in my lap。 He was solidly asleep。 Not far away Amanda Dumfries was sleeping with her head
pillowed on someone's jacket。
Not long after the flaming death of the bird…thing； Ollie and I had gone back out to the storage area and had gathered up half a dozen of the pads such as the one I'd covered Billy with earlier。 Several people were sleeping on these。 We had also brought back several heavy crates of oranges and pears； and four of us working together had been able to swing them to the tops of the lawn…food bags in front of the hole in the glass。 The bird…creatures would have a tough time shifting one of those crates； they weighed about ninety pounds each。
But the birds and the buglike things the birds ate weren't the only things out there。 There was the tentacled thing that had tak
