dk.intensity-第25节

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　Power　is　God；　God　is　nature；　nature　is　power；　and　the　power　is　in　him。
　His　power　is　ever　increasing。　If　he　worshiped；　he　would　be　an　ardent　pantheist；　mitted　to　the　belief　that　all　things　are　sacred；　every　tree　and　every　flower　and　every　blade　of　grass；　every　bird　and　every　beetle。　The　world　is　full　of　pantheists　these　days；　he　would　be　at　home　among　them　if　he　were　to　join　their　ranks。　When　everything　is　sacred；　nothing　is。　For　him；　that　is　the　beauty　of　pantheism。　If　the　life　of　a　child　is　equal　to　the　life　of　a　bluegill　or　a　barn　owl；　then　Vess　may　kill　attractive　little　girls　as　casually　as　he　might　crush　a　scorpion　underfoot；　with　no　greater　moral　offense　though　with　considerably　more　pleasure。
　But　he　worships　nothing。　As　he　rounds　a　curve　into　a　straightaway　flanked　by　redwoods　of　even　greater　girth　than　any　he　has　previously　seen；　stark　white　bones　of　lightning　crack　through　the　black　skin　of　the　sky。　A　roar　of　thunder　like　a　bellow　of　rage　shudders　the　air。
　Rain　washes　the　smell　of　lightning　down　through　the　night。　Two　scents　of　power；　lightning　and　redwoods…electricity　and　time；　fierce　heat　and　stolid　endurance…are　offered　to　him　now；　and　he　inhales　deeply　with　pleasure。
　Taking　this　county　road　through　the　redwoods；　along　the　coast；　and　reconnecting　with　Highway　ioi　south　of　Eureka　will　add　between　half　an　hour　and　an　hour　to　his　travel　time；　depending　on　the　pace　he　sets　and　the　strength　of　the　storm。　But　as　eager　as　he　is　to　get　home　to　Ariel；　he　couldnot　have　resisted　the　power　of　the　redwoods。
　Headlights　appear　behind　him；　visible　in　the　angled　side　mirror。　A　car。　For　nearly　an　hour；　one　followed　him　on　the　freeway；　hanging　at　a　distance。　This　must　be　a　different　vehicle；　because　this　driver　is　more　aggressive　than　the　one　on　the　freeway；　closing　the　distance　between　them　at　high　speed。
　Recklessly；　the　car…a　Honda…pulls　around　the　motor　home；　into　the　lane　reserved　for　oning　traffic；　though　this　is　not　a　passing　zone。
　There　is　no　other　traffic；　and　they　are　on　a　straightaway；　but　the　Honda　has　insufficient　distance　to　plete　the　maneuver　before　the　next　blind　turn　in　the　road；　especially　on　the　treacherous　rain…slick　blacktop。
　Vess　reduces　speed。　The　racing　Honda　pulls　alongside　him。　Looking　down　through　the　windshield　of　the　car；　Vess　has　barely　a　glimpse　of　the　person　behind　the　steering　wheel；　because　the　rain　and　the　high…speed　windshield　wipers　inhibit　his　view。　Nothing　more　than　a　suggestion　of　a　deep…red　shirt　or　sweater。　A　pale　hand　on　the　wheel。　The　wrist　is　slender　enough　to　indicate　that　the　driver　is　most　likely　a　woman；　She　appears　to　be　alone。　Then　the　car　moves　far　enough　forward　so　that　Vess　is　looking　down　on　the　roof；　and　the　windshield　is　out　of　sight。
　They　are　rapidly　approaching　the　curve。
　Vess　further　reduces　his　speed。　Through　his　open　window；　he　listens　to　the　shriek　of　the　Honda　as　the　driver　accelerates。　All　the　formidable　power　of　that　engine　seems　pathetically　weak　in　these　majestic　groves；　like　the　angry　buzz　of　a　gnat　among　a　herd　of　elephants。
　With　so　little　effort　that　he　would　not　increase　his　heartbeat；　Vess　could　pull　the　wheel　to　the　left；　slam　the　motor　home　into　the　Honda；　and　force　the　car　off　the　road。　It　would　either　roll　and　then　explodeor　shatter　head…on　into　one　of　the　twenty…foot…diameter　redwood　trunks。
　He　is　tempted。　The　spectacle　would　be　gratifying。　He　spares　the　woman　in　the　Honda　only　because　he's　in　a　mood　for　subtle…rather　than　explosive…sensation。　This　gratifying　expedition　has　brought　him　not　merely　the　Napa　Valley　family　that　he　originally　set　out　to　destroy；　but　the　hitchhiker　now　hanging　in　the　bedroom　closet　like　Poe's　lover　of　Amontillado　in　the　stone　wall　of　a　wine　cellar；　as　well　as　the　two　clerks　at　the　service　station。　This　is　already　a　satiating）；　richness。　The　reef　of　the　soul　is　built　from　varied　experience；　not　from　repetitive　sensation。　Right　now　he　doesn't　need　the　somber　music　of　blood　and　the　spurting　warmth　of　screams；　instead；　he　needs　to　smell　the　wetness　of　the　rain；　feel　the　towering　mass　of　the　trees；　and　listen　to　the　cool　pendulousness　of　the　night…hidden　ferns。
　He　applies　the　brakes；　cutting　his　speed。　The　Honda　streaks　past　him；　kicking　up　a　high　spray　of　dirty　water。　It　enters　the　curve　ahead　with　a　flash　of　brake　lights：　red　in　the　black　storm；　red　glimmering　off　the　damp　gray　bark　of　the　big　conifers；　apocalyptic　tracers　of　red　rippling　across　the　pavement。　Then　gone。
　Edgler　Vess　is　alone　again；　behind　the　wheel　of　his　ark；　in　a　colorless　world　of　gray　rain；　black　shadows；　and　sparkling　white　headlight　beams；　at　peace　to　mune　with　the　redwoods　and　draw　from　them　a　measure　of　their　power。
　He　thinks　of　Christ　on　the　vertical　bed　of　dogwood；　and　the　idea　of　the　meek　inheriting　the　earth　makes　him　smile。　He　doesn't　wish　to　inherit　anything。　He　is　a　raging　fire；　powerful　and　hot；　he　will　burn　all　the　color　out　of　this　world；　consume　every　scintilla　of　sensation　that　it　has　to　offer；　and　he　will　leave　behind　a　realm　of　ashes。　Let　the　meek　inherit　ashes。
　Passing　the　motor　home；　going　too　fast　to　prevent　the　Honda　from　straddling　the　double　yellow　line　all　the　way　around　the　curve；　Chyna　had　been　afraid　that　the　parched　engine　would　cough　and　choke　and　fail。　Now　that　she　had　seen　the　red　warning　light；　she　was　aware　of　it…a　peripheral　radiance…even　when　she　wasn't　looking　at　the　instrument　panel。　But　the　Honda　ran　confidently　on　dregs；　on　fumes；　on　some　strange　grace。
　She　needed　to　put　distance　between　herself　and　the　killer；　and　gain　time　to　set　her　plan　in　motion。　She　pushed　the　car　as　hard　as　she　dared　on　the　storm…greased　pavement。
　The　narrow　road　rounded　another　bend；　straightened　out；　entered　a　gradual　descent；　took　another　curve；　rose　on　a　gentle　slope；　but　descended　again；　and　in　spite　of　the　intermittent　interruptions　of　these　extremely　low　inclines；　the　land　was　generally　monotonous　in　its　contours；　making　its　way　steadily　down　toward　the　Pacific；　not　many　miles　to　the　west。　Now　low　ramparts　of　soft　earth　flanked　the　blacktop　just　beyond　both　shoulders；　and　this　wasn't　suitable　for　her　purposes。　But　then　the　road　returned　to　the　same　level　as　the　surrounding　forest；　and　she　entered　another　almost　imperceptibly　declining　straightaway　and　found　the　ideal　circumstances　she　required。
　She　figured　that　she　had　gained　a　full　minute　on　him；　maybe　a　minute　and　a　half；　depending　on　whether　he　had　appreciably　increased　his　speed　after　she　passed　him。　Anyway；　a　minute　should　be　long　enough。
　She　slowed　to　thirty　miles　an　hour　and　nonetheless　seemed　to　be　burtfing　through　the　woods。　She　let　the　speed　decrease　to　twenty…five；　wondering　again　about　her　headlong　rush　to　heroism　but　still　unable　to　fully　understand　it。　Then　she　drove　off　the　roadway；　flew　across　the　right　shoulder；　thumped　through　a　shallow　drainage　swale；　and　rammed　into　the　fortress　base　of　one　of　the　biggest　of　the　redwoods。　The　left　headlight　burst；　the　impact…absorbing　bumper　cracked　and　crumpled　and　collapsed　as　it　had　been　designed　to　do；　and　metal　shrieked　briefly。
　Because　she　was　wearing　a　safety　harness；　she　wasn't　thrown　into　the　steering　wheel　or　through　the　windshield。　But　the　diagonal　strap　tightened　so　hard　across　her　breasts　that　she　grunted　with　shock　and　pain。
　The　engine　was　still　running。　With　no　time　to　get　out　and　inspect　the　front　of　the　car；　Chyna　was　afraid　that　the　damage　wasn't　sufficiently　impressive　to　convince　the　killer　that　someone　could　have　been　injured　in　the　crash。　When　he　came　upon　this　scene　a　few　seconds　from　now；　he　must　take　everything　at　face　value　without　hesitation。　Otherwise；　if　he　was　suspicious；　nothing　would　work　as　she　had　planned。
　Immediately　she　shifted　the　Honda　into　reverse　and　backed　away　from　the　tree；　which　stood　inviolate。　The　ground　was　carpeted　with　wet　redwood　needles　on　which　the　tires　spun　before　gripping；　but　not　enough　rain　had　fallen　to　churn　the　earth　into　mud。　Rattling　and　clinking；　the　car　bounced　across　the　shallow　drainage　swale；　which　ran　with　only　an　inch　or　two　of　muddy　water；　and　backed　onto　the　pavement　again。
　Chyna　glanced　toward　the　top　of　the　gently　ascending　slope　down　which　she　had　just　driven。　As　yet　there　was　not　even　a　faint　glow　of　approaching　headlights　from　beyond　the　curve。
　He　was　ing。　No　doubt　about　that。　Soon。　She　didn't　have　time　to　reverse　even　part　of　the　way　up　the　slope。　But　she　needed　to　build　a　little　speed。
　With　her　left　foot；　she　tramped　the　brake　pedal　as　far　toward　the　floorboards　as　it　would　go；　and　with　her　right　foot　she　eased　down　on　the　accelerator。　The　engine　whined；　then　shrieked。　The　car　strained　like　a　spurred　horse　pressing　against　the　gate　of　a　rodeo　chute。　She　could　feel　it　wanting　to　surge　forward；　as　if　it　were　a　living　thing；　and　she　wondered　how　much　acceleration　would　be　too　much；　enough　to　kill　her　or　trap　her　in　wreckage。　Then　she　gave　it　a　little　more　juice；　smelled　something　burning；　and　raised　her　left　foot　from　the　brake　pedal。
　The　tires　spun　furiously　on　the　glistering　blacktop；　and　then　with　a　shudder　the　Honda　shot　forward；　rattled　and　splashed　across　the　ditch；　and　slammed　into　the　trunk　of　the　redwood。　The　right　headlight　burst；　metal　squealed；　the　hood　crumpled　and　tweaked　and　popped　o