dk.intensity-第26节

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led　and　tweaked　and　popped　open　with　a　sound　oddly　like　a　hard　strum　on　a　banjo；　but　the　windshield　didn't　shatter。
　The　engine　stuttered。　Either　the　fuel　had　been　exhausted　at　last　or　the　crash　had　done　severe　mechanical　damage。
　Gasping　for　breath　after　the　cinching　punishment　of　the　shoulder　harness；　praying　that　the　engine　wouldn't　fail　just　yet；　Chyna　popped　the　car　into　reverse　again。
　Ideally；　the　Honda　would　be　blocking　the　road　when　the　killer　came　around　the　bend。　She　had　to　force　him　to　stop…and　to　get　out　of　his　motor　home。
　The　battered　car　wheezed；　almost　stalled；　then　unexpectedly　revved；　and　Chyna　said　gratefully；　〃Jesus；〃　as　it　rolled　backward　onto　the　pavement。
　She　pulled　across　both　lanes　but　swung　around　a　little；　angling　the　car　uphill　so　the　killer　would　be　able　to　see　the　damaged　front　end　as　soon　as　he　negotiated　the　curve。
　The　engine　clunked　twice　and　died；　but　that　was　all　right。　She　was　in　position。
　Without　the　engine　noise　for　petition；　the　rain　seemed　to　be　falling　more　forcefully　than　before；　rattling　on　the　roof　and　snapping　against　the　glass。
　At　the　upper　curve；　darkness　still　held。　She　put　the　Honda　in　park；　so　it　would　not　coast　backward　when　she　took　her　foot　off　the　brake。
　The　headlights　were　both　broken　out；　but　the　windshield　wipers　continued　to　thump　back　and　forth；　operating　on　battery　power。　She　didn't　switch　them　off。
　She　opened　the　driver's　door　and；　feeling　horribly　exposed　in　the　dome　light；　started　to　get　out。　She　needed　to　be　away　from　the　car　and　in　hiding　by　the　time　the　motor　home　appeared…which　would　be　in　maybe　twenty　seconds；　maybe　ten；　hard　to　say　because　she　had　lost　track　of　how　much　time　had　passed　since　she　herself　had　driven　around　the　bend。
　The　gun。　Before　she　fully　escaped　the　car；　Chyna　remembered　the　revolver。　She　swung　back　inside；　reached　for　the　weapon…but　it　was　no　longer　on　the　seat。
　In　the　first　or　second　crash；　the　gun　must　have　been　thrown　onto　the　floor。　Leaning　across　the　console　between　the　front　seats；　she　felt　frantically　in　the　darkness；　found　cold　steel；　the　barrel；　her　finger　actually　slipping　into　the　smooth　muzzle。　With　a　wordless　murmur　of　relief；　she　fished　the　gun　from　the　foot　space　and　reversed　her　grip　on　it。
　With　the　weapon　firmly　in　hand；　she　scrambled　out　of　the　Honda。　She　left　the　driver's　door　standing　open。
　Rain　chilled　her；　and　wind。　In　the　direction　from　which　she　had　e；　the　night　brightened　faintly；　and　the　redwood　trunks　near　the　shoulder　of　the　curve　began　to　glow　as　if　in　the　radiance　of　a　sudden　moon。
　Chyna　sprinted　off　the　slippery　blacktop　and　splashed　through　another　shallow　drainage　ditch；　shuddering　as　the　icy　water　poured　over　the　tops　of　her　shoes。　On　this　side　of　the　pavement；　the　trees　were　set　back　twenty　or　thirty　feet　from　the　shoulder。　She　headed　for　the　colossal　woods　at　a　point　directly　across　the　highway　from　the　behemoth　into　which　she　had　driven　the　Honda。
　Long　before　she　reached　the　nearest　tree；　she　skidded　on　the　spongy　mat　of　wet　needles；　fell；　and　landed　on　a　cluster　of　redwood　cones。　The　cones　crumbled　slightly　a　hard　crunching　sound　against　the　small　of　her　back…although　judging　by　the　flash　of　pain；　it　almost　seemed　as　though　her　spine　was　the　source　of　the　cracking。
　She　would　have　preferred　to　crawl　on　her　hands　and　knees　to　concealment；　but　she　had　to　hold　on　to　the　revolver；　and　she　was　concerned　that；　crawling；　she　would　inadvertently　plug　the　barrel　with　dirt　or　wet　needles。　She　was　up　and　moving　at　once；　therefore；　as　the　highway　behind　her　flared　with　light　and　an　engine　quarreled　noisily　with　the　storm。
　The　motor　home　had　turned　the　bend。　She　was　only　fifteen　feet　or　so　from　the　highway；　which　wasn't　far　enough；　because　there　was　little　underbrush　to　provide　cover　beneath　the　giant　redwoods…largely　ferns；　and　more　of　them　in　the　gloom　ahead　than　in　the　area　immediately　around　her。　He　must　not　see　her。　All　was　lost　if　he　glimpsed　her　as　she　dashed　for　cover。
　Fortunately；　her　blue　jeans　were　dark；　not　stone…washed　and　highly　reflective；　and　her　sweater　was　cranberry　red；　which　was　not　as　bad　as　if　it　had　been　white　or　yellow；　and　her　hair　was　not　blond　but　dark。　Yet　she　could　have　felt　no　more　visible　if　she　had　been　trying　to　run　to　cover　in　a　wedding　dress。
　He　would　be　focused　on　the　Honda；　surprised　to　see　it　angled　across　both　lanes。　He　wouldn't　immediately　glance　to　either　side　of　the　highway；　and　when　his　attention　did　flicker　away　from　the　car；　he　was　likely　to　look　to　the　right；　where　the　Honda　had　run　off　the　road　and　struck　the　tree；　not　to　the　left；　where　Chyna　was　seeking　shelter。
　Telling　herself　that　she　was　safe　and　had　not　been　seen；　but　not　actually　believing　herself；　she　reached　the　first　phalanx　of　massive　redwoods。　They　grew　astonishingly　close　to　one　another；　considering　their　daunting　size。　She　slipped　around　the　deeply　corrugated　trunk　of　a　fifteen…foot…diameter　giant　that　thrived　in　such　intimacy　with　an　even　larger　specimen　that　the　passageway　between　the　towering　pair　was　less　than　two　feet。
　The　lowest　branches　above　her　were　a　hundred　fifty　to　a　hundred　eighty　feet　off　the　ground；　visible　only　when　lightning　backlit　them。　Standing　between　these　trunks　was　rather　like　standing　between　the　nave　columns　of　a　cathedral　too　large　ever　to　be　built　this　side　of　Heaven；　the　bristled　boughs　formed　majestic　vaults　fifteen　stories　overhead。
　From　her　damp　and　cloistered　retreat；　she　peered　out　warily　at　the　highway。
　Beyond　the　lacy　screen　of　low　ferns；　silver　plating　the　rain　and　growing　brighter　by　the　second；　came　the　headlights　of　the　motor　home。　They　were　acpanied　by　the　soft　pule　of　air　brakes。
　Mr。　Vess　stops　on　the　pavement；　as　the　shoulder　is　neither　wide　enough　nor　firm　enough　to　acmodate　his　motor　home。　Although　this　scenic　highway　is　obviously　little　used　in　these　hours　before　dawn　and　in　such　foul　weather　as　this；　he　is　loath　to　block　traffic　any　longer　than　is　absolutely　necessary。　He　well　knows　the　California　Vehicle　Code。
　He　pushes　the　gearshift　into　park；　engages　the　emergency　brake；　but　leaves　the　engine　running　and　the　headlights　on。　He　doesn't　bother　to　slip　into　his　raincoat；　and　when　he　gets　out　of　the　motor　home；　he　leaves　the　door　standing　open。
　The　rain　on　the　pavement　is　a　drumming；　and　on　the　metal　of　the　vehicles　a　singing；　and　on　the　foliage　of　the　trees　a　chorus　chanting　wordlessly。　The　rain　sounds　please　him；　as　does　the　chill；　as　does　the　fecund　smell　of　ferns　and　loamy　soil。
　This　is　the　same　Honda　that　passed　him　a　few　minutes　earlier。　He　is　not　surprised　to　see　it　in　this　sorry　condition；　considering　the　reckless　speed　at　which　it　had　been　traveling。
　Evidently；　the　car　had　skidded　off　the　road　and　into　the　tree。　Then　the　driver　had　backed　it　onto　the　pavement　again　before　the　engine　failed。
　But　where　is　the　driver？　Another　motorist　might　have　e　along　from　the　west　and　taken　any　injured　person　to　get　medical　treatment。　But　that　seems　too　fortuitous　and　too　timely。　After　all；　the　accident　can't　have　happened　more　than　a　minute　or　two　ago。
　The　driver's　door　is　open；　and　when　Vess　leans　inside；　he　sees　that　the　keys　are　in　the　ignition。　The　windshield　wipers　sweep　the　glass。　The　taillights；　the　interior　ceiling　light；　and　the　gauges　in　the　instrument　panel　are　all　aglow。
　He　steps　away　from　the　car　and　looks　at　the　tree　toward　which　the　tire　tracks　lead。　The　bark　is　scarred　from　the　impact　but　only　superficially。
　Intrigued；　he　surveys　the　rest　of　the　grove　on　that　side　of　the　highway。
　Quite　possibly；　the　driver　climbed　out　of　the　wrecked　car；　dazed　from　a　blow　to　the　head；　and　wandered　into　the　redwoods。　Even　now　she　might　be　traveling　farther　into　the　primeval　grove；　lost　and　confused…or　maybe；　having　collapsed　from　injuries；　she　lies　unconscious　in　a　fern　glade。
　The　closely　grown　trees　form　a　maze　of　narrow　corridors；　more　wood　than　open　space。　Even　at　high　noon　on　a　cloudless　day；　sun…shine　would　penetrate　to　the　forest　floor　only　in　a　few　thin　bright　blades；　and　stubborn　darkness　would　impose　itself　in　most　of　these　deep　reaches；　as　though　each　of　the　many　hundreds　of　thousands　of　nights　since　the　grove's　beginning　had　left　its　residue　of　shadows。　Now；　still　on　the　witching　side　of　dawn；　that　blackness　is　so　pure　that　it　seems　almost　like　a　thing　alive；　crouching　and　predatory　and　yet　weling。
　This　special　darkness　stirs　Air。　Vess　and　makes　him　yearn　for　experiences　that　he　senses　are　available　to　him　but　that　he　cannot　imagine；　experiences　that　are　mysterious　and　transforming；　yet　which　he　cannot　even　dimly　envision。　Far　into　the　redwoods；　down　corridors　of　fissured　bark；　in　some　secret　citadel　of　bestial　passion；　where　shadows　dwell　that　are　older　than　human　history；　a　mystical　adventure　awaits。
　If　the　woman；　in　fact；　is　wandering　in　the　woods；　he　could　park　the　motor　home　and　search　for　her。　Perhaps　the　knife　that　he　found　at　the　service　station　is　an　omen；　after　all；　and　hers　may　be　the　blood　that　he　is　meant　to　draw　with　that　blade。
　He　imagines　what　it　would　be　like　to　take　off　his　clothes　and　enter　the　grove　naked　with　the　knife；　relying　solely　on　his　primitive　instincts　to　stalk　her　and　bring　her　down；　the　rain　and　mist　cold　on　his　skin；　the　air　steam