sk.cujo-第4节

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r　dog　is　keeping　my　son　amused。'
'Cujo　likes　kids；'　Camber　agreed。　'You　want　to　drive　your　car　into　the　barn；　Mr。　Trenton？'
The　doctor　will　see　you　now；　Vic　thought；　amused；　and　drove　the　jag　in。　As　it　turned　out；　the　job　only　took　an　hour　and　a　half　and　Camber's　price　was　so　reasonable　it　was　startling。
And　Tad　ran　through　that　cool；　overcast　afternoon；　calling　the　dog's　name　over　and　over　again：　'Cujo　。。。　Cooojo　。。。　heeere；　Cujo。　。　。　。'　just　before　they　left；　Camber's　boy；　whose　name　was　Brett；　actually　lifted　Tad　onto　Cujo's　back　and　held　him　around　the　waist　while　Cujo　padded　obediently　up　and　down　the　gravel　dooryard　twice。　As　it　passed　Vic；　the　dog　caught　his　eye　。。。　and　Vic　would　have　sworn　it　was　laughing。
Just　three　days　after　George　Meara's　bellowed　conversation　with　Aunt　Evvie　Chalmers；　a　little　girl　who　was　exactly　Tad　Trenton's　age　stood　up　from　her　place　at　the　breakfast　table　…said　breakfast　table　being　in　the　breakfast　nook　of　a　tidy　little　house　in　Iowa　City；　Iowa　…　and　announced：　'Oh；　Mamma；　I　don't　feel　so　good。　I　feel　like　I'm　going　to　be　sick。'
Her　mother　looked　around；　not　exactly　surprised。　Two　days　before；　Marcy's　bigger　brother　had　been　sent　from　school　with　a　raging　case　of　stomach　flu。　Brock　was　all　right　now；　but　he　had　spent　a　lousy　twenty…four　hours；　his　body　enthusiastically　throwing　off　ballast　from　both　ends。
'Are　you　sure；　honey？'　Marcy's　mother　said。
'Oh；　I　…'　Marcy　moaned　loudly　and　lurched　toward　the　downstairs　hall；　her　hands　laced　over　her　stomach。　Her　mother　followed　her；　saw　Marcy　buttonhook　into　the　bathroom；　and　thought；　Oh；　boy；　here　we　go　again。　If　I　don't　catch　this　it'll　be　a　miracle。
She　beard　the　retching　sounds　begin　and　turned　into　the　bathroom　her　mind　already　occupied　with　the　details：　clear　liquids；　bed　rest；　the　chamber…pot；　some　books；　Brock　could　take　the　portable　TV　up　to　her　room　when　he　got　back　from　school　and　
She　looked；　and　these　thoughts　were　driven　from　her　mind　with　the　force　of　a　roundhouse　slap。
'Me　toilet　bowl　where　her　four…year…old　daughter　had　vomited　was　full　of　blood；　blood　splattered　the　white　porcelain　lip　of　the　bowl；　blood　beaded　the　tiles。
'Oh；　Mommy；　I　don't　feel　good　…'
Her　daughter　turned；　her　daughter　turned；　turned；　and　there　was　blood　all　over　her　mouth；　it　was　down　her　chin；　it　was　matting　her　blue　sailor　dress；　blood；　oh　dear　God　dear　Jesus　Joseph　and　Mary　so　much　blood　
'Mommy　…；
And　her　daughter　did　it　again；　a　huge　bloody　mess　flying　from　her　mouth　to　patter　down　everywhere　like　sinister　rain；　and　then　Marcy's　mother　gathered　her　up　and　ran　with　her；　ran　for　the　phone　in　the　kitchen　to　dial　the　emergency　unit。
Cujo　knew　he　was　too　old　to　chase　rabbits。
He　wasn't　old；　no；　not　even　for　a　dog。　But　at　five；　he　was　well　past　his　puppyhood；　when　even　a　butterfly　had　been　enough　to　set　off　an　arduous　chase　through　the　woods　and　meadows　behind　the　house　and　barn。　He　was　five；　and　if　he　had　been　a　human；　he　would　have　been　entering　the　youngest　stage　of　middle　age。
But　it　was　the　sixteenth　of　June；　a　beautiful　early　morning；　the　dew　still　on　the　grass。　The　heat　Aunt　Evvie　had　predicted　to　George　Meara　had　indeed　arrived　…　it　was　the　warmest　early　June　in　years　…　and　by　two　that　afternoon　Cujo　would　be　lying　in　the　dusty　dooryard　（or　in　the　barn；　if　THE　BOY　would　let　him　in；　which　he　sometimes　did　when　he　was　drinking；　which　was　most　of　the　time　these　days）；　panting　under　the　hot　sun。　But　that　was　later。
And　the　rabbit；　which　was　large；　brown；　and　plump；　didn't　have　the　slightest　idea　Cujo　was　there；　down　near　the　end　of　the　north　field；　a。　mile　from　the　house。　The　wind　was　blowing　the　wrong　way　for　Br'er　Rabbit。
Cujo　worked　toward　the　rabbit；　out　for　sport　rather　than　meat。　The　rabbit　munched　happily　away　at　new　clover　that　would　be　baked　and　brown　under　the　relentless　sun　a　month　later。　If　he　had　only　covered　half　the　original　distance　between　himself　and　the　rabbit　when　the　rabbit　saw　him　and　bolted；　Cujo　would　have　let　it　go。　But　he　had　actually　got　to　within　fifteen　yards　of　it　when　the　rabbit's　head　and　ears　came　up。　For　a　moment　the　rabbit　did　not　move　at　all；　it　was　a　frozen　rabbit　sculpture　with　black　walleyes　bulging　ically。　Then　it　was　off。
Barking　furiously；　Cujo　gave　chase。　The　rabbit　was　very　small　and　Cujo　was　very　big；　but　the　possibility　of　the　thing　put　an　extra　ration　of　energy　in　Cujo's　legs。　He　actually　got　dose　enough　to　paw　at　the　rabbit。　The　rabbit　zigged。　Cujo　came　around　more　ponderously；　his　claws　digging　black　meadow　dirt；　losing　some　ground　at　first；　making　it　up　quickly。　Birds　took　wing　at　his　heavy；　chopping　bark；　if　it　is　possible　for　a　dog　to　grin；　Cujo　was　grinning　then。　The　rabbit　zagged；　then　made　straight　across　the　north　field。
Cujo　pelted　after　it；　already　suspecting　this　was　one　race　he　wasn't　going　to　win。
But　he　tried　hard；　and　he　was　gaining　on　the　rabbit　again　when　it　dropped　into　a　small　hole　in　the　side　of　a　small　and　easy　hill。　The　hole　was　overgrown　by　long　grasses；　and　Cujo　didn't　hesitate。　He　lowered　his　big　tawny　body　into　a　kind　of　furry　projectile　and　let　his　forward　motion　carry　him　in　。。。　where　he　promptly　stuck　like　a　cork　in　a　bottle。
Joe　Camber　had　owned　Seven　Oaks　Farm　out　at　the　end　of　Town　Road　No。　3　for　seventeen　years；　but　he　had　no　idea　this　hole　was　here。　He　surely　would　have　discovered　it　if　farming　was　his　business；　but　it　wasn't。　There　was　no　livestock　in　the　big　red　barn；　it　was　his　garage　and　auto…body　shop。　His　son　Brett　rambled　the　fields　and　woods　behind　the　home　place　frequently；　but　he　had　never　noticed　the　hole　either；　although　on　several　occasions　he　had　nearly　put　his　foot　in　it；　which　might　have　earned　him　a　broken　ankle。　On　clear　days　the　hole　could　pass　for　a　shadow；　on　cloudy　days；　overgrown　with　grass　as　it　was；　it　disappeared　altogether。
John　Mousam；　the　farm's　previous　owner；　had　known　about　the　hole　but　had　never　thought　to　mention　it　to　Joe　Camber　when　Joe　bought　the　place　in　1963。　He　might　have　mentioned　it；　as　a　caution；　when　Joe　and　his　wife；　Charity；　had　their　son　in　1970；　but　by　then　the　cancer　had　carried　old　John　off。
It　was　just　as　well　Brett　had　never　found　it。　There's　nothing　in　the　world　quite　so　interesting　to　a　small　boy　as　a　hole　in　the　ground；　and　this　one　opened　on　a　small　natural　limestone　cave。　It　was　about　twenty　feet　deep　at　its　deepest；　and　it　would　have　been　quite　possible　for　a　small　squirty　boy　to　eel　his　way　in；　slide　to　the　bottom；　and　then　find　it　impossible　to　get　out。　It　had　happened　to　other　small　animals　in　the　past。　The　cave's　limestone　surface　made　a　good　slide　but　a　bad　climb；　and　its　bottom　was　Littered　with　bones：　a　woodchuck；　a　skunk；　a　couple　of　chipmunks；　a　couple　of　squirrels；　and　a　housecat。　The　housecat's　name　had　been　Mr。　Clean。　The　Cambers　had　Lost　him　two　years　before　and　assumed　he　had　been　hit　by　a　car　or　had　just　run　off。　but　here　he　was；　along　with　the　bones　of　the　good…sized　fieldmouse　he　had　chased　inside。
Cujo's　rabbit　had　rolled　and　slid　ad　the　way　to　the　bottom　and　now　quivered　there；　ears　up　and　nose　vibrating　like　a　tuning　fork；　as　Cujo's　furious　barking　filled　the　place。　The　echoes　made　it　sound　as　though　there　was　a　whole　pack　of　dogs　up　there。
The　small　cave　had　also　attracted　bats　from　time　to　time　…never　many；　because　the　cave　was　only　a　small　one；　but　its　rough　ceiling　made　a　perfect　place　for　them　to　roost　upside　down　and　snooze　the　daylight　away。　The　bats　were　another　good　reason　that　Brett　Camber　had　been　lucky；　especialy　this　year。　This　year　the　brown　insectivorous　bats　inhabiting　the　small　cave　were　crawling　with　a　particularly　virulent　strain　of　rabies。
Cujo　had　stuck　at　the　shoulders。　He　dug　furiously　with　his　back　legs　to　no　effect　at　all。　He　could　have　reversed　and　pulled　himself　back　out；　but　for　now　he　still　wanted　the　rabbit。　He　sensed　it　was　trapped；　his　for　the　taking。　His　eyes　were　not　particularly　keen；　his　large　body　blocked　out　almost　all　the　light　anyway；　and　he　had　no　sense　of　the　drop　just　beyond　his　front　paws。　He　could　smell　damp；　and　he　could　smell　bat　guano；　both　old　and　fresh　。。。　but　most　important　of　all；　he　could　smell　rabbit。　Hot　and　tasty。　Dinner　is　served。
His　barking　roused　the　bats。　They　were　terrified。　Something　had　invaded　their　home。　They　flew　en　masse　toward　the　exit；　squeaking。　But　their　sonar　recorded　a　puzzling　and　distressing　fact：　the　entrance　was　no　longer　there。　The　predator　was　where　the　entrance　had　been。
They　wheeled　and　swooped　in　the　darkness；　their　membranous　wings　sounding　like　small　pieces　of　clothing　diapers；　perhaps　…　flapping　from　a　line　in　a　gusty　wind。　Below　them；　the　rabbit　cringed　and　hoped　for　the　best。
Cujo　felt　several　of　the　bats　flutter　against　the　third　of　him　that　had　managed　to　get　into　the　hole；　and　he　became　frightened。　He　didn't　like　their　scent　or　their　sound；　he　didn't　like　the　odd　heat　that　seemed　to　emanate　from　them。
He　barked　louder　and　snapped　at　the　things　that　were　wheeling　and　squeaking　around　his　head。　His　snapping　jaws　closed　on　one　brown…black　wing。　Bones　thinner　than　those　in　a　baby's　hand　crunched。　The　bat　slashed　and　bit　at　him；　slicing　open　the　skin　of　the　dog's　sensitive　muzzle　in　a　long；　curving　wound　that　was　shaped　like　a　question　mark。　A　moment　later　it　went　skittering　and　cartwheeling　down