sk.cujo-第63节

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ut。　Nor　THE　Boy；　either。
The　drone　was　closer　now。　The　car　was　ing　up　the　hill；　but　。。。　was　it　a　car？　Or　a　giant　bee　or　wasp　e　to　batten　on　him；　to　sting　him；　to　make　his　pain　even　worse？
Better　wait　and　see。
Cujo　slunk　under　the　porch；　where　he　had　often　spent　hot　summer　days　in　the　past。　It　was　drifted　sleep　with　the　decaying　autumn　leaves　of　other　years；　leaves　which　released　a　smell　he　had　thought　incredibly　sweet　and　pleasant　in　those　same　other　years。　Now　the　smell　seemed　immense　and　cloying；　suffocating　and　well…nigh　unbearable。　He　growled　at　the　smell　and　began　to　slobber　foam　again。　If　a　dog　could　kill　a　scent；　Cujo　would　have　killed　this　one。
The　drone　was　very　close　now。　And　then　a　car　was　turning　into　the　driveway。　A　car　with　blue　sides　and　a　white　roof　and　lights　on　the　top。
'Me　one　thing　George　Bannerman　had　been　least　prepared　to　me　when　he　turned　into　Joe　Camber's　dooryard　was　the　Pinto　belonging　to　the　missing　woman。　He　was　not　a　stupid　man；　and　while　he　would　have　been　impatient　with　Andy　Masen's　point…to…point　kind　of　logic　（he　had　dealt　with　the　horror　of　Frank　Dodd　and　understood　that　sometimes　there　was　no　logic）；he　arrived　at　his　own　mostly　solid　conclusions　in　much　the　same　way；　if　on　a　more　subconscious　level。　And　he　agreed　with　Masen's　belief　that　it　was　highly　unlikely　the　Trenton　woman　and　her　son　would　be　here。　But　the　car　was　here；　anyway。
Bannerman　grabbed　for　the　mike　hung　under　his　dashboard　and　then　decided　to　check　the　car　first。　From　this　angle；　directly　behind　the　Pinto；　it　was　impossible　to　see　if　anyone　was　in　there　or　not。　The　backs　of　the　bucket　seats　were　a　bit　too　high；　and　both　Tad　and　Donna　had　slumped　down　in　their　sleep。
Bannerman　got　out　of　the　cruiser　and　slammed　the　door　behind　him。　Before　he　had　gotten　two　steps；　he　saw　the　entire　driver's　side　window　was　a　buckled　mass　of　shatter…shot　cracks。　His　heart　began　to　beat　harder；　and　his　hand　went　to　the　butt　of　his　。38　Police　Special。
Cujo　stared　out　at　THE　MAN　from　the　blue　car　with　rising　hate。　It　was　this　MAN　who　had　caused　all　his　pain；　he　felt　sure　of　it。　THE　MAN　had　caused　the　pain　in　his　joints　and　the　high；　rotten　singing　in　his　head；　it　was　THE　MAN's　fault　that　the　drift　of　old　leaves　here　beneath　the　porch　now　smelled　putrescent；　it　was　THE　MAN's　fault　that　he　could　not　look　at　water　without　whining　and　shrinking　away　and　wanting　to　kill　it　in　spite　of　his　great　thirst。
A　growl　began　somewhere　deep　in　his　heavy　chest　as　his　legs　coded　beneath　him。　He　could　smell　THE　MAN　his　oil　of　sweat　and　excitement；　the　heavy　meat　set　against　his　bones。　The　growl　deepened；　then　rose　to　a　great　and　shattering　cry　of　fury。　He　sprang　out　from　beneath　the　porch　and　charged　at　this　awful　MAN　who　had　caused　his　pain。
During　that　first　crucial　moment；　Bannerman　didn't　even　hear　Cujo's　low；　rising　growl。　He　had　approached　the　Pinto　closely　enough　to　see　a　mass　of　hair　lying　against　the　driver's　side　window。　His　first　thought　was　that　the　woman　must　have　been　shot　to　death；　but　where　was　the　bullet　hole？　The　glass　looked　as　if　it　had　been　bludgeoned；　not　shot。
Then　he　saw　the　head　move。　Not　much　…　only　slightly　…　but　it　had　moved。　The　woman　was　alive。　He　stepped　forward　。　。　and　that　was　when　Cujo's　roar；　followed　by　a　volley　of　snarling　barks　came。　His　first　thought。
（Rusty？）　was　of　his　Irish　setter；　but　he'd　had　Rusty　put　down　four　years　ago；　not　long　after　the　Frank　Dodd　thing。　And　Rusty　had　never　sounded　like　this；　and　for　a　second　crucial　moment；　Bannerman　was　frozen　in　his　tracks　with　a　terribly；　atavistic　horror
He　turned　then；　pulling　his　gun；　and　caught　just　a　blurred　glimpse　of　a　dog　…　an　incredibly　big　dog　…　launching　itself　into　the　air　at　him。　It　struck　him　chest…high；　driving　him　against　the　Pinto's　hatchback。　He　grunted。　His　right　hand　was　driven　up　and　his　wrist　struck　the　chrome　guttering　of　the　hatchback　hard。　His　gun　went　flying。　It　whirled　over　the　top　of　the　car；　butt…for…barrel　and　butt…for…barrel；　to　land　in　the　high　weeds　on　the　other　side　of　the　driveway。
The　dog　was　biting　him；　and　as　Bannerman　saw　the　first　flowers　of　blood　open　on　the　front　of　his　light　blue　shirt；　he　suddenly　understood　everything。　They'd　e　here；　their　car　had　seized　up　。。。　and　the　dog　had　been　here。　The　dog　hadn't　been　in　Masen's　neat　little　point…to…point　analysis。
Bannerman　grappled　with　it；　trying　to　get　his　hands　under　the　dog's　muzzle　and　bring　it　up　and　out　of　his　belly。　There　was　a　sudden　deep　and　numbing　pain　down　there。　His　shirt　was　in　tatters　down　there。　Blood　was　pouring　over　his　pants　in　a　freshet。　He　lurched　forward　and　the　dog　drove　him　back　with　frightening　force；　drove　him　back　against　the　Pinto　with　a　thud　that　rocked　the　little　car　on　its　springs。
He　found　himself　trying　to　remember　if　he　and　his　wife　had　made　love　last　night。
Crazy　thing　to　be　thinking。　Crazy　
The　dog　bored　in　again。　Bannerman　tried　to　dodge　away　but　the　dog　anticipated　him；　it　was　grinning　at　him；　and　suddenly　there　was　more　pain　that　he　had　ever　felt　in　his　life。　It　galvanized　him。　Screaming；　he　got　both　hands　under　the　dog's　muzzle　again　and　yanked　it　up。　For　a　moment；　staring　into　those　dark；　crazed　eyes；　a　swoony　kind　of　horror　came　over　him　and　he　thought：　Hello；　Frank。　It's　you；　isn't　it？　Was　bell　too　hot　for　you？
Then　Cujo　was　snapping　at　his　fingers；　tearing　them；　laying　them　open。　Bannerman　forgot　about　Frank　Dodd。　He　forgot　about　everything　but　trying　to　save　his　life。　He　tried　to　get　his　knee　up；　between　him　and　the　dog；　and　found　he　couldn't。　When　he　tried　to　raise　his　knee；　the　pain　in　his　lower　belly　flared　to　a　sheeting　agony。
What's　he　done　to　me　down　there？　Oh　my　God；　what's　he　done？　Vicky；　Vicky　
Then　the　driver's　side　door　of　the　Pinto　opened。　It　was　the　woman。　He　had　looked　at　the　family　portrait　Steve　Kemp　had　stepped　on　and　had　seen　a　pretty；　neatly　coiffed　woman；　the　sort　you　look　at　twice　on　the　street；　the　second　look　being　mildly　speculative。　You　saw　a　woman　like　that　and　you　thought　that　her　husband　was　lucky　to　have　her　in　the　kip。
This　woman　was　a　ruin。　The　dog　had　been　at　her　as　well。　Her　belly　was　streaked　with　dried　blood。　One　leg　of　her　jeans　had　been　chewed　away；　and　there　was　a　sopping　bandage　just　over　her　knee。　But　her　face　was　the　worst；　it　was　like　a　hideous　baked　apple。　Her　forehead　had　blistered　and　peeled。　Her　lips　were　cracked　and　suppurating。　Her　eyes　were　sunken　in　deep　purple　pouches　of　flesh。
The　dog　left　Bannerman　in　a　flash　and　advanced　on　the　woman；　stiff…legged　and　growling。　She　retreated　into　the　car　and　slammed　the　door。
（cruiser　now　got　to　call　in　got　to　call　this　in）
He　turned　and　ran　back　to　the　cruiser。　The　dog　chased　him　but　he　outran　it。　He　slammed　the　door；　grabbed　the　mike；　and　called　for　help；　Code　3；　officer　needs　assistance。　Help　came。　The　dog　was　shot。　They　were　all　saved。
All　of　this　happened　in　just　three　seconds；　and　only　in　George　Bannerman's　mind。　As　he　turned　to　go　back　to　his　police　cruiser；　his　legs　gave　out　and　spilled　him　into　the　driveway。
（Oh　Vicky　what's　be　done　to　me　down　there？）
The　world　was　all　dazzling　sun。　It　was　hard　to　see。　Bannerman　scrambled；　clawed　at　the　gravel；　and　finally　made　it　to　his　knees。　He　looked　down。　at　himself　and　saw　a　thick　gray　rope　of　intestine　hanging　out　of　his　tattered　shirt。　His　pants　were　soaked　with　blood　to　both　knees。
Enough。　The　dog　had　done　enough　to　him　down　there。
Hold　your　guts　in；　Bannerman。　If　you're　stepping　out；　you're　stepping　out。　But　not　until　you　get　to　that　fucking　mike　and　call　this　in。　Hold　your　guts　in　and　get　on　your　big　Pat　feet　
（the　kid　jesus　her　kid　is　her　kid　in　there？）
That　made　him　think　of　his　own　daughter；　Katrina；　who　would　be　going　into　the　seventh　grade　this　year。　She　was　getting　breasts　now。　Being　quite　the　little　lady。　Piano　lessons。　Wanted　a　horse。　There　had　been　a　day　when；　if　she　had　crossed　from　the　school　to　the　library　alone；　Dodd　would　have　had　her　instead　of　Mary　Kate　Hendrasen。　When　
（move　your　ass）
Bannerman　got　to　his　feet。　Everything　was　sunshine　and　brightness　and　all　his　insides　seemed　to　want　to　slip　out　of　the　hole　the　dog　had　torn　in　him。　The　car。　The　police　radio。　Behind　him；　the　dog　was　distracted；　he　was　throwing　himself　crazily　against　the　Pinto's　buckled　driver's　side　door　again　and　again；　barking　and　snarling。
Bannerman　staggered　toward　the　cruiser。　His　face　was　as　white　as　pie　dough。　His　lips　were　blue　gray。　It　was　the　biggest　dog　he　had　ever　seen；　and　it　had　gutted　him。　Gutted　him；　for　Christ's　sake；　and　why　was　everything　so　hot　and　bright？
His　intestines　were　slipping　through　his　fingers。
He　reached　the　car　door。　He　could　hear　the　radio　under　the　dash；　crackling　out　its　message。　Should　have　called　in　first。　That's　procedure。　You　never　argue　with　procedure；　but　if　I'd　believed　that；　I　never　would　have　called　Smith　in　the　Dodd　case。　Vicky；　Katrina；　I'm　sorry　
The　boy。　He　had　to　get　help　for　the　boy。
He　almost　fell　and　grabbed　the　edge　of　the　door　for　support。
And　then　he　heard　the　dog　ing　for　him　and　he　began　to　scream　again。　He　tried　to　hurry。　If　he　could　only　get　the　door　shut　。。。　oh；　God；　if　only　he　could　close　the　door　before　the　dog　got　to　him　again　。。。　oh；　God　。。。
（oh　GOD）
Tad　was　screaming　again；　screaming　and　clawing　at　his　face；　whipping　his　head　from　sid