dk.solesurvivor-第64节

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nds　imparted　to　the　air。
　　Joe　could　understand　why　Rose　might　have　pulled　her　blazer　shut　and　huddled　into　it。　This　night　had　both　the　moon　and　the　Santa　Ana　wind　to　spark　a　voodoo　current　in　the　spine…and　a　parentless　boy　without　a　name；　who　lived　in　a　coffin　of　steel　and　moved　invisible　through　a　world　of　potential　victims　oblivious　to　him。
　　Are　we　recording？
　　The　boy　had　known　about　the　cockpit　voice　recorder…and　he'd　left　a　cry　for　help　on　it。
　　One　of　their　names　is　Dr。　Louis　Blom。　One　of　their　names　is　Dr。　Keith　Ramlock。　They're　doing　bad　things　to　me。　They're　mean　to　me。　Make　them　stop。　Make　them　stop　hurting　me。
　　Whatever　else　he　was…sociopathic　psychotic　homicidal…he　was　also　a　child。　A　beast；　an　abomination；　a　terror；　but　also　a　child。　He　had　not　asked　to　be　born；　and　if　he　was　evil；　they　had　made　him　so　by　failing　to　teach　him　any　human　values；　by　treating　him　as　mere　ordnance；　by　rewarding　him　for　murder。　Beast　he　was；　but　a　pitiable　beast；　lost　and　alone；　wandering　in　a　maze　of　misery。
　　Pitiable　but　formidable。　And　still　out　there。　Waiting　to　be　told　where　he　could　find　Rose　Tucker。　And　Nina。
　　This　is　fun。
　　The　boy　enjoyed　the　killing。　Joe　supposed　it　was　even　possible　that　his　handlers　had　never　instructed　him　to　destroy　everyone　aboard　Nationwide　Flight　353；　that　he　had　done　it　as　an　act　of　rebellion　and　because　he　enjoyed　it。
　　Make　them　stop　or　when　I　get　the　chance　。　。　。　when　I　get　the　chance；　I'll　kill　everybody。　Everybody。　I　will。　I'll　do　it。　I'll　kill　everybody；　and　I'll　like　it。
　　Recalling　those　words　from　the　transcript；　Joe　sensed　that　the　boy　had　not　been　referring　merely　to　the　passengers　on　the　doomed　airliner。　By　then　he　had　already　made　the　decision　to　kill　them　all。　He　was　speaking　of　some　act　more　apocalyptic　than　three　hundred　and　twenty　murders。
　　What　could　he　acplish　if　provided　with　photographs　and　the　geographical　coordinates　of　not　merely　a　missile…tracking　facility　but　a　plex　of　nuclear…missile　launch　silos？
　　'Jesus；'　Joe　whispered。
　　Somewhere　in　the　night；　Nina　waited。　In　the　hands　of　a　friend　of　Rose's；　but　inadequately　protected。　Vulnerable。
　　Rose　seemed　to　be　taking　a　long　time。
　　Rapping　on　the　restroom　door；　Joe　called　her　name；　but　she　did　not　respond。　He　hesitated；　knocked　again；　and　when　she　weakly　called　'Joe；'　he　pushed　the　door　open。
　　She　was　perched　on　the　edge　of　the　toilet　seat。　She　had　taken　off　her　navy　blazer　and　her　white　blouse；　the　latter　lay　blood…soaked　on　the　sink。
　　He　hadn't　realized　she'd　been　bleeding。　Darkness　and　the　blazer　had　hidden　the　blood　from　him。
　　As　he　stepped　into　the　restroom；　he　saw　that　she　had　shaped　a　press　of　sorts　from　a　wad　of　wet　paper　towels。　She　was　pressing　it　to　her　left　pectoral　muscle；　above　her　breast。
　　'That　one　shot　on　the　beach；'　he　said　numbly。　'You　were　hit。'
　　'The　bullet　passed　through；'　she　said。　'There's　an　exit　wound　in　back。　Nice　and　clean。　I　haven't　even　bled　all　that　much；　and　the　pain　is　tolerable　。　。。　So　why　am　I　getting　weaker？'
　　'Internal　bleeding；'　he　suggested；　wincing　as　he　looked　at　the　exit　wound　in　her　back。
　　'I　know　anatomy；'　she　said。　'I　took　the　hit　in　just　the　right　spot。　Couldn't　have　picked　it　better。　Shouldn't　be　any　damage　to　major　vessels。'
　　'The　round　might　have　hit　a　bone　and　fragmented。　The　fragment　maybe　didn't　e　out；　took　a　different　track。'
　　'I　was　so　thirsty。　Tried　to　drink　some　water　from　the　faucet。　Almost　passed　out　when　I　bent　over。'
　　'This　settles　it；'　he　said。　His　heart　was　racing。　'We've　got　to　get　you　to　a　doctor。'
　　'Get　me　to　Nina。'
　　'Rose；　damn　it…'
　　'Nina　can　heal　me；'　she　said；　and　as　she　spoke；　she　looked　guiltily　away　from　him。
　　Astonished；　he　said；　'Heal　you？'
　　'Trust　me。　Nina　can　do　what　no　doctor　can；　what　no　one　else　on　earth　can　do。'
　　At　that　moment；　on　some　level；　he　knew　at　least　one　of　Rose　Tucker's　remaining　secrets；　but　he　could　not　allow　himself　to　take　out　that　dark　pearl　of　knowledge　and　examine　it。
　　'Help　me　get　my　blouse　and　blazer　on；　and　let's　go。　Get　me　into　Nina's　hands。　Her　healing　hands。'
　　Though　half　sick　with　worry；　he　did　as　she　wanted。　As　he　dressed　her；　he　remembered　how　larger　than　life　she　had　seemed　in　the　cemetery　Saturday　morning。　Now　she　was　so　small。
　　Through　a　hot　clawing　wind　that　mimicked　the　songs　of　wolves；　she　leaned　on　him　all　the　way　back　to　the　car。
　　When　he　got　her　settled　in　the　passenger's　seat；　she　asked　if　he　would　get　her　something　to　drink。
　　From　a　vending　machine　in　front　of　the　station；　he　purchased　a　can　of　Pepsi　and　one　of　Orange　Crush。　She　preferred　the　Crush；　and　he　opened　it　for　her。
　　Before　she　accepted　the　drink；　she　gave　him　two　things：　the　Polaroid　photograph　of　his　family's　graves；　and　the　folded　dollar…bill　on　which　the　serial　number；　minus　the　fourth　digit；　provided　the　phone　number　at　which　Mark　of　lnfiniface　could　be　reached　in　an　emergency。　'And　before　you　start　driving；　I　want　to　tell　you　how　to　find　the　cabin　in　Big　Bear…in　case　I　can't　hold　on　until　we　get　there。'
　　'Don't　be　silly。　You'll　make　it。'
　　'Listen；'　she　said；　and　again　she　projected　the　charisma　that　manded　attention。
　　He　listened　as　she　told　him　the　way；　and　his　familiarity　with　the　Big　Bear　area　was　such　that　he　didn't　need　to　write　down　the　directions。
　　'And　as　for　Infiniface；'　she　said；　'I　trust　them；　and　they　are　my　natural　allies…and　Nina's…as　Mark　said。　But　I'm　afraid　they　can　be　too　easily　infiltrated。　That's　why　I　wouldn't　let　them　e　with　us　tonight。　But　if　we're　not　followed；　then　this　car　is　clean；　and　maybe　their　security　is　good　enough。　If　worse　es　to　worst　and　you　don't　know　where　to　turn。　。　。　they　may　be　your　best　hope。'
　　His　chest　tightened　and　his　throat　thickened　as　she　spoke；　and　finally　he　said；　'I　don't　want　to　hear　any　more　of　this。　I'll　get　you　to　Nina　in　time。'
　　Rose's　right　hand　trembled　now；　and　Joe　was　not　certain　that　she　could　hold　the　Orange　Crush。　But　she　managed　it；　drinking　thirstily。
　　As　he　drove　back　onto　the　San　Bernardino　Freeway；　heading　east；　she　said；　'I've　never　meant　to　hurt　you；　Joe。'
　　'You　haven't。'
　　'I've　done　a　terrible　thing　though。'
　　He　glanced　at　her。　He　didn't　dare　ask　what　she　had　done。　He　kept　that　shiny　black　pearl　of　knowledge　tucked　deep　in　the　purse　of　his　mind。
　　'Don't　hate　me　too　much。'
　　'I　don't　hate　you　at　all。'
　　'My　motives　were　good。　They　haven't　always　been。　Certainly　weren't　spotless　when　I　went　to　work　at　Project　Ninety…nine。　But　my　motives　were　good　this　time；　Joe。'
　　Driving　out　of　the　light　storm　of　Los　Angeles　and　its　suburbs；　toward　the　mountain　darkness　where　Nina　dwelled；　Joe　waited　for　Rose　to　tell　him　why　he　should　hate　her。
　　'So　。　。　。　let　me　tell　you；'　she　said；　'about　the　project's　only　true　success　。　。
　　
　　Ascend；　now；　in　the　elevator　from　the　little　glimpse　of　hell　at　the　bottom　of　those　six　subterranean　levels；　leaving　the　boy　in　his　containment　vessel；　and　e　all　the　way　up　to　the　security　room　where　the　descent　began。　Farther　still；　to　the　southeast　corner　of　the　ground　floor；　where　CCY…21…21　resides。
　　She　was　conceived　without　passion　in　the　same　month　as　89…58；　though　she　was　the　project　not　of　Doctors　Blom　and　Ramlock；　but　of　Rose　Tucker。　She　is　a　lovely　child；　delicate；　fair　of　face；　with　golden　hair　and　amethyst　eyes。　Although　the　majority　of　the　orphans　living　here　are　of　average　intelligence；　CCY…21…21　has　an　unusually　high　IQ；　even　higher　perhaps　than　89…58；　and　she　loves　to　learn。　She　is　a　quiet　girl；　with　much　grace　and　natural　charm；　but　for　the　first　three　years　of　her　life；　she　exhibits　no　paranormal　abilities。
　　Then　on　a　sunny　May　afternoon；　when　she　is　participating　in　a　session　of　supervised　play　with　other　children　on　the　orphanage　lawn；　she　finds　a　sparrow　with　a　broken　wing　and　one　torn　eye。　It　lies　in　the　grass　beneath　a　tree；　flopping　weakly；　and　when　she　gathers　it　into　her　small　hands；　it　bees　fearfully　still。　Crying；　the　girl　hurries　with　the　bird　to　the　nearest　handler；　asking　what　can　be　done。　The　sparrow　is　now　so　weak　and　so　paralysed　by　fear　that　it　can　only　feebly　work　its　beak…and　produces　no　sound　whatsoever。　The　bird　is　dying；　the　handler　sees　nothing　to　be　done；　but　the　girl　will　not　accept　the　sparrow's　pending　death。　She　sits　on　the　ground；　grips　the　bird　gently　in　her　left　hand；　and　carefully　strokes　it　with　her　right；　singing　softly　to　it　a　song　about　Robin　Red　Breast…and　in　but　a　minute　the　sparrow　is　restored。　The　fractures　in　the　wing　knit　firm　again；　and　the　torn　eye　heals　into　a　bright；　clear　orb。　The　bird　sings…and　flies。
　　CCY…21…21　bees　the　centre　of　a　happy　whirlwind　of　attention。　Rose　Tucker；　who　has　been　driven　to　the　contemplation　of　suicide　by　the　nightmare　of　Project　99；　is　as　reborn　as　the　bird；　stepping　back　from　the　abyss　into　which　she　has　been　peering。　For　the　next　fifteen　months；　21…21's　healing　power　is　explored。　At　first　it　is　an　unreliable　talent；　which　she　cannot　exercise　at　will；　but　month　by　wondrous　month　she　learns　to　summon　and　control　her　gift；　until　she　can　apply　it　whenever　asked　to　do　so。　Those　on　Project　99　with　medical　problems　are　brought　to　a　level　of　health　they　never　expected　to　enjoy　again。　A　sel