sk.dreamcatcher-第51节

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that　fuzzy；　mildev；7ystuff　on　the　floor；　but　you　could　see　the　hardwood。　On　the　Navajo　rug；　however；　it　had　already　grown　so　thick　that　it　was　hard　to　make　out　the　pattern。　No　doubt　whatever　it　was　did　better　in　the　heat；　but　still；　the　rate　of　growth　was　scary。
　　　　Henry　started　to　step　in；　then　thought　better　of　it。　He　backed　two　or　three　paces　away　from　the　doorway　instead　and　only　stood　there　in　the　snow；　very　aware　of　his　bleeding　nose　and　the　holes　in　his　gums　where　there　had　been　teeth　when　he　woke　up　this　morning。　If　that　mossy　stuff　was　producing　some　sort　of　airborne　virus；　like　Ebola　or　Hanta；　he　was　probably　cooked　already；　and　anything　he　did　would　amount　to　no　more　than　locking　the　barn　door　after　the　horse　had　been　stolen。　But　there　was　no　sense　taking　unnecessary　risks；　was　there？
　　　　He　turned　and　walked　around　Hole　in　the　Wall　to　the　Gulch　side；　still　walking　in　the　packed　tread　of　the　departed　Arctic　Cat　to　keep　from　sinking　into　the　new　snow。


2

The　door　to　the　shed　was　open；　too。　And　Henry　could　see　Jonesy；　yes；　clear　as　day；　Jonesy　pausing　in　the　doorway　before　going　in　to　get　the　snowmobile；　Jonesy　holding　to　the　side　of　the　doorway　with　a　casual　hand；　Jonesy　listening　to　。　。　。　to　the　what？
　　　　To　the　nothing。　No　crows　cawing；　no　jays　scolding；　no　woodpeckers　pecking；　no　squirrels　scuttering。　There　was　only　the　wind　and　an　occasional　padded　plop　as　a　clot　of　snow　slid　off　a　pine　or　spruce　and　hit　the　new　snow　beneath。　The　local　wildlife　was　gone；　had　moved　on　like　goofy　animals　in　a　Gary　Larson　cartoon。
　　　　He　stood　where　he　was　for　a　moment；　calling　up　his　memory　of　the　shed's　interior。　Pete　would　have　done　better　…　Pete　would　have　stood　here　with　his　eyes　closed　and　his　forefinger　ticking　back　and　forth；　then　told　you　where　everything　was；　right　down　to　the　smallest　jar　of　screws　…　but　in　this　case　Henry　thought　he　could　do　without　Pete's　special　skill。　He'd　been　out　here　just　yesterday；　looking　for　something　to　help　him　open　a　kitchen　cabinet　door　that　was　swelled　shut。　He　had　seen　then　what　he　wanted　now。
　　　　Henry　inhaled　and　exhaled　rapidly　several　times；　hyperventilating　his　lungs　clean；　then　pressed　his　gloved　hand　tight　over　his　mouth　and　nose　and　stepped　in。　He　stood　still　for　a　moment；　waiting　for　his　eyes　to　adjust　to　the　dim。　He　didn't　want　to　be　surprised　by　anything　if　he　could　help　it。
　　　　When　he　could　see　well　again；　Henry　stepped　across　the　empty　place　where　the　snowmobile　had　been。　There　was　nothing　on　the　floor　now　but　an　overlaid　pattern　of　oil　stains；　but　there　were　more　patches　of　that　reddish…gold　crud　growing　on　the　green　tarp　which　had　covered　the　Cat　and　was　now　cast　aside　in　the　er。
　　　　The　worktable　was　a　mess　…　a　jar　of　nails　and　one　of　screws　overturned　so　that　what　had　been　kept　carefully　separate　was　now　mixed　together；　an　old　pipe…holder　that　had　belonged　to　Lamar　Clarendon　knocked　to　the　floor　and　broken；　all　the　drawers　built　into　the　table's　thickness　yanked　open　and　left　that　way。　One　of　them；　Beaver　or　Jonesy；　had　gone　through　this　place　like　a　whirlwind；　looking　for　something。
　　　　It　was　Jonesy。
　　　　Yeah。　Henry　might　never　know　what　it　was；　but　it　had　been　Jonesy；　he　knew　that；　and　it　had　clearly　been　almighty　important　to　him　or　to　both　of　them。　Henry　wondered　if　Jonesy　had　found　it。　He　would　probably　never　know　that；　either。　Meanwhile；　what　he　wanted　was　clearly　visible　in　the　far　er　of　the　room；　hung　on　a　nail　above　a　pile　of　paint…cans　and　sprayguns。
　　　　Still　holding　his　hand　over　his　mouth　and　nose；　breath　held；　Henry　crossed　the　interior　of　the　shed。　There　were　at　least　four　of　the　little　nose…and…mouth　painters'　masks　hanging　from　elastics　which　had　lost　most　of　their　snap。　He　took　them　all　and　turned　in　time　to　see　something　move　behind　the　door。　He　kept　himself　from　gasping；　but　his　heartbeat　jumped；　and　all　at　once　the　double　lungful　of　air　that　had　gotten　him　this　far　seemed　too　hot　and　heavy。　Nothing　there；　either；　it　had　just　been　his　imagination。　Then　he　saw　that　yeah；　there　was　something。　Light　came　in　through　the　open　door；　a　little　more　came　in　through　the　single　dirty　window　over　the　table；　and　Henry　had　literally　jumped　at　his　own　shadow。
　　　　He　left　the　shed　in　four　big　steps；　the　painters'　masks　swinging　from　his　right　hand。　He　held　onto　his　lungfill　of　decayed　air　until　he'd　made　four　more　steps　along　the　packed　track　of　the　snowmobile；　then　let　it　out　in　an　explosive　rush。　He　bent　over；　hands　planted　on　his　thighs　above　his　knees；　small　black　dots　flocking　before　his　eyes　and　then　dissolving。
　　　　From　the　east　came　a　distant　crackle　of　gunfire。　Not　rifles；　it　was　too　loud　and　fast　for　that。　Those　were　automatic　weapons。　In　Henry's　mind　there　came　a　vision　as　clear　as　the　memory　of　milk　running　down　his　father's　chin　or　Barry　Newman　fleeing　his　office　with　rockets　on　his　heels。　He　saw　the　deer　and　the　coons　and　the　chucks　and　the　feral　dogs　and　the　rabbits　being　cut　down　in　their　dozens　and　their　hundreds　as　they　tried　to　escape　what　was　now　pretty　clearly　a　plague　zone；　he　could　see　the　snow　turning　red　with　their　innocent　（but　possibly　contaminated）　blood。　This　vision　hurt　him　in　a　way　he　had　not　expected；　piercing　through　to　a　place　that　wasn't　dead　but　only　dozing。　It　was　the　place　that　had　resonated　so　strongly　to　Duddits's　weeping；　setting　up　a　harmonic　tone　that　made　you　feel　as　if　your　head　were　going　to　explode。
　　　　Henry　straightened　up；　saw　fresh　blood　on　the　palm　of　his　left　glove；　and　cried　'Ah；　shit！'　at　the　sky　in　a　voice　that　was　both　furious　and　amused。　He　had　covered　his　mouth　and　nose；　he　had　gotten　the　masks　and　was　planning　on　wearing　at　least　two　when　he　went　inside　Hole　in　the　Wall；　but　he　had　pletely　forgotten　the　gash　in　his　thigh；　the　one　he'd　gotten　when　the　Scout　rolled　over。　If　there　had　been　a　contaminant　out　there　in　the　shed；　something　given　off　by　the　fungus；　the　chances　were　excellent　that　it　was　in　him　now。　Not　that　the　precautions　he　had　taken　were　any　such　of　a　much。　Henry　imagined　a　sign；　big　red　letters　reading　BIOHAZARD　AREA！　　PLEASE　HOLD　BREATH　AND　COVER　ANY　SCRATCHES　YOU　MAY　HAVE　WITH　YOUR　HAND！
　　　　He　grunted　laughter　and　started　back　toward　the　cabin。　Well；　good　God；　Maude；　it　wasn't　as　if　he　had　planned　to　live　forever；　anyway…
　　　　Off　to　the　east；　the　gunfire　crackled　on　and　on。


3

Once　again　standing　outside　Hole　in　the　Wall's　open　door；　Henry　felt　in　his　back　pocket　for　a　handkerchief　without　much　hope　of　finding　one　。　。　。　and　didn't。　Two　of　the　unadvertised　attractions　of　spending　time　in　the　woods　were　urinating　where　you　wanted　and　just　leaning　over　and　giving　a　honk　when　your　nose　felt　in　need　of　a　blow。　There　was　something　primally　satisfying　about　letting　the　piss　and　the　snot　fly　。　。　。　to　men；　at　least。　When　you　thought　about　it；　it　was　sort　of　a　blue…eyed　wonder　that　women　could　love　the　best　of　them；　let　alone　the　rest　of　them。
　　　　He　took　off　his　coat；　the　shirt　under　it；　and　the　thermal　undershirt　beneath　that。　The　final　layer　was　a　faded　Boston　Red　Sox　tee…shirt　with　GARCIAPARRA　5　on　the　back。　Henry　took　this　off；　spun　it　into　a　bandage；　and　wrapped　it　around　the　blood…caked　tear　in　the　left　leg　of　his　jeans；　thinking　again　that　he　was　locking　the　barn　door　after　the　horse　had　been　stolen。　Still；　you　filled　in　the　blanks；　didn't　you？　Yes；　you　filled　in　the　blanks　and　you　printed　neatly　and　legibly。　These　were　the　concepts　upon　which　life　ran。　Even　when　life　was　running　out；　it　seemed。
　　　　He　put　the　rest　of　his　outerwear　back　on　over　his　goosepimply　top　half；　then　donned　two　of　the　teardrop…shaped　painters'　masks。　He　considered　fixing　two　of　the　others　over　his　ears；　imagined　those　narrow　bands　of　elastic　crisscrossing　the　back　of　his　head　like　the　straps　of　a　shoulder　holster；　and　burst　out　laughing。　What　else？　Use　the　last　mask　to　cover　one　eye？
　　　　'If　it　gets　me；　it　gets　me；'　he　said；　at　the　same　time　reminding　himself　that　it　wouldn't　hurt　to　be　careful；　a　little　dose　of　careful　never　hurt　a　man；　old　Lamar　used　to　say。
　　　　Inside　Hole　in　the　Wall；　the　fungus　（or　mildew；　or　whatever　it　was）　had　gone　forward　appreciably　even　during　the　short　time　Henry　had　been　in　the　shed。　The　Navajo　rug　was　now　covered　side　to　side；　with　not　even　the　slightest　pattern　showing　through。　There　were　patches　on　the　couch；　the　counter　between　the　kitchen　and　the　dining　area；　and　on　the　seats　of　two　of　the　three　stools　which　stood　on　the　living…room　side　of　the　counter。　A　crooked　capillary　of　red…gold　fuzz　ran　up　one　leg　of　the　dining…room　table；　as　if　following　the　line　of　a　spill；　and　Henry　was　reminded　of　how　ants　will　congregate　on　even　the　thinnest　track　of　spilled　sugar。　Perhaps　the　most　distressing　thing　of　all　was　the　red…gold　fuzz　of　cobweb　hanging　high　over　the　Navajo　rug。　Henry　looked　at　it　fixedly　for　several　seconds　before　realizing　what　it　really　was：　Lamar　Clarendon's　dreamcatcher。　Henry　didn't　think　he　would　ever　know　exactly　what　had　happened　here；　but　of　one　thing　he　was　sure：　the　dreamcatcher　had　snared　a　real　nightmare　this　time。
　　　　You　aren't　really　going　any　farther　in　here；　are　you？　Now　that　you've　seen　how　fast　it　grows？　Jonesy　looked　all　right　when　he　went　by；　but　he　wasn't　all　right；　and　you　know　it。　You　felt　it。　So　。　。　。　you　aren't　really　going　on；　are