wt.theyearofthequietsun-第34节

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　　Saltus　turned　a　corner　at　a　fast　clip；　skidding　in　the　snow　and　then　straightening　his　course　toward　the　front　gate。　It　was　a　small　fort　to　find　the　gatehouse　still　standing：　concrete　blocks　were　difficult　to　burn　or　destroy。　The　gate　itself　was　torn　open　and　twisted　back　Out　of　the　way。　He　drove　through　it　and　concentrated　on　the　barely　visible　pattern　of　the　road　ahead；　the　smooth　unbroken　expanse　of　snow　flanked　by　shallow　ditches　to　either　side　guided　him。　Only　last　Thursday　he　and　William　had　raced　over　the　road　hell…bent　for　a　day　in　Joliet。
　　A　bearded　man　leaped　out　of　the　gatehouse　and　put　a　shot　through　the　rear　window　of　the　car。
　　Arthur　Saltus　didn't　take　the　time　to　decide　if　he　was　astonished　or　outraged…the　shot　did　frighten　him；　and　he　reacted　automatically　to　danger。　Slamming　the　accelerator　to　the　floor；　he　spun　hard　on　the　wheel　and　threw　the　car　into　a　sickening　skid。　It　lurched　and　swung　around　in　a　dizzy　arc；　ing　to　rest　with　its　blunt　nose　aimed　at　the　gatehouse。　Saltus　floored　the　accelerator。　The　rear　wheels　spun　uselessly　on　the　slick　snow；　found　a　purchase　only　when　they　had　burned　down　to　the　pavement；　then　thrust　the　car　forward　in　a　burst　of　speed　that　caught　him　unprepared。　It　careened　wildly　through　the　gate。　He　rammed　the　nose　hard　against　the　gatehouse　door　and　leaped　clear；　hugging　the　side　of　the　vehicle。
　　Saltus　pumped　two　quick　shots　through　the　sagging　door；　and　was　answered　by　a　scream　of　pain；　he　fired　again　and　then　scrambled　over　the　hood　to　crouch　in　the　doorway。　The　screaming　man　lay　on　the　floor　tearing　at　his　bloodied　chest。　A　tall；　gaunt　black　man　was　backed　against　the　far　wall　taking　aim　at　him。　Saltus　fired　without　raising　the　rifle；　and　then　deliberately　turned　and　put　a　finishing　shot　through　the　head　of　the　man　writhing　on　the　floor。　The　screaming　stopped。
　　For　a　moment　the　world　was　wrapped　in　silence。
　　Saltus　said：　〃Now；　what　the　hell…〃
　　An　incredibly　violent　blow　struck　him　in　the　small　of　his　back；　robbing　him　of　breath　and　speech；　and　he　heard　the　sound　of　a　shot　from　an　unimaginable　distance　away。　He　stumbled　and　went　to　his　knees　while　a　raging　fire　burned　up　his　spine　into　his　skull。　Another　distant　shot　shattered　the　peace　of　the　world；　but　this　once　he　felt　nothing。　Saltus　turned　on　his　knees　to　meet　the　threat。
　　The　ramjet　was　climbing　over　the　hood　of　the　little　fun　car　to　get　at　him。
　　Caught　up　like　a　man　swimming　in　mud；　Saltus　raised　the　rifle　and　tried　to　take　aim。　The　weapon　was　almost　too　heavy　to　lift；　he　moved　in　a　slow；　agonizing　motion。　The　ramjet　slid　down　the　hood　and　jumped　through　the　doorway；　reaching　for　him　or　his　rifle。　Saltus　squinted　at　the　face　but　it　refused　to　e　into　clear　focus。　Somebody　behind　the　face　loomed　over　him　as　large　as　a　mountain；　somebody's　hands　grasped　the　barrel　of　the　rifle　and　pulled　it　away。　Saltus　squeezed　the　trigger。
　　The　looming　face　changed：　it　disintegrated　in　a　confusing　jumble　of　bone；　blood；　and　tissue；　ing　apart　like　William's　electric　car　under　a　mortar　barrage。　The　face　out　of　focus　disappeared　while　a　booming　thunder　filled　the　gatehouse　and　rattled　the　broken　door。　A　large　piece　of　the　mountain　teetered　over　him；　threatening　to　bury　him　when　it　came　down。　Saltus　tried　to　crawl　away。
　　The　toppling　body　knocked　him　off　his　knees　and　knocked　away　his　weapon。　He　went　down　beneath　it；　still　fighting　for　breath　and　praying　not　to　be　crushed。
　　
　　
　　Arthur　Saltus　opened　his　eyes　to　find　the　daylight　gone。　An　intolerable　burden　pinned　him　to　the　gatehouse　floor　and　an　overpowering　hurt　wracked　his　body。
　　Moving　painfully　but　gaining　only　an　inch　or　two　at　a　time；　he　crawled　from　under　the　burden　and　tried　to　roll　it　aside。　After　minutes　or　hours　of　strenuous　effort　he　climbed　as　far　as　his　knees　and　threw　off　the　knapsack　hammering　at　his　back；　he　spilled　as　much　water　as　he　drank　before　the　canteen　followed。　His　rifle　lay　on　the　floor　at　his　knee；　but　he　was　astonished　to　discover　that　his　hand　and　arm　lacked　the　strength　to　pick　it　up。　It　may　have　taken　another　hour　to　draw　the　service　automatic　from　uiider　his　coat　and　place　it　on　the　hood　of　the　car。
　　An　unbelievable　time　was　spent　in　crawling　over　the　same　hood　to　get　outside。　The　gun　was　knocked　to　the　ground。　Saltus　bent　over；　touched　it；　fingered　it；　grew　dizzy　and　had　to　abandon　the　weapon　to　save　himself。　He　grabbed　at　the　door　handle　and　hauled　himself　upright。　After　a　while　he　tried　it　again；　and　only　managed　to　seize　the　gun　and　stand　upright　before　the　recurring　wave　of　nausea　struck　him。　His　stomach　doubled　up　and　ejected。
　　Saltus　climbed　into　the　car　and　backed　it　off　from　the　gatehouse　door。　Opening　the　near　window　to　get　the　cold　bracing　air；　he　tugged　at　the　drive　selector　and　steered　a　tortuous　course　from　gate　to　parking　lot。　The　car　glanced　off　one　curb　and　skidded　across　the　snow　to　jump　the　other　curb；　it　would　have　thrown　its　occupant　if　it　had　been　traveling　at　greater　speed。　Saltus　had　lost　the　strength　to　push　down　on　the　brake；　and　the　little　car　stopped　only　when　it　slammed　into　the　concrete　wall　of　the　laboratory。　He　was　thrown　against　the　wheel　and　then　out　into　the　snow。　A　spotted　trail　of　blood　marked　his　erratic　path　from　the　car　to　the　door　with　the　twin　locks。
　　The　door　opened　easily…so　easily　that　a　dim　corner　of　his　fogged　consciousness　nagged　at　him：　had　he　inserted　both　keys　into　the　locks　before　the　door　swung？　Had　he　inserted　any　key？
　　Arthur　Saltus　fell　down　the　flight　of　stairs　because　he　could　not　help　himself。
　　The　gun　was　gone　from　his　hand　but　he　couldn't　remember　losing　it；　his　bottle　of　birthday　bourbon　was　gone　from　his　pocket　but　he　couldn't　remember　emptying　it　or　throwing　away　the　bottle；　the　keys　to　the　door　were　lost。　Saltus　lay　on　his　back　on　the　dusty　concrete；　looking　at　the　bright　lights　and　looking　up　the　stairs　at　the　closed　door。　He　didn't　remember　closing　that　door。
　　A　voice　said：　〃Fifty　hours。〃
　　He　knew　he　was　losing　touch　with　reality；　knew　he　was　drifting　back　and　forth　between　cold；　painful　awareness　and　dark　periods　of　feverish　fantasy。　He　wanted　to　sleep　on　the　floor；　wanted　to　stretch　out　with　his　face　on　the　cold　concrete　and　let　the　raging　fire　in　his　spine　burn　itself　out。　Katrina's　vest　had　saved　his　life…　barely。　The　slug…more　than　one？…was　lodged　in　his　back；　but　without　the　vest　it　would　have　torn　all　the　way　through　his　chest　and　blown　away　the　rib　cage。　Thanks；　Katrina。
　　A　voice　said：　〃Fifty　hours。〃
　　He　tried　to　stand　up；　but　fell　on　his　face。　He　tried　to　climb　to　his　knees；　but　pitched　forward　on　his　face。　There　was　not　much　strength　left　to　him。　In　time　with　the　measured　passing　of　an　eternity；　he　crawled　to　the　TDV　on　his　belly。
　　Arthur　Saltus　struggled　for　an　hour　to　climb　the　side　of　the　vehicle。　His　awareness　was　slipping　away　in　a　sea　of　nauseous　fantasy：　he　had　the　hallucinatory　notion　that　someone　pulled　off　his　heavy　boots…that　someone　removed　the　heavy　winter　garments　and　tried　to　take　off　his　clothing。　When　at　last　he　fell　head　first　through　the　vehicle's　open　hatch；　he　had　the　fever…fantasy　that　someone　out　there　had　helped　him　over　the　side。
　　A　voice　said：　〃Push　the　kickbar。〃
　　He　lay　on　his　stomach　on　the　webbing　facing　in　the　wrong　direction；　and　remembered　that　the　engineers　wouldn't　recover　the　vehicle　until　the　end　of　fifty　hours。　They　had　done　that　when　William　failed　to　return。　Something　was　under　him；　hurting　him；　putting　a　hard　new　pressure　on　a　rib　cage　already　painfully　sore。　Saltus　pulled　the　lump　from　beneath　him　and　found　a　tape　recorder。　He　pushed　it　toward　the　kickbar　but　it　fell　inches　short　of　the　goal。　The　hallucination　slammed　shut　the　hatch　cover。
　　He　said　thickly：　〃Chaney　。　。　。　the　bandits　have　burned　the　treasure　house　。　。　。〃
　　The　tape　recorder　was　thrown　at　the　kickbar。
　　
　　The　time　was　forty　minutes　after　two　in　the　morning；　24　November　2000。　His　fiftieth　birthday　was　long　past。
　　
　　Brian　Chaney
　　2000…plus
　　
　　The　meek；　the　terrible　meek；
　　the　fierce　agonizing　meek；
　　Are　about　to　enter　into　their　inheritance。
　　
　　　　…　Charles　Rann　Kennedy
　　
　　FIFTEEN
　　
　　Chaney　was　apprehensive。
　　The　red　light　blinked　out。　He　reached　up　to　unlock　the　hatch　and　throw　it　open。　The　green　light　went　dark。　Chaney　grasped　the　two　handrails　and　pulled　up　to　a　sitting　position；　with　his　head　and　shoulders　protruding　through　the　hatchway。　He　hoped　he　was　alone　in　the　room…the　vehicle　was　in　darkness。　The　air　was　sharply　cold　and　smelled　of　ozone。　He　struggled　out　of　the　hatch　and　climbed　over　the　side。　Saltus　had　warned　him　the　stool　was　gone　so　he　slid　cautiously　to　the　floor；　and　clung　to　the　polywater　tank　for　a　moment　of　orientation。　The　blackness　around　him　was　plete：　he　saw　nothing；　heard　nothing　but　the　hoarse　sound　of　his　own　breathing。
　　Brian　Chaney　reached　up　to　slam　shut　the　hatch　but　then　stopped　himself…the　TDV　was　his　only　lifeline　to　home　base　and　it　was　wiser　to　keep　that　hatch　open　and　waiting。　He　stretched　out　his　hand　to　grope　for　the　locker；　he　remembered　its　approximate　location；　and　took　a　few　hesitant　steps　in　the　darkness　until　he　bumped　into　it。　His　suit　hung　in　a　dusty　paper　sheath；　prepa