dk.coldfire-第8节

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l　a　third　time　but　only　made　it　halfway；　ing　to　rest　on　its　roof　Hanging　upside　down　in　the　harness；　he　was　unhurt　but　badly　shaken。　
　He　choked　on　the　clouds　of　white　dust　that　poured　in　through　the　shattered　windshield。　
　They'll　be　ing　for　me　He　fumbled　frantically　for　the　harness　release；　found　it；　and　dropped　the　last　few　inches　onto　the　ceiling　of　the　overturned　car。　He　was　curled　on　top　of　the　shotgun。　He　had　been　damn　lucky　the　weapon　hadn't　discharged　as　it　slammed　around　inside　the　tumbling　Camaro。　
　ing　for　me　Disoriented；　he　needed　a　moment　to　find　the　door　handle；　which　was　over　his　head。　He　reached　up；　released　it。　At　first　the　door　would　not　open　Then　it　swung　outward　with　a　metallic　popping　and　squeaking。　
　He　crawled　off　the　ceiling；　out　onto　the　floor　of　the　desert；　feeling　as　though　he　had　bee　trapped　in　a　surreal　Daliesque　world　of　weird　perspective　He　reached　back　in　for　the　shotgun。　
　Though　the　ash…fine　dust　was　beginning　to　settle；　he　was　still　coughing　it　out　of　his　lungs。　Clenching　his　teeth；　he　tried　to　swallow　each　cough。　he　needed　to　be　quiet　if　he　were　to　survive。　
　Neither　as　quick　nor　as　inconspicuous　as　the　small　desert　lizards　the　scooted　across　his　path；　Jim　stayed　low　and　dashed　to　a　nearby　arroyo　When　he　arrived　at　the　edge　of　that　natural　drainage　channel；　he　discovered　it　was　only　about　four　feet　deep。　He　slid　over　the　lip；　and　his　feet　made　a　soft　slapping　sound　as　they　hit　the　hard…packed　bottom。　
　Crouching　in　that　shallow　declivity；　he　raised　his　head　slowly　to　grow　level　and　looked　across　the　desert　floor　toward　the　overturned　Camaro　around　which　the　haze　of　alkaline　dust　had　not　yet　entirely　dissipated。　
　the　highway；　the　Road　king　finished　reversing　along　the　pavement　and　halted　parallel　to　the　wrecked　car。　
　The　door　opened；　and　a　man　climbed　out。　Another　man；　having　exited　from　the　far　side；　hurried　around　the　front　of　the　motor　home　to　join　his　panion。　Neither　of　them　was　the　kindly…retiree…on…a…budget　that　a　might　have　imagined　behind　the　wheel　of　that　aging　caravan。　They　appeared　to　be　in　their　early　thirties　and　as　hard　as　heat…tempered　dense　rock。　One　of　them　wore　his　dark　hair　pulled　back　and　knotted　into　redoubled　ponytail…the　passe　style　that　kids　now　called　a　〃dork　knob〃　The　other　had　short　spiky　hair　on　top；　but　his　head　was　shaved　on　the　sides…as　if　he　thought　he　was　in　one　of　those　old　Mad　Max　movies。　they　wore　sleeveless　T…shirts；　jeans；　and　cowboy　boots；　and　both　carried　hand　guns。　They　headed　cautiously　toward　the　Camaro；　splitting　up　to　approach　it　from　opposite　ends。　
　Jim　drew　down　below　the　top　of　the　arroyo；　turned　right…which　was　approximately　west…and　rushed　in　a　crouch　along　the　shallow　channel　He　glanced　back　to　see　if　he　was　leaving　a　trail；　but　the　silt；　baked　under　months　of　fierce　sun　since　the　last　rain；　did　not　take　footprints。　
　After　about　fifty　feet；　the　arroyo　abruptly　angled　to　the　south；　left。　
　Sixty　feet　thereafter　it　disappeared　into　a　culvert　that　led　under　the　highway。　
　Hope　swept　through　him　but　did　not　still　the　tremors　of　fear　that　had　shaken　him　continuously　since　he　had　found　the　dying　man　in　the　station　wagon。　He　felt　as　if　he　was　going　to　puke。　But　he　had　not　eaten　breakfast　and　had　nothing　to　toss　up。　No　matter　what　the　nutritionists　said；　sometimes　it　paid　to　skip　a　meal。　
　Full　of　deep　shade；　the　concrete　culvert　was　paratively　cool。　
　He　was　tempted　to　stop　and　hide　there…and　hope　they　would　give　up；　go　away。　
　He　couldn't　do　that；　of　course。　He　wasn't　a　coward。　But　even　if　his　conscience　had　allowed　him　to　buy　into　a　little　cowardice　this　time；　the　mysterious　force　driving　him　would　not　permit　him　to　cut　and　run。　To　some　extent；　he　was　a　marionette　on　strings　invisible；　at　the　mercy　of　a　puppeteer　unseen；　in　a　puppet…theater　play　with　a　plot　he　could　not　understand　and　a　theme　that　eluded　him。　
　A　few　tumbleweed　had　found　their　way　into　the　culvert；　and　their　brittle　spines　raked　him　as　he　shoved　through　the　barrier　they　had　formed。　He　came　out　on　the　other　side　of　the　highway；　into　another　arm　of　the　arroyo；　and　scrambled　up　the　wall　of　that　parched　channel。　
　Lying　belly…first　on　the　desert　floor；　he　slithered　to　the　edge　of　the　elevated　roadbed　and　eased　up　to　look　across　the　pavement；　east　toward　the　motor　home。　Beyond　the　Road　king；　he　could　see　the　Camaro　like　a　dead　roach　on　its　back。　The　two　men　were　standing　near　it；　together　now。　
　Evidently；　they　had　just　checked　the　car　and　knew　he　was　not　in　it。　
　They　were　talking　animatedly；　but　they　were　too　far　away　for　Jim　to　hear　what　they　were　saying。　A　couple　of　words　carried　to　him；　but　they　were　faded　by　distance　and　distorted　by　the　furnace…dry　air。　
　Sweat　kept　trickling　into　his　eyes；　blurring　his　vision。　He　blotted　his　face　with　his　sleeve　and　squinted　at　the　men　again。　
　They　were　moving　slowly　away　from　the　Camaro　now；　deeper　into　the　desert。　One　of　them　was　wary；　swiveling　his　head　from　side　to　side；　and　the　other　studied　the　ground　as　they　moved；　no　doubt　searching　for　signs　of　Jim's　passage。　Just　his　luck；　one　of　them　would　turn　out　to　have　been　raised　by　Indian　scouts；　and　they'd　be　all　over　him　faster　than　an　iguana　on　a　sand　beetle。　
　From　the　west　came　the　sound　of　an　engine；　low　at　first　but　growing　rapidly　louder　even　as　Jim　turned　his　head　to　look　in　that　direction。　
　Out　of　a　waterfall　mirage　came　a　Peterbilt。　From　Jim's　low　vantage　point；　the　truck　looked　so　huge　that　it　didn't　even　seem　like　a　truck　but　like　some　futuristic　war　machine　that　had　traveled　backward　in　time　from　the　twenty…second　century。　
　The　driver　of　the　Peterbilt　would　see　the　overturned　Camaro。　In　the　traditional　Samaritan　spirit　that　most　truckers　showed　on　the　road；　he　would　stop　to　offer　assistance。　His　arrival　would　rattle　the　two　killers；　and　while　they　were　distracted；　Jim　would　get　the　drop　on　them。　
　He　had　it　all　figured　out…except　it　didn't　work　that　way。　The　Peterbilt　didn't　slow　as　it　approached；　and　Jim　realized　he　was　going　to　have　to　flag　it　down。　But　before　he　could　even　rise　up；　the　big　truck　swept　past　with　n　dragon　roar　and　a　blast　of　hot　wind；　breaking　the　speed　limit　by　a　Guinness　margin；　as　if　it　were　a　judgment　wagon　driven　by　a　demon　and　loaded　with　souls　that　the　devil　wanted　in　hell　right　now　Jim　fought　the　urge　to　leap　up　and　yell　after　it：　Where's　your　tradition　Samaritan　spirit；　you　shithead？　Silence　returned　to　the　hot　day。　
　On　the　far　side　of　the　road；　the　two　killers　looked　after　the　Peterbilt　for　moment；　then　continued　their　search　for　Jim。　
　Furious　and　scared；　he　eased　back　from　the　shoulder　of　the　highway；　flattened　out　again；　and　belly…crawled　eastward　toward　the　motor　home；　dragging　the　shotgun　with　him。　The　elevated　roadbed　was　between　him　and　them；　they　could　not　possibly　see　him；　yet　he　more　than　half　expected　them　to　sprint　across　the　blacktop　and　pump　half　a　dozen　rounds　into　him　When　he　dared　look　up　again；　he　was　directly　opposite　the　parked　Road　king；　which　blocked　the　two　men　from　his　view。　If　he　couldn't　see　them；　they　couldn't　see　him。　He　scrambled　to　his　feet　and　crossed　the　pavement　to　the　passenger　side　of　the　motor　home。　
　The　door　on　that　flank　was　a　third　of　the　way　from　the　front　bumper　at　the　rear；　not　opposite　the　driver's　door。　It　was　ajar。　
　He　took　hold　of　the　handle。　Then　he　realized　that　a　third　man　might　have　stayed　inside　with　the　woman　and　girl。　He　couldn't　risk　going　in　there　until　he　had　dealt　with　the　two　outside；　for　he　might　be　trapped　between　gunmen。　
　He　moved　to　the　front　of　the　Road　king；　and　just　as　he　reached　the　corner；　he　heard　voices　approaching。　He　froze；　waiting　for　the　guy　with　the　weird　haircut　to　e　around　the　front　bumper。　But　they　stopped　on　the　other　side。　
　〃…who　gives　a　shit？〃　〃…but　he　mighta　seen　our　license　number…〃　〃…chances　are；　he's　bad　hurt…〃　〃…wasn't　no　blood　in　the　car〃　Jim　sank　to　one　knee　by　the　tire；　looked　under　the　vehicle。　They　were　standing　on　the　other　side；　near　the　driver's　door。　
　〃…we　just　take　the　next　southbound…〃　〃…with　cops　on　our　tail〃　〃…by　the　time　he　gets　to　any　cops；　we'll　be　in　Arizona〃　〃…you　hope…〃　〃…I　know…〃　Rising；　moving　cautiously；　Jim　slipped　around　the　front　corner　of　the　Road　king。　He　eased　past　the　first　pair　of　headlights　and　the　engine　hatch　〃…cut　across　Arizona　into　New　Mexico…〃　〃…they　got　cops；　too…〃　〃…into　Texas；　put　a　few　states　between　us；　drive　all　night　if　we　have　to。〃　Jim　was　grateful　that　the　shoulder　of　the　highway　was　dirt　rather　than　loose　gravel。　He　crept　silently　across　it　to　the　driver's…side　headlights；　staying　low。　
　〃…you　know　what　piss…poor　cooperation　they　got　across　state　lines　〃　〃…he's　out　there　somewhere；　damn　it〃　〃…so're　a　million　scorpions　and　rattlesnakes…〃　Jim　stepped　around　to　their　side　of　the　motor　home；　covering　them　with　the　shotgun。　〃Don't　move！〃　For　an　instant　they　gaped　at　him　the　way　he　might　have　stared　at　a　three…eyed　Martian　with　a　mouth　in　its　forehead。　They　were　only　about　eight　feet　away；　close　enough　to　spit　on；　which　they　looked　like　they　deserved。　At　a　distance　they　had　appeared　as　dangerous　as　snakes　with　legs；　and　they　still　looked　deadlier　than　anything　that　slithered　in　the　desert。　
　They　were　holding　their　handguns；　pointed　at　the　ground。　Jim　thrust