p&c.thunderhead-第46节

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e　front　grille；　with　its　heavy　chrome　fangs；　listed　slightly　to　the　left；　giving　it　a　shambling；　menacing　appearance。　There　were　just　enough　dents　here　and　there　around　the　body　to　let　other　drivers　know　that　one　more　wouldn't　make　any　difference。　
　There；　sitting　in　the　driver's　seat；　was　Teddy　Bear。　His　monstrous　tongue　hung　out　in　the　heat　and　was　dripping　saliva　all　over　the　seat；　but　he　looked　fine。　
　〃Teddy　Bear；　you　old　rascal！〃　cried　Skip。　
　The　dog　whined；　slobbering　over　his　hand。　
　〃Move　over；　for　chrissakes。　I'm　the　one　with　a　driver's　license。〃　He　shoved　the　hundred…pound　dog　into　the　passenger　seat　and　got　behind　the　wheel。　
　Placing　the　gun　in　the　glove　partment；　Skip　put　the　car　in　gear　and　maneuvered　back　onto　the　dirt　road。　He　realized　that　he　felt　better　than　he　had　all　day；　somehow；　despite　the　grimness　and　tragedy　of　the　scene；　it　was　a　relief　to　put　this　particular　pilgrimage　behind　him。　Mentally；　he　began　sorting　out　his　evening。　First　he'd　have　to　load　up　on　dog　food；　it　would　bust　his　slim　budget；　but　what　the　hell。　Then　he'd　swing　by　the　Noodle　Emporium　for　some　curried　Singapore　mei　fun；　and　study　the　book　on　Anasazi　pottery　styles　that　Sonya　Rowling　had　given　him　two　days　before。　It　was　a　fascinating　text；　and　he'd　found　himself　staying　up　late；　underlining　passages；　scribbling　notes　in　the　margin。　He'd　even　forgotten　to　crack　open　the　new　bottle　of　mescal　that　stood　on　his　living　room　table。　
　The　car　rattled　over　the　cattle　guard　and　Skip　lurched　onto　the　main　road；　pointing　the　Fury　toward　town　and　gunning　the　engine；　eager　to　put　the　ranch　house　far　behind。　The　dog　hung　his　head　out　the　window；　the　low　whining　now　replaced　by　an　eager　snuffling　and　slobbering。　Strings　of　saliva　curled　away　into　the　breeze。　
　Skip　descended　the　hill　toward　Fox　Run；　fitting　pot　pieces　together　in　his　mind；　as　the　desert　dirt　road　fell　away　and　macadam　and　manicured　golf　links　took　its　place。　Some　half　a　mile　ahead；　at　the　base　of　the　long　downhill；　the　road　curved　sharply　before　passing　the　clubhouse。　As　a　boy；　Skip　had　ridden　his　father's　dirt　bike　right　through　where　the　clubhouse　now　stood。　That　was　ten　years　ago；　he　mused。　There　hadn't　been　a　house　within　three　miles。　Now　it　was　home　to　seventy…two　holes　of　golf　and　six　hundred　condominiums。　
　The　big　car　had　picked　up　speed　and　the　curve　was　ing　up　fast。　Mentally　returning　to　his　potsherds；　Skip　put　his　foot　on　the　brake。　
　And　felt　it　sink；　without　resistance；　to　the　metal　floorboards。　
　Instantly　he　sat　forward；　adrenaline　burning　through　his　limbs。　He　pressed　the　pedal　again；　then　stamped　on　it。　Nothing。　He　looked　ahead　through　wide　eyes。　Just　a　quarter　mile　ahead　now；　the　road　veered　to　the　left；　avoiding　a　huge　ledge　of　basalt　that　thrust　out　of　the　desert。　With　horrible　clarity；　Skip　could　see　a　metal　plaque　screwed　into　the　ledge。　
　FOX　RUN　COUNTRY　CLUB
　CAUTION：　GOLFERS　CROSSING　
　He　glanced　at　the　speedometer：　sixty…two。　He'd　never　make　the　turn；　he'd　wipe　out；　turn　over。　He　could　throw　it　into　reverse；　or　even　park；　but　that　might　pitch　the　car　out　of　control　and　wrap　him　around　the　ledge。　
　In　desperation；　he　jammed　on　the　emergency　brake。　There　was　a　sudden　lunge　and　a　high　squealing　sound；　and　the　smell　of　burning　steel　filled　the　car。　The　dog　sprawled　forward；　yelping　in　surprise。　Dimly；　he　was　aware　of　a　party　of　white…haired　golfers　on　a　nearby　green；　swiveling　their　necks　and　staring；　open…mouthed；　as　he　flew　by。　Somebody　jumped　out　of　a　golf　cart　and　began　to　sprint　toward　the　clubhouse。　
　The　wheel　bucked　in　Skip's　hands　and　he　realized　he　was　losing　control。　The　basalt　ledge　yawned　ahead；　no　more　than　a　few　seconds　away。　He　turned　the　car　sharply　to　the　left。　It　twisted　beneath　him；　turning　wide；　then　swinging　around　in　one　plete　revolution；　then　another。　Skip　was　shouting　now　but　he　couldn't　hear　himself　over　the　squealing　of　the　tires。　In　a　dense　pall　of　burning　rubber；　the　car　sheered　off　the　road；　still　spinning；　the　tires　catching　first　gravel；　then　grass。　There　was　a　tremendous　lurch　and　the　car　came　to　a　violent　stop。　A　thick　wash　of　cream…colored　sand　settled　on　the　dashboard　and　hood。　
　Skip　sat　motionless；　fingers　glued　to　the　dead　wheel。　The　squeal　of　tires　was　replaced　by　the　tick　of　cooling　metal。　Dimly；　he　was　aware　that　he　had　landed　in　a　bunker；　canted　sharply　to　one　side。　Black；　foul…smelling；　slobbering　lips　and　tongue　hovered　before　his　eyes　as　Teddy　Bear　frantically　licked　at　his　face。　
　The　sounds　of　pattering　feet；　quick　worried　conversation；　then　a　rap　on　the　windshield。　〃Sonny？〃　came　the　concerned　voice。　〃Hey；　son；　you　okay？〃　
　If　Skip　heard；　he　gave　no　sign。　Instead；　he　removed　his　trembling　hands　from　the　wheel；　grasped　the　two　ends　of　the　seat　belt；　and　slowly　fastened　them　around　his　waist。　
　
　
29
　
　THE　REST　OF　THE　FIRST　FULL　DAY　OF　WORK　AT　Quivira　went　exceptionally　well。　The　core　members　of　the　expedition　set　to　their　tasks　with　a　professionalism　that　both　impressed　and　heartened　Nora。　Black；　in　particular；　had　settled　down　and　was　quickly　confirming　his　reputation　as　a　top…notch　field…worker。　With　remarkable　speed；　Holroyd　had　assembled　a　wireless　paging　network；　designed　around　a　central　transmitter；　to　allow　the　members　of　the　group　to　municate　with　each　other　from　anywhere　within　the　site。　The　fascination　and　allure　of　Quivira　worked　a　special　magic　on　professional　and　amateur　alike。　Around　the　campfire　that　evening；　again　and　again；　conversation　would　spontaneously　cease；　and；　as　if　with　a　single　mind；　all　eyes　would　be　irresistibly　drawn　up　the　dark　walls　of　the　canyon；　in　the　direction　of　the　invisible　hollow　where　the　city　was　concealed。　
　As　the　following　morning　drew　to　a　close；　early　summer　heat　had　settled　in　the　canyon　below；　but　halfway　up　the　cliff　face；　beneath　the　shadow　of　the　rock；　the　city　itself　remained　cool。　Holroyd　had　ascended　the　ladder；　checked　in　with　the　Institute；　and　descended　without　incident；　returning　to　his　task　of　scanning　the　roomblocks　with　the　proton　magnetometer。　Once　that　was　done；　he　would　use　a　handheld　remote　for　the　GPS　system　to　survey　the　major　points　of　the　site。　
　Nora　sat　on　the　retaining　wall　at　the　front　of　the　city；　near　the　rope　ladder　leading　down　to　the　valley　floor。　Bonarotti　had　sent　up　their　sack　lunches　using　the　pulley　system；　and　Nora　opened　hers　with　anticipation。　Inside　was　a　wedge　of　Port　du　Salut　cheese；　four　generous　slices　of　prosciutto　di　Parma；　and　a　marvelously　thick　and　dense　hunk　of　bread　that　Bonarotti　had　baked　in　his　Dutch　oven　that　morning　after　breakfast。　She　ate　with　little　ceremony；　washing　the　meal　down　with　a　swig　from　her　canteen；　and　then　rose　to　her　feet。　As　leader；　she　was　putting　together　the　data　for　a　field　specimen　catalogue；　and　it　was　time　to　check　on　the　progress　of　the　others。　
　She　walked　beneath　the　shadows　of　the　ancient　adobe　walls　to　the　far　end　of　the　ruin's　front　plaza。　Here；　near　the　foot　of　the　Planetarium；　Black　and　Smithback　were　working　in　the　city's　great　midden　heap：　a　dusty；　oversized　mound　of　dirt；　broken　animal　bones；　charcoal；　and　potsherds。　As　she　approached；　she　could　see　Smithback's　head　pop　up　from　a　cut　at　the　far　end；　face　dirty；　cowlick　bobbing　with　displeasure。　She　smiled　despite　herself　at　the　sight。　Though　she'd　never　give　him　the　pleasure　of　knowing　it；　she'd　begun　dipping　in　to　the　book　he　had　given　her。　And；　she　had　to　admit；　it　was　a　fascinating；　frightening　story；　despite　the　near…miraculous　way　Smithback　had　of　taking　part　in　almost　every　important　or　heroic　event　he　described。　
　Black's　voice　came　echoing　off　the　cave　wall。　〃Bill；　haven't　you　finished　grid　F…one　yet？〃　
　〃Why　don't　you　F　one　yourself；〃　Smithback　muttered　in　return。　
　Black　came　around　the　mound　in　high　spirits；　carrying　a　trowel　in　one　hand　and　a　whiskbroom　in　the　other。　〃Nora；〃　he　said；　with　a　smile；　〃this　will　interest　you。　I　don't　believe　there's　been　a　clearer　cultural　sequence　since　Kidder　excavated　the　mound　at　Pecos。　And　that's　just　from　the　control　pit　we　dug　yesterday；　now　we're　pleting　the　first　baulks　of　the　test　trench。〃　
　〃The　man　says　'we。'〃　Smithback　leaned　on　his　shovel；　and　held　out　a　trembling　hand　to　Nora。　〃For　the　love　of　Jaysus；　can　ye　not　spare　a　wee　drop　for　a　poor　dying　sinner？〃　
　Nora　handed　him　her　canteen；　and　he　drank　deeply。　〃That　man　is　a　sadist；〃　he　said；　wiping　his　mouth。　〃I'd　have　been　better　off　building　the　pyramids。　I　want　a　transfer。〃　
　〃When　you　signed　on；　you　knew　you　were　going　to　be　a　digger；〃　Nora　said；　retrieving　the　canteen。　〃What　better　way　to　get　your　hands　dirty；　literally　and　figuratively？　Besides；　I'll　bet　it　isn't　the　first　time　you've　done　some　muckraking。〃　
　〃Et　tu；　Brute？〃　Smithback　sighed。　
　〃e　and　see　what　we've　done；〃　said　Black；　guiding　Nora　to　a　small；　precise　cut　in　the　side　of　the　mound。　
　〃This　is　the　control　pit？〃　Nora　asked。　
　〃Yes；〃　Black　nodded。　〃Beautiful　soil　profile；　don't　you　think？〃　
　〃Perfection；〃　Nora　replied。　She'd　never　seen　such　neat　work　or　such　potentially　rich　results。　She　could　see　where　the　two　men　had　cut　through　the　midden；　exposing　dozens　of　thin　layers　of　brown；　gray；　and　black　soil；　revealing　how　the　trash　mound　had　grown　over　time。　The　stratified　layers　had　each　been　labe