sk.cujo-第56节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


Twenty　past　twelve。
What　do　we　know　about　rabies；　class？
Precious　little。　Some　hazy　fragments　that　had　probably　e　from　Sunday…supplement　articles。　A　pamphlet　leafed　through　idly　back　in　New　York　when　she　had　taken　the　family　cat；　Dinah；　for　her　distemper　shot　at　the　vet's。　Excuse　me；　distemper　and　rabies　shots。
Rabies；　a　disease　of　the　central　nervous　system；　the　good　old　CNS。　Causes　slow　destruction　of　same　…　but　how？　She　was　blank　on　that；　and　probably　the　doctors　were；　too。　Otherwise　the　disease　wouldn't　be　considered　so　damned　dangerous。　Of　course；　she　thought　hopefully；　I　don't　even　know　for　sure　that　the　dog　is　rabid。　The　only　rabid　dog　I've　ever　seen　was　the　one　Gregory　Peck　shot　with　a　rifle　in　To　Kill　a　Mockingbird。　Except　of　course　that　dog　wasn't　really　rabid；　it　was　just　pretend；　it　was　probably　some　mangy　mutt　they'd　gotten　from　the　local　pound　and　they　put　Gillette　Foamy　all　over　him。。。。
She　pulled　her　mind　back　to　the　point。　Better　to　make　what　Vic　called　a　worst…case　analysis；　at　least　for　now。　Besides；　in　her　heart　she　was　sure　the　dog　was　rabid　~　what　else　would　make　it　behave　as　it　had？　The　dog　was　as　mad　as　a　hatter。
And　it　had　bitten　her。　Badly。　What　did　that　mean？
People　could　get　rabies；　she　knew；　and　it　was　a　horrible　way　to　die。　Maybe　the　worst。　There　was　a　vaccine　for　it；　and　a　series　of　injections　was　the　prescribed　method　of　treatment。　The　injections　were　quite　painful；　although　probably　not　as　painful　as　going　the　way　the　dog　out　there　was　going。　But　。。。
She　seemed　to　remember　reading　that　there　were　only　two　instances　where　people　had　lived　through　an　advanced　case　of　rabies　…　a　case；　that　is；　that　had　not　been　diagnosed　until　the　carriers　had　begun　exhibiting　symptoms。　One　of　the　survivors　was　a　boy　who　had　recovered　entirely。　The　other　had　been　an　animal　researcher　who　had　suffered　permanent　brain　damage。　The　good　old　CNS　had　just　fallen　apart。
The　longer　the　disease　went　untreated；　the　less　chance　there　was。　She　rubbed　her　forehead　and　her　hand　skidded　across　a　film　of　cold　sweat。
How　long　was　too　long？　Hours？　Days？　Weeks？　A　month；　maybe？　She　didn't　know。
Suddenly　the　car　seemed　to　be　shrinking。　It　was　the　size　of　a　Honda；　then　the　size　of　those　strange　little　three…wheelers　they　used　to　give　disabled　people　in　England；　then　the　size　of　an　enclosed　motorcycle　sidecar；　finally　the　size　of　a　coffin。　A　double　coffin　for　her　and　Tad。　They　had　to　get　out；　get　out；　get　out　
Her　hand　was　fumbling　for　the　doorhandle　before　she　got　hold　of　herself　again。　Her　heart　was　racing；　accelerating　the　thudding　in　her　head。　Please；　she　thought。　It's　bad　enough　without　claustrophobia；　so　please　。。。　please　。。。　please。
Her　thirst　was　back　again；　raging。
She　looked　out　and　Cujo　stared　implacably　back　at　her；　his　body　seemingly　split　in　two　by　the　silver　crack　running　through　the　window。
Help　us；　someone；　she　thought。　Please；　please；　help　us。
Roscoe　Fisher　was　parked　back　in　the　shadows　of　Jerry's　Citgo　when　the　call　came　in。　He　was　ostensibly　watching　for　speeders；　but　in　actual　fact　he　was　cooping。　At　twelve　thirty　on　a　Wednesday　morning；　Route　117　was　totally　dead。　He　had　a　little　alarm　clock　inside　his　skull；　and　he　trusted　it　to　wake　him　up　around　one；　when　the　Norway　Drive…In　let　out。　Then　there　might　be　some　action。
'Unit　three；　e　in；　unit　three。　Over。'
Roscoe　snapped　awake；　spilling　cold　coffee　in　a　Styrofoam　cup　down　into　his　crotch。
'Oh　shitfire；'　Roscoe　said　dolefully。　'Now　that's　nice；　isn't　it？　Kee…rist！'
'Unit　three；　you　copy？　Over？'
He　grabbed　the　mike　and　pushed　the　button　on　the　side。　'I　copy；　base。'　He　would　have　liked　to　have　added　that　he　hoped　it　was　good　because　he　was　sitting　with　his　balls　in　a　puddle　of　cold　coffee；　but　you　never　knew　who　was　monitoring　police　calls　on　his　or　her　trusty　Bearcat　scanner　。。。　even　at　twelve　thirty　in　the　morning。
'Want　you　to　take　a　run　up　to　Eighty…three　Larch　Street；'　Billy　said。　'Residence　of　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Victor　Trenton。　。Check　the　place　out。　Over。'
'What　am　I　checking　for；　base？　Over。'
'Trenton's　in　Boston　and　no　one's　answering　his　calls。　He　thinks　someone　should　be　home。　Over。'
Well；　that's　wonderful；　isn't　it？　Roscoe　Fisher　thought　sourly。　For　this　I　got　a　four…buck　cleaning　bill；　and　if　I　do　have　to　stop　a　speeder；　the　guy's　going　to　think　I　got　so　excited　at　the　prospect　of　a　collar　that　I　pissed　myself。
'Ten…four　and　time　out；'　Roscoe　said；　starting　his　cruiser。　'Over。'
'I　make　it　twelve　thirty…four　A。M。；'　Billy　said。　'There's　a　key　hanging　on　a　nail　under　the　front　porch　eave；　unit　three。　Mr。　Trenton　would　like　you　to　go　right　on　inside　and　look　around　if　the　premises　appear　deserted。　Over。'
'Roger；　base。　Over　and　out。'
'Out。'
Roscoe　popped　on　his　headlights　and　cruised　down　Castle　Rock's　deserted　Main　Street；　past　the　mon　and　the　bandstand　with　its　conical　green　roof。　He　went　up　the　hill　and　turned　right　on　Larch　Street　near　the　top。　The　Trentons'　was　the　second　house　from　the　corner；　and　he　saw　that　in　the　daytime　they　would　have　a　nice　view　of　the　town　below。　He　pulled　the　Sheriff's　Department　Fury　III　up　to　the　curb　and　got　out；　closing　the　door　quietly。　The　street　was　dark；　fast　asleep。
He　paused　for　a　moment；　pulling　the　wet　cloth　of　his　uniform　trousers　away　from　his　crotch　（grimacing　as　he　did　it）；　and　then　went　up　the　driveway。　The　driveway　was　empty；　and　so　was　the　small　one…car　garage　at　the　end　of　it。　He　saw　a　Big　Wheels　trike　parked　inside。　It　was　just　like　the　one　his　own　son　had。
He　closed　the　garage　door　and　went　around　to　the　front　porch。　He　saw　that　this　week's　copy　of　the　Call　was　leaning　against　the　porch　door。　Roscoe　picked　it　up　and　tried　the　door。　It　was　unlocked。　He　went　onto　the　porch；　feeling　like　an　intruder。　He　tossed　the　paper　on　the　porch　glider　and　pushed　the　bell　beside　the　inner　door。　Chimes　went　off　in　the　house；　but　no　one　came。　He　rang　twice　more　over　a　space　of　about　three　minutes；　allowing　for　the　time　it　would　take　the　lady　to　wake　up；　put　on　a　robe；　and　e　downstairs　。。。　if　the　lady　was　there。
When　there　was　still　no　answer；　he　tried　the　door。　It　was　locked。
Husband's　away　and　she's　probably　staying　over　with　friends；　he　thought　…　but　the　fact　that　she　hadn't　notified　her　husband　also　struck　Roscoe　Fisher　as　mildly　strange。
He　felt　under　the　peaked　eave；　and　his　fingers　knocked　off　the　key　Vic　had　hung　up　there　not　long　after　the　Trentons　had　moved　in。　He　took　it　down　and　unlocked　the　front　door　…　if　he　had　tried　the　kitchen　door　as　Steve　Kemp　had　that　afternoon；　he　could　have　walked　right　in。　Like　most　people　in　Castle　Rock；　Donna　was　slipshod　about　buttoning　up　when　she　went　out。
Roscoe　went　in。　He　had　his　flashlight；　but　he　preferred　not　to　use　it。　That　would　have　made　him　feel　even　more　like　an　unlawful　intruder　…　a　burglar　with　a　large　coffee　stain　on　his　crotch。　He　felt　for　a　switchplate　and　eventually　found　one　with　two　switches。　The　top　one　turned　on　the　porch　light；　and　he　turned　that　one　off　quickly。　The　bottom　one　turned　on　the　living…room　light。
He　looked　around　for　a　long　moment；　doubting　what　he　was　seeing　…　at　first　he　thought　it　must　be　some　trick　of　his　eyes；　that　they　had　not　adjusted　to　the　light　or　something。　But　nothing　changed；　and　his　heart　began　to　pump　quickly。
Musn't　touch　anything；　he　thought。　Can't　balls　this　up。
He　had　forgotten　about　the　wet　coffee　splotch　on　his　pants；　and　he　had　forgotten　about　feeling　like　an　intruder。　He　was　scared　and　excited。
Something　had　happened　here；　all　right。　The　living　room　had　been　turned　topsy…turvy。　There　was　shattered　glass　from　a　knickknack　shelf　all　over　the　floor。　The　furniture　had　been　overturned；　the　books　had　been　scattered　every　whichway。　The　big　mirror　over　the　fireplace　was　also　broken　…　seven　years'　bad　luck　for　somebody；　Roscoe　thought；　and　found　himself　thinking　suddenly　and　for　no　reason　about　Frank　Dodd；　with　whom　he　had　often　shared　a　cruiser。　Frank　Dodd；　the　friendly　small…town　cop　who　had　just　happened　to　also　be　a　psycho　who　murdered　women　and　little　children。　Roscoe's　arms　broke　out　in　gooseflesh　suddenly。　This　was　no　place　to　be　thinking　about　Frank。
He　went　into　the　kitchen　through　the　dining　room；　where　everything　had　been　swept　off　the　table　…　he　skirted　that　mess　carefully。　The　kitchen　was　worse。　He　felt　a　fresh　chill　creep　down　his　spine。　Someone　had　gone　absolutely　crazy　in　here。　The　doors　to　the　bar　cabinet　stood　open；　and　someone　had　used　the　length　of　the　kitchen　like　a　Pitch…Til…U…Win　alley　at　a　county　fair。　Pots　were　everywhere；　and　white　stuff　that　looked　like　snow　but　had　to　be　soap　powder。
Written　on　the　message　board　in　large　and　hurried　block　letters　was　this：
I　LEFT　SOMETHING　UPSTAIRS　FOR　YOU；　BABY。
Suddenly　Roscoe　Fisher　didn't　want　to　go　upstairs。　More　than　anything　else；　he　didn't　want　to　go　up　there。　He　had　helped　clean　up　three　of　the　messes　Frank　Dodd　had　left　behind　him；　including　the　body　of　Mary　Kate　Hendrasen；　who　had　been　raped　and　murdered　on　the　Castle　Rock　bandstand　in　the　mon。　He　never　wanted　to　see　anything　like　that　again　。。。　and　suppose　the　woman　was　up　there；　shot　or　slashed　or　strangled？　Roscoe　had　seen　plenty　of　mayhem　on　the　roads　and　had　even　got　used　to　it；　after　a　fashion。　Two　summers　ago　he　and　Billy　and　Sheriff
Bannerman　had　pulled　a　man　out　of　a　potato…gra