js&cs.thebridge-第3节

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　see　the　rusted　struts　and　rotted　shells　of　the　barrels：　skeletal；　clawing。　Could　see　the　multicolored　Rorschach　toxins　that　were　its　blood　and　soul。
　　Could　see　the　hundreds　and　hundreds　of　fish：　not　dead；　no　longer　alive。
　　All　of　them　staring。　At　him。
　　With　new　eyes　。。。
　　Then　the　lightning　decayed；　and　before　he　could　scream；　the　black　wall　descended　upon　him。
　　
　　Boonie　dove　off　the　side　of　the　truck　in　the　second　before　it　hit。　He　was　still　in　the　air　when　several　tons　went　WHOOOM　and　splattered　across　its　bed。　He　couldn't　see　what　happened　to　Drew。　He　didn't　need　to　see　to　know　there　was　nothing　he　could　do。
　　Boonie　was　heavy；　and　plummeted　fast。　He　hadn't　had　time　to　plot　a　course。　The　railroad　tracks　came　up　to　meet　him；　head…on　and　far　too　quickly。
　　He　got　his　arms　up　and　tucked　his　body　enough　to　keep　his　neck　from　snapping；　all　it　cost　him　was　a　splintered　clavicle　and；　on　the　second　bounce；　some　teeth　and　lip；　the　two　merged　together　in　a　wet　hard　bone…shard　buckshot　hail　that　gagged　him　as　he　rolled；　came　up；　instinctively　assessed　the　situation。
　　No　motion　from　the　truck；　except　for　the　steam　curling　off　the　exterior。　The　door　was　still　open；　the　cab　was　still　vacant；　the　headlights　still　glared。　Beyond　the　truck　lay　Toad　Road　and　escape；　the　other　way　just　led　deeper　into　the　Black　Bridge　woods。　He　could　drive　one　whole　hell　of　a　lot　faster　than　he　could　run。
　　That　pretty　much　wrapped　it　up。　Boonie　vaulted　for　the　cab；　keeping　one　eye　on　the　railroad　ties　and　the　other　one　peeled　for　forty…foot　monsters。　There　was　a　harsh　static　crackle　in　the　air　that　kept　getting　louder；　the　closer　he　got。　It　wasn't　the　sound　from　the　creek；　so　it　didn't　mean　shit。
　　It　was　the　radio；　he　found　out　when　he　hit　the　driver's　seat。　Starview　92　had　disintegrated　into　ear…splitting　hiss。　Bad　sign。　He　grabbed　the　stick　and　jammed　it　in　gear。　Nothing　happened。　He　laid　on　the　gas　and　got　dick。
　　〃GOD　DAMN　IT！〃　he　bellowed；　grabbing　the　keys　and　grinding　the　ignition。　〃GO　。。。　！〃
　　That　was　when　he　noticed　the　rivulets；　moving　across　the　windshield。　Not　down。　Across：　a　lateral；　spider…webbing　motion；　like　a　hundred　liquid　tentacles　gripping　the　cab。　He　stared　in　slack…jawed　dumbstruck　awe　as　the　glass　started　to　steam。　The　liquid　pressed　impossibly　against　the　pane　and　squeezed。
　　Boonie　dove　for　the　passenger　side；　grappling　with　the　handle。　All　around　him；　the　safety　glass　starred。　He　cracked　the　door　open；　started　to　bail　。。。
　　。。。　as　the　windows　blew　inward：　a　blinding；　razored　spray　。。。
　　。。。　and　then　he　was　out　the　door　and　running；　running　for　his　life；　a　thousand　tiny　septic　barbs　of　shrapnel　lodged　in　his　face；　his　hands；　his　neck　and　back　and　legs　that　tripped　on　a　tie　and　brought　him　down；　all　two　hundred　and　forty…seven　pounds　of　him；　shrieking　pain　as　his　scar…pitted　Frankenstein's　former　right　knee　smacked　cold　steel　rail　。。。
　　。。。　but　he　couldn't　stay　down　or　the　game　was　fucking　over；　so　he　pistoned　back　up　to　his　feet　and　hobbled　with　all　his　might；　ignoring　the　pain；　ignoring　the　everywhere　tingle　that　turned　to　burn；　terrible　burn　in　his　eyes；　left　eye　stinging　sharp　and　wet　and　bleeding；　bleeding　from　within　。。。
　　。。。　and　still　he　ran；　trading　the　rails　for　Toad　Road　mud；　screaming　out　prayers　to　sweet　baby　Jesus　as　he　stumbled　through　puddles　of　primal　rain。　Running　from　the　devil　in　his　own　back　pocket。
　　Running　till　he　dropped　。。。
　　
　　
　　　Two
　　　
　　One　hundred　and　eighty…eight　thousand　souls　adorned　the　rolling　stretch　of　God's　country　that　was　Paradise；　Pennsylvania。　It　was　just　over　nine　hundred　square　miles　of　sprawling；　picturesque　land；　with　the　rugged　hump　of　the　Appalachian　foothills　sweeping　across　the　west　and　the　wide　rocky　expanse　of　the　Susquehanna　River　to　the　east。
　　Paradise　was　the　nexus　point　of　the　region's　major　east/west；　north/south　arteries；　which　made　it　the　natural　nerve　center　for　trucking　of　every　stripe。　Big　rigs　rumbled　in　and　out　constantly；　ferrying　the　essential　ingredients　of　the　good　life　east　to　Philadelphia　and　New　York；　south　to　Baltimore　and　Washington；　north　to　Harrisburg　and　Allentown；　and　west；　down　the　turnpike；　to　Pittsburgh　and　the　Ohioan　heartlands　beyond。
　　The　outer　townships　were　mostly　made　up　of　farms；　factories；　and　forest　land；　green　hills　and　hollows　sparsely　populated　and　broken　up　by　strip　malls　and　sleepy　one…horse　hamlets　that　accounted　for　maybe　thirty…seven　thousand　out　of　the　total　population。
　　Another　seventy…three　thousand　or　so　clustered　around　the　industrial　parks；　which　in　turn　gave　way　to　wave　upon　wave　of　dense…packed；　self…replicating　suburbia：　houses　and　lawns　and　houses　and　lawns；　gradually　shrinking　in　size　as　the　neighborhoods　crested　the　hills　and　entered　the　valley　that　marked　the　city　proper。　There　they　packed　in；　tighter　and　tighter；　until　the　lawns　at　last　evaporated　into　puddle…sized　patches　or　disappeared　altogether。
　　The　City　Reservoir；　on　the　south　side　of　town；　was　the　highest　elevation　and　the　site　of　the　Paradise　Water　pany's　vast　standing　pools。　If　you　stood　on　the　crest　of　the　hill　and　looked　out　over　the　valley；　a　vision　spread　before　you：　lights　twinkling　in　the　deep　blue　predawn　hush；　a　quintessentially　American　picture…postcard　jumble　of　church　steeples　and　smokestacks；　homes　and　factories　and　parks　and　schools。
　　Seventy…eight　thousand　people　lived　and　dreamt　there：　along　narrow　one…way　streets　and　shady　tree…lined　boulevards；　in　the　crumbling　tarpaper　Penn　Street　shanties　and　cozy　Cape　Cods　of　College　Avenue；　in　the　tastefully　renovated　Market　Square　townhouses　and　lush　Georgian　abodes　of　Linden　Boulevard。
　　From　the　posh　palatial　estates　of　Wyndham　Hills　to　the　paper…thin　walls　of　the　Paradise　Rescue　Mission…and　everywhere　in　between…one　hundred　and　eighty…eight　thousand　hearts　beat　through　the　night；　ticking　off　the　moments　of　a　lifetime。
　　Paradise　boasted　a　low　cost　of　living　and　an　unemployment　rate　a　few　tenths　of　a　point　below　the　national　average。　The　last　thirty　years　had　seen　a　steady　growth　in　the　black　and　Hispanic　munities…and；　more　recently；　a　proportionately　microscopic　Asian　influx…but　despite　all　this；　as　well　as　a　strong；　prosperous　Jewish　munity；　local　government　and　industry　still　remained　in　the　firm　Protestant　grip　of　the　same　Dutch…German　hands　that　had　wrested　this　land　from　the　Indians。
　　This　was　a　land　of　faschnachts　and　pig　roasts；　of　country　clubs　and　county　fairs；　of　ladies'　invitational　golf　classics　in　dichotomous　tandem　with　tractor　pulls　and　trailer　parks。　And　like　much　of　the　noncosmopolitan　East；　Paradise　County　was　notorious　for　its　stodginess　and　slow…moving　resistance　to　change：　a　temperament　shared　by　its　upper　and　lower　classes　alike。
　　Once　you　got　past　their　roots；　however；　it　was　television　that　truly　shaped　and　defined　their　culture：　from　CBN　to　MTV；　PBS　to　HBO；　with　network　news；　halftime　shows；　and　prime…time　fodder　in　dominion　über　alles。
　　It　was；　in　short；　America。
　　And；　like　the　rest　of　America；　Paradise　slept：　well　past　the　wee　hours；　to　the　break　of　Sunday　dawn。　Across　the　city；　across　the　county；　one　hundred　and　eighty…eight　thousand　lives　lay　down　together　in　isolated　slumber；　unconsciously　intertwined。
　　And　not　a　one　of　them　ever　even　saw　it　ing。
　　
　　
　　　Three
　　　
　　Gwen　opened　her　eyes；　suddenly　awake；　the　phantom　remnants　of　REM…stage　sleep　still　clinging　to　her　thoughts　like　a　shroud。
　　In　the　dream；　black　birds：　thousands　of　them；　their　iridescent　wings　and　harsh　cries　filling　the　sky　as　they　swooped　and　soared　in　a　figure…eight　pattern。
　　Over　and　over；　over　and　over　。。。
　　The　image　faded；　dissipating　like　morning　fog　and　leaving　Gwen　with　a　strange　sense　of　dislocation；　of　consciousness　arriving　a　split　second　before　identity。　For　a　single　elastic　moment；　she　didn't　know　who　or　where　or　what　she　was。
　　Only　that　she　was。
　　Alive。　Awake。
　　Here。
　　It　was　an　altogether　curious　feeling；　disorienting　but　not　entirely　unpleasant。　She　allowed　herself　to　steep　in　it　for　a　moment；　let　it　flavor　her　perceptions　without　bias　or　preconception。
　　The　she　felt　the　kick　inside。
　　And　it　all　came　flooding　back。
　　My　name　is　Gwen　Taylor。　I'm　thirty　years　old。　I'm　in　my　bed；　in　my　room；　in　my　house。
　　It　kicked　again：　a　small　solid　thump　deep　within。
　　And　I'm　going　to　have　a　baby；　she　amended。
　　The　dislocation　disappeared：　a　puff　of　subconscious　synapse　flotsam　vaporized　by　thought。　Gwen　yawned　and　stretched　in　the　big　brass　bed。　Her　sleep…tossed　ash…blond　hair　flowed　across　the　pillow；　her　clear　gray　eyes　were　elegantly　framed　by　the　tiniest　hint　of　smile　crinkles。
　　She　was　a　strikingly　attractive　woman；　though　you'd　never　get　her　to　agree　with　that　lately：　nine　months　in　and　she　felt　more　like　an　anaconda　with　a　hippo　lodged　in　its　digestive　tract。　Not　to　put　too　fine　a　point　on　it；　the　words　dingo　ugly　were　the　only　ones　she　trusted　to　accurately　convey　her　self…image；　and　there　wasn't　a　damn　thing　Gary　or　anyone　else　could　say　to　change　her　mind。
　　On　the　other　hand；　she　felt　pretty　honest…to…God　good　today：　very　snug　and　happy　and　loved；　with　only　a　slight　case　of　nausea　to　keep　things　in　real…life　perspective。　Th