dk.solesurvivor-第52部分

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　　The　three　guards　on　the　other　side　of　the　observation　window　have　similar　buttons　available　for　use　at　their　discretion。
　　SSW…89…58　is　not　able　to　read　minds。　He　is　not　a　telepath。　He　can　only　repress　the　personality　of　the　person　he　inhabits　and　take　control　of　the　physical　plant。　There　is　disagreement　among　the　staff　of　Project　99　as　to　whether　89…58's　lack　of　telepathic　ability　is　a　disappointment　or　a　blessing。
　　Furthermore；　when　sent　on　a　wet　mission；　he　must　know　where　his　target　is　located　before　being　able　to　invade　its　mind。　He　cannot　search　at　will　across　the　populations　of　the　world　but　must　be　guided　by　his　handlers　who　first　locate　his　prey。　Once　shown　an　image　of　the　building　or　vehicle　in　which　the　target　can　be　found…and　when　that　place　is　geographically　sited　in　his　mind…he　can　act。
　　Thus　far；　he　is　also　limited　to　the　walls　of　that　structure　and　cannot　effectively　pursue　a　wanted　mind　beyond　the　boundaries　that　are　initially　established。　No　one　knows　why　this　limitation　should　exist；　though　theories　abound。　Perhaps　it　is　because　the　invisible　psychic　self；　being　only　a　wave　energy　of　some　type；　responds　to　open　spaces　in　much　the　manner　of　heat　contained　in　a　hot　stone　placed　in　a　cold　room：　It　radiates　outward；　dissipating；　dispersing　itself；　and　cannot　be　conserved　in　a　coherent　form。　He　is　able　to　practice　remote　viewing　of　outdoor　locations…but　only　for　short　periods　of　time。　This　shorting　frustrates　89…58　handlers；　but　they　believe　and　hope　that　his　abilities　in　this　regard　may　improve　with　time。
　　If　you　can　bear　to　watch；　the　containment　vessel　is　opened　twice　each　week　to　allow　the　handlers　to　clean　their　asset。　He　is　without　fail　deeply　sedated　for　this　procedure…and　remains　connected　to　the　doomsday　button。　He　is　given　a　thorough　sponge　bath；　irritations　of　the　skin　are　treated；　the　minimal　solid　waste　that　he　produces　is　evacuated　from　the　bowel；　teeth　are　cleaned；　eyes　are　examined　for　infection　and　then　are　flushed　with　antibiotic；　and　other　maintenance　is　performed。　Although　89…58　receives　daily　low…voltage　electrical　stimulation　of　his　muscles　to　ensure　a　minimal　life…sustaining　mass；　he　resembles　one　of　the　starving　children　of　any　third…world　country　racked　by　drought　and　evil　politics。　He　is　as　pale　as　any　job　on　a　mortician's　table；　withered；　with　elfin　bones　grown　thin　from　lack　of　use；　and　when　unconsciously　he　curls　his　feeble　fingers　around　the　hands　of　ministering　attendants；　his　grip　is　no　stronger　than　that　of　a　cradled　newborn　baby　struggling　to　hold　fast　to　its　mother's　thumb。
　　Sometimes；　in　this　profound　sedation；　he　murmurs　wordlessly　but　forlornly；　mewls；　and　even　weeps；　as　if　adrift　in　a　soft　sad　dream。
　　
　　At　the　Shell　station；　only　three　vehicles　were　at　the　self…service　pumps。　Tending　to　their　cars；　the　motorists　squinted　and　ducked　their　heads　to　keep　wind…blown　grit　out　of　their　eyes。
　　The　lighting　was　as　bright　as　that　on　a　movie　set；　and　though　Joe　and　Rose　were　not　being　sought　by　the　type　of　police　agency　that　would　distribute　their　photographs　to　local　television　news　programs；　Joe　preferred　to　stay　out　of　the　glare。　He　parked　along　the　side　of　the　building；　near　the　restrooms；　where　huddled　shadows　survived。
　　Joe　was　in　emotional　turmoil；　felt　slashed　across　the　heart；　because　now　he　knew　the　exact　cause　of　the　catastrophic　crash；　knew　the　murderer's　identity　and　the　twisted　details。　The　knowledge　was　like　a　scalpel　that　pared　off　what　thin　scabs　had　formed　over　his　pain。　His　grief　felt　fresh；　the　loss　more　recent　than　it　really　was。
　　He　switched　off　the　engine　and　sat　speechless。
　　'I　don't　understand　how　the　hell　they　found　out　I　was　on　that　flight；'　Rose　said。　'I'd　taken　such　precautions。　。　。　But　I　knew　when　he　remote…viewed　the　passenger　cabin；　looking　for　us；　because　there　was　an　odd　dimming　of　lights；　a　problem　with　my　wristwatch；　a　vague　sense　of　a　presence…signs　I'd　learned　to　read。'
　　'I've　met　a　National　Transportation　Safety　Board　investigator　who's　heard　the　tape　from　the　cockpit　voice　recorder；　before　it　was　destroyed　in　a　convenient　sound…lab　fire。　This　boy　was　inside　the　captain's　head；　Rose。　I　don't　understand　。　。　。　Why　didn't　he　take　out　just　you？'
　　'He　had　to　get　us　both；　that　was　his　assignment；　me　and　the　girl…and　while　he　could've　nailed　me　without　any　problem；　it　wouldn't　have　been　easy　with　her。'
　　Utterly　baffled；　Joe　said；　'Nina？　Why　would　they　have　been　interested　in　her　even　then？　She　was　just　another　passenger；　wasn't　she？　I　thought　they　were　after　her　later　because。　。　。　well；　because　she　survived　with　you。'
　　Rose　would　not　meet　his　eyes。　'Get　me　the　key　to　the　women's　restroom；　Joe。　Will　you；　please？　Let　me　have　a　minute　here。　I'll　tell　you　the　rest　of　it　on　the　way　to　Big　Bear。'
　　He　went　into　the　sales　room　and　got　the　key　from　the　cashier。　By　the　time　he　returned　to　the　Ford；　Rose　had　gotten　out。　She　was　leaning　against　a　front　fender；　back　turned　and　shoulders　hunched　to　the　whistling　Santa　Ana　wind。　Her　left　arm　was　curled　against　her　breast；　and　her　hand　was　still　shaking。　With　her　right　hand；　she　pulled　the　lapels　of　her　blazer　together；　as　though　the　warm　August　wind　felt　cold　to　her。
　　'Would　you　unlock　the　door　for　me？'　she　asked。
　　He　went　to　the　women's　room。　By　the　time　that　he　unlocked　the　door　and　switched　on　the　light；　Rose　had　arrived　at　his　side。
　　'I'll　be　quick；'　she　promised；　and　slipped　past　him。
　　He　had　a　glimpse　of　her　face　in　that　brightness；　just　before　the　door　fell　shut。　She　didn't　look　good。
　　Instead　of　returning　to　the　car；　Joe　leaned　against　the　wall　of　the　building；　beside　the　lavatory　door；　to　wait　for　her。
　　According　to　nurses　in　asylums　and　psychiatric　wards；　a　greater　number　of　their　most　disturbed　patients　responded　to　the　Santa　Ana　winds　than　ever　reacted　to　the　sight　of　a　full　moon　beyond　a　barred　window。　It　wasn't　simply　the　baleful　sound；　like　the　cries　of　an　unearthly　hunter　and　the　unearthly　beasts　that　it　pursued；　hut　also　the　subliminal　alkaline　scent　of　the　desert　and　a　queer　electrical　charge　different　from　those　that　other…less　dry…winds　imparted　to　the　air。
　　Joe　could　understand　why　Rose　might　have　pulled　her　blazer　shut　and　huddled　into　it。　This　night　had　both　the　moon　and　the　Santa　Ana　wind　to　spark　a　voodoo　current　in　the　spine…and　a　parentless　boy　without　a　name；　who　lived　in　a　coffin　of　steel　and　moved　invisible　through　a　world　of　potential　victims　oblivious　to　him。
　　Are　we　recording？
　　The　boy　had　known　about　the　cockpit　voice　recorder…and　he'd　left　a　cry　for　help　on　it。
　　One　of　their　names　is　Dr。　Louis　Blom。　One　of　their　names　is　Dr。　Keith　Ramlock。　They're　doing　bad　things　to　me。　They're　mean　to　me。　Make　them　stop。　Make　them　stop　hurting　me。
　　Whatever　else　he　was…sociopathic　psychotic　homicidal…he　was　also　a　child。　A　beast；　an　abomination；　a　terror；　but　also　a　child。　He　had　not　asked　to　be　born；　and　if　he　was　evil；　they　had　made　him　so　by　failing　to　teach　him　any　human　values；　by　treating　him　as　mere　ordnance；　by　rewarding　him　for　murder。　Beast　he　was；　but　a　pitiable　beast；　lost　and　alone；　wandering　in　a　maze　of　misery。
　　Pitiable　but　formidable。　And　still　out　there。　Waiting　to　be　told　where　he　could　find　Rose　Tucker。　And　Nina。
　　This　is　fun。
　　The　boy　enjoyed　the　killing。　Joe　supposed　it　was　even　possible　that　his　handlers　had　never　instructed　him　to　destroy　everyone　aboard　Nationwide　Flight　353；　that　he　had　done　it　as　an　act　of　rebellion　and　because　he　enjoyed　it。
　　Make　them　stop　or　when　I　get　the　chance　。　。　。　when　I　get　the　chance；　I'll　kill　everybody。　Everybody。　I　will。　I'll　do　it。　I'll　kill　everybody；　and　I'll　like　it。
　　Recalling　those　words　from　the　transcript；　Joe　sensed　that　the　boy　had　not　been　referring　merely　to　the　passengers　on　the　doomed　airliner。　By　then　he　had　already　made　the　decision　to　kill　them　all。　He　was　speaking　of　some　act　more　apocalyptic　than　three　hundred　and　twenty　murders。
　　What　could　he　acplish　if　provided　with　photographs　and　the　geographical　coordinates　of　not　merely　a　missile…tracking　facility　but　a　plex　of　nuclear…missile　launch　silos？
　　'Jesus；'　Joe　whispered。
　　Somewhere　in　the　night；　Nina　waited。　In　the　hands　of　a　friend　of　Rose's；　but　inadequately　protected。　Vulnerable。
　　Rose　seemed　to　be　taking　a　long　time。
　　Rapping　on　the　restroom　door；　Joe　called　her　name；　but　she　did　not　respond。　He　hesitated；　knocked　again；　and　when　she　weakly　called　'Joe；'　he　pushed　the　door　open。
　　She　was　perched　on　the　edge　of　the　toilet　seat。　She　had　taken　off　her　navy　blazer　and　her　white　blouse；　the　latter　lay　blood…soaked　on　the　sink。
　　He　hadn't　realized　she'd　been　bleeding。　Darkness　and　the　blazer　had　hidden　the　blood　from　him。
　　As　he　stepped　into　the　restroom；　he　saw　that　she　had　shaped　a　press　of　sorts　from　a　wad　of　wet　paper　towels。　She　was　pressing　it　to　her　left　pectoral　muscle；　above　her　breast。
　　'That　one　shot　on　the　beach；'　he　said　numbly。　'You　were　hit。'
　　'The　bullet　passed　through；'　she　said。　'There's　an　exit　wound　in　back。　Nice　and　clean。　I　haven't　even　bled　all　that　much；　and　the　pain　is　tolerable　。　。。　So　why　am　I　getting　weaker？'
　　'Internal　bleeding；'　he　suggested；　wincing　as　he　looked　at　the　exit　wound　in　her　back。
　　'I　know　anatomy；'　she　said。　'I　took　the　hit　in　just　the　right　spot。　Couldn't　have　picked　it　better。　Shouldn't　be　any　damage　to　major　vessels。'
　　'The　round　might　have　hit　a　bone　and　fragmented。　The　fragment　maybe　didn't　e　out；　took　a　different　track。'
　　'I　was　so　thirsty。　Tried　to　drink　some　water　from　the　faucet。　Almost　passed　out　when　I　bent　over。'
　　'This　settles　it；'　he　said。　His　heart　was　racing。　'We've　got　to　get　you　to　a　doctor。'
　　'Get　me　to　Nina。'
　　'Rose；　damn　it…'
　　'Nina　can　heal　me；'　she　said；　and　as　she　spoke；　she　looked　guiltily　away　from　him。
　　Astonished；　he　said；　'Heal　you？'
　　'Trust　me。　Nina　can　do　what　no　doctor　can；　what　no　one　else　on　earth　can　do。'
　　At　that　moment；　on　some　level；　he　knew　at　least　one　of　Rose　Tucker's　remaining　secrets；　but　he　could　not　allow　himself　to　take　out　that　dark　pearl　of　knowledge　and　examine　it。
　　'Help　me　get　my　blouse　and　blazer　on；　and　let's　go。　Get　me　into　Nina's　hands。　Her　healing　hands。'
　　Though　half　sick　with　worry；　he　did　as　she　wanted。　As　he　dressed　her；　he　remembered　how　larger　than　life　she　had　seemed　in　the　cemetery　Saturday　morning。　Now　she　was　so　small。
　　Through　a　hot　clawing　wind　that　mimicked　the　songs　of　wolves；　she　leaned　on　him　all　the　way　back　to　the　car。
　　When　he　got　her　settled　in　the　passenger's　seat；　she　asked　if　he　would　get　her　something　to　drink。
　　From　a　vending　machine　in　front　of　the　station；　he　purchased　a　can　of　Pepsi　and　one　of　Orange　Crush。　She　preferred　the　Crush；　and　he　opened　it　for　her。
　　Before　she　accepted　the　drink；　she　gave　him　two　things：　the　Polaroid　photograph　of　his　family's　graves；　and　the　folded　dollar…bill　on　which　the　serial　number；　minus　the　fourth　digit；　provided　the　phone　number　at　which　Mark　of　lnfiniface　could　be　reached　in　an　emergency。　'And　before　you　start　driving；　I　want　to　tell　you　how　to　find　the　cabin　in　Big　Bear…in　case　I　can't　hold　on　until　we　get　there。'
　　'Don't　be　silly。　You'll　make　it。'
　　'Listen；'　she　said；　and　again　she　project