sk.dreamcatcher-第83章

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　pick　the　lock。
　　　　Why？　How　could　that　be？
　　　　'Duddits；'　he　whispered。　'No　bounce；　no　play。'
　　　　The　doorknob　rattled。　'Let　me　in！'　Mr　Gray　snarled；　and　to　Jonesy　he　didn't　sound　like　an　emissary　from　another　galaxy　but　like　anyone　who　has　been　denied　what　he　wants　and　is　pissed　off　about　it。　Was　that　because　he　was　interpreting　Mr　Gray's　behavior　in　terms　which　he；　Jonesy；　understood？　Humanizing　the　alien？　Translating　him？
　　　　'Let　。　。　。　me　。　。　。　IN！'
　　　　Jonesy　responded　without　thinking：　'Not　by　the　hair　of　my　chinny…chin…chin。'　And　thought：　To　which　you　say；　'Then　I'll　huff。　。　。　and　I'll　PUFF　。　。　。　and　I'll　BLO　W　your　house　in！'
　　　　　But　Mr　Gray　only　rattled　the　knob　harder　than　ever。　He　was　not　used　to　being　balked　in　this　manner　（or　in　any　manner；　Jonesy　guessed）　and　was　very　pissed。　Janas's　momentary　resistance　had　startled　him；　but　this　was　resistance　on　a　whole　other　level。　　　　
　　　'Where　are　you？'　Mr　Gray　called　angrily。　'How　can　you　be　in　there？　e　out！'
　　　　Jonesy　didn't　reply；　only　stood　among　the　tumbled　boxes；　listening。　He　was　almost　positive　Mr　Gray　couldn't　get　in；　but　it　would　be　just　as　well　not　to　provoke　him。
　　　　And　after　a　little　more　knob…rattling；　he　sensed　Mr　Gray　leaving　him。
　　　　Jonesy　went　to　the　window；　stepping　over　the　tumbled　boxes　marked　DUDDITS　and　DERRY　to　get　there；　and　stared　out　into　the　snowy　night。


7

Mr　Gray　climbed　Jonesy's　body　back　behind　the　wheel　of　the　truck；　slammed　the　door；　and　pushed　the　accelerator。　The　truck　bolted　forward；　then　lost　purchase。　All　four　wheels　spun；　and　the　truck　skidded　into　the　guardrails　with　a　jarring　bang。
　　　　'Fuck！'　Mr　Gray　cried；　accessing　Jonesy's　profanity　almost　without　being　aware　of　it。　'Jesus…Christ…bananas！　Kiss　my　bender！　Doodlyfuck！　Bite　my　bag！'
　　　　Then　he　stopped　and　accessed　Jonesy's　driving　skills　again。　Jonesy　had　some　information　on　driving　in　weather　like　this；　but　nowhere　near　as　much　as　Janas　had　possessed。　Janas　was　gone；　however；　his　files　erased。　What　Jonesy　knew　would　have　to　do。　The　important　thing　was　to　get　beyond　what　Janas　had　thought　of　as　the　'q…zone'。　Beyond　the　q…zone　he　would　be　safe。　Janas　had　been　clear　about　that。
　　　　Jonesy's　foot　pressed　down　on　the　gas　pedal　again；　much　more　gently　this　time。　The　truck　started　to　move。　Jonesy's　hands　steered　the　Chevrolet　back　into　the　fading　path　left　by　the　plow。
　　　　Under　the　dash；　the　radio　crackled　to　life。　'Tubby　One；　this　is　Tubby　Four。　I　got　a　rig　off　the　road　and　turned　over　on　the　median。　Do　you　copy？'
　　　　Mr　Gray　consulted　the　files。　What　Jonesy　knew　about　military　munication　was　skimpy；　mostly　gleaned　from　books　and　something　called　the　movies；　but　it　might　do。　He　took　the　mike；　felt　for　the　button　Jonesy　seemed　to　think　would　be　on　the　side；　found　it；　pushed　it。　'I　copy；'　he　said。　Would　Tubby　Four　be　able　to　tell　that　Tubby　One　was　no　longer　Andy　Janas？　Based　on　Jonesy's　files；　Mr　Gray　doubted　it。
　　　　'A　bunch　of　us　are　going　to　get　him　up；　see　if　we　can　get　him　back　on　the　road。　He's　got　the　goddam　food；　you　copy？'
　　　　Mr　Gray　pushed　the　button。　'Got　the　goddam　food；　copy。'
　　　　A　longer　pause；　long　enough　for　him　to　wonder　if　he'd　said　something　wrong；　stepped　in　some　kind　of　a　trap；　and　then　the　radio　said：　'We'll　have　to　wait　for　the　next　bunch　of　plows；　I　guess。　You　might　as　well　keep　rolling；　over？'　Tubby　Four　sounded　disgusted。　Jonesy's　files　suggested　that　might　be　because　Janas；　with　his　superior　driving　skills；　had　gotten　too　far　ahead　to　help。　All　this　was　good。　He　would've　kept　moving　in　any　case；　but　it　was　good　to　have　Tubby　Four's　official　sanction；　if　that's　what　it　was。
　　　　He　checked　Jonesy's　files　（which　he　now　saw　as　Jonesy　saw　them　…　boxes　in　a　vast　room）　and　said；　'Copy。　Tubby　One；　over　and　out。'　And；　as　an　afterthought：　'Have　a　nice　night。'
　　　　The　white　stuff　was　horrible。　Treacherous。　Nonetheless；　Mr　Gray　risked　driving　a　little　faster。　As　long　as　he　was　in　the　area　controlled　by　Creepy　Kurtz's　armed　force；　he　might　be　vulnerable。　Once　out　of　the　net；　however；　he　would　be　able　to　plete　his　business　very　quickly。
　　　　What　he　needed　had　to　do　with　a　place　called　Derry；　and　when　Mr　Gray　went　into　the　big　storeroom　again；　he　discovered　an　amazing　thing：　his　unwilling　host　had　either　known　that　or　sensed　it；　because　it　was　the　Derry　files　Jonesy　had　been　moving　when　Mr　Gray　had　returned　and　almost　caught　him。
　　　　Mr　Gray　searched　the　boxes　that　were　left　with　sudden　anxiety；　and　then　relaxed。
　　　　What　he　needed　was　still　here。
　　　　Lying　on　its　side　near　the　box　which　contained　the　most　important　information　was　another　box；　very　small　and　very　dusty。　Written　on　the　side　in　black　pencil　was　the　word　DUDDITS。　If　there　were　other　Duddits…boxes；　they　had　been　removed。　Only　this　one　had　been　overlooked。
　　　　More　out　of　curiosity　than　anything　else　（his　curiosity　also　borrowed　from　Jonesy's　store　of　emotions）；　Mr　Gray　opened　it。　Inside　was　a　bright　yellow　container　made　of　plastic。　Outlandish　figures　capered　upon　it；　figures　Jonesy's　files　identified　as　both　cartoons　and　the　Scooby…Doos。　On　one　end　was　a　sticker　reading　I　BELONG　TO　DUDDITS　CAVELL；　19　MAPLE　LANE；　DERRY；　MAINE。　IF　THE　BOY　I　BELONG　TO　IS　LOST；　CALL
　　　　This　was　followed　by　numbers　too　faint　and　illegible　to　read；　probably　a　munication…code　Jonesy　no　longer　remembered。　Mr　Gray　tossed　the　yellow　plastic　container；　probably　meant　for　carrying　food；　aside。　It　could　mean　nothing　。　。　。　although　if　that　was　really　the　case；　why　had　Jonesy　risked　his　existence　getting　the　other　DUDDITS…boxes　（as　well　as　some　of　those　marked　DERRY）　to　safety？
　　　　DUDDITS=CHILDHOOD　FRIEND。　Mr　Gray　knew　this　from　his　initial　encounter　with　Jonesy　in　'the　hospital'　。　。　。　and　if　he　had　known　what　an　annoyance　Jonesy　would　turn　out　to　be；　he　would　have　erased　his　host's　consciousness　right　then。　Neither　the　term　CHILDHOOD　nor　the　term　FRIEND　had　any　emotional　resonance　for　Mr　Gray；　but　he　understood　what　they　meant。　What　he　didn't　understand　was　how　Jonesy's　childhood　friend　could　have　anything　to　do　with　what　was　happening　tonight。
　　　　One　possibility　occurred　to　him：　his　host　had　gone　mad。　Being　turned　out　of　his　own　body　had　driven　him　insane；　and　he'd　simply　taken　the　boxes　closest　to　the　door　of　his　perplexing　stronghold；　assigning　them　in　his　madness　an　importance　they　did　not　actually　have。
　　　　'Jonesy；'　Mr　Gray　said；　speaking　the　name　with　Jonesy's　vocal　cords。　These　creatures　were　mechanical　geniuses　（of　course　they　would　have　to　be；　to　survive　in　such　a　cold　world）；　but　their　thought…processes　were　odd　and　crippled：　rusty　mentation　sunk　in　corrosive　pools　of　emotion。　Their　telepathic　abilities　were　minus；　the　transient　telepathy　they　were　now　experiencing　thanks　to　the　byrus　and　the　kim　（'flashlights'；　they　called　them）　bewildered　and　frightened　them。　It　was　difficult　for　Mr　Gray　to　believe　they　hadn't　murdered　their　entire　species　yet。　Creatures　incapable　of　real　thought　were　maniacs　…　this　was　surely　beyond　argument。
　　　　Meanwhile；　no　answer　from　the　creature　in　that　strange；　impregnable　room。
　　　　'Jonesy。'
　　　　Nothing。　But　Jonesy　was　listening。　Mr　Gray　was　sure　of　it。
　　　　'There　is　no　necessity　for　this　suffering；　Jonesy。　See　us　for　what　we　are　…　not　invaders　but　saviors。　Buddies。'
　　　　Mr　Gray　considered　the　various　boxes。　For　a　creature　that　couldn't　actually　think　much；　Jonesy　had　an　enormous　amount　of　storage　capacity。　Question　for　another　day：　why　would　beings　who　thought　so　poorly　have　so　much　retrieval　capability？　Did　it　have　to　do　with　their　overblown　emotional　makeup？　And　the　emotions　were　disturbing。　He　found　Jonesy's　emotions　very　disturbing。　Always　there。　Always　on　call。　And　so　much　of　them。
　　　　'War。　。　。　famine　。　。　。　ethnic　cleansing　。　。　。　killing　for　peace　。　。　。　massacring　the　heathen　for　Jesus　。　。　。　homosexual　people　beaten　to　death　。　。　。　bugs　in　bottles；　the　bottles　sitting　on　top　of　missiles　aimed　at　every　city　in　the　world　。　。　。　e　on；　Jonesy；　pared　to　type…four　anthrax；　what's　a　little　byrus　between　friends？　Jesus…Christ…bananas；　you'll　all　be　dead　in　fifty　years；　anyway！　This　is　good！　Relax　and　enjoy　it！'
　　　　'You　made　that　guy　stick　a　pen　in　his　eye。'
　　　　Grumpy；　but　better　than　nothing。　The　wind　gusted；　the　pickup　skidded；　and　Mr　Gray　rode　with　it；　us