[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Somehow, he could not bring himself to move.The first emotions he became conscious of were anger and indignation.They were invading his sanctum sanctorum.They were proving his senseof security to be false.They were proving him for a fool.file:///C|/.prehensive%20collection/Anthologies/Book%20of%20The%20Dead/Stephen%20King%20-%20Book%20of%20the%20Dead.htm[3/19/2010 4:15:02 PM] Then came the fear, and all other emotions became meaningless.He was trapped.Judging by the sounds, there were already too many at the entrance downstairs.Too many in the entrance.There would be no escape through thenarrow confines of the house.Clumsiness notwithstanding, their sheer numbers would overwhelm him.Where had they all come from so suddenly?Finally he bolted from the bed and thrust himself toward the window to look out.Darkness.Within the darkness, five darker shapes no, seven shambling about, moving vaguely toward the broken entrance of the house.Eight no, nine.A sound behind him indicated that the first one had stumbled onto the base of the stairs.It was on his scent.Eleven outside.He wrestled his arms through the straps of his backpack, cursing his own clumsiness, then lurched back to the window.More were comingthrough the trees.Several had disappeared around the front of the house.He thrust his legs out the window and bent awkwardly at the waist to get his head through.When he tried to sit up straight on the windowsill, hisbackpack struck the underside of the window, nearly causing him to fall.He ducked again, this time low enough to clear the backpack, andperched there, peering into the darkness below.One of the ghouls in the yard looked up at him and made a wretched sound.Another turned toward it, then followed its gaze to the window.Behind him Dawson heard the bureau being pushed slowly across the floor.He leapt.A moment of freedom.Falling.Movement through the night s damp air.A sensation of speed.PAIN!Ankles legs spine stomach ribs PAIN.White/black PAIN.Red/white PAIN.Everything PAIN.Nothing but PAIN.Then a thought crept in: Can t walk can t run can t escape. Then, in answer: If I can t walk, they cannot make me be like them.Not like that.A predator. A small victory.A minor success.He told himself to savor that at least.Then he opened his eyes.Dark shapes swayed before him, looming ever nearer.Shadowed, contorted, vacant faces, shattered slavering mouths tight and shrill with horrificexhilaration. NO!!! file:///C|/.prehensive%20collection/Anthologies/Book%20of%20The%20Dead/Stephen%20King%20-%20Book%20of%20the%20Dead.htm[3/19/2010 4:15:02 PM] He pressed hard against the pain and gained his feet, spun away from the approaching figures and lunged into something heavy, putrescently softand yielding.A grunt of air, not his.Hot, fetid breath pushing against his cheek.He screamed and swung his elbow in a high arc, felt it strike deeply into the softthing s substance as it knocked the beast down.He kicked once, futilely, at the wretched face and nearly fell on top of it.He screamed and ran.As dawn began to filter through the trackless woods through which he moved, he believed that he was still running.He was not.His staggering, lurching gait carried him no faster than an old man s ambling morning walk.It was the best that he could muster.Simply continuing onward demanded the utmost of his effort and his will, but he would not stop to rest.Eventually he noticed the light growing bright around him.He decided then to leave the cover of the trees for the easier going of the roadside.Later he heard a sound.Some portion of his mind believed that he should be able to place that sound.That he should recognize it easily.But he was incapable of that.Most of his mind was still trapped in the darkness of time, witnessing and reliving the moments when his hands were shoving putrid flesh awayfrom his own face while, behind him, other hands were reaching out to draw him close.He could feel them there, behind him, getting closer,reaching out, about to grab him. NO! He shuddered.Then he whimpered, no. He stared a moment at the sun, now well above the horizon, and wondered if it held any meaning for him.Whether there was anything he couldlearn or deduce from its existence or position.Then the sound came back to him, and he remembered what it meant.It was the distant hum of acar.It was approaching from behind him.He turned to look down the road just as the vehicle became visible around a distant curve.It was a blue Ford pickup, and it was moving fast.He stared at it a moment.Then with great effort, and a sense of trepidation he did not fully comprehend, he extended his right arm and opened hispalm to it.Beseeching it to stop.Beseeching it to save him.Within moments it was close enough for him to see clearly the muzzle of a shotgun protruding from the passenger window.It was aimed directlyat him.He threw himself upon the ground just as the thunderous sound enveloped him.Pain jarred him.He wondered if he had it in him to rise again, or if he would simply lie there and slowly bleed to death.Then he realized that thepain was not so localized as it ought to be.It was everywhere at once.He had not been shot, he had simply re-wrenched every injury that he hadreceived when he leapt from the window.He cursed his assailants, wept for himself and lay there in a heap.When he finally rose to continue on his way, he was surprised to find not ten feet beyond the spot where he had flung himself to the ground abody sprawled across the shoulder of the road.It s shattered skull oozed fluids that bore only a cursory resemblance to human blood.Its blue-greenskin marked it even more clearly for what it was.It had not been there when he had turned to hail the truck, of that Dawson was certain.He understood then, that he had not been the target.Not of the people in the pickup at least.They had actually saved his life.He hurried on.[8] Just try to relax.We don t live far from here.Just out on Pitney Road. Oh, but that s so stupid of me.I mean, you re not from around here, are you? You wouldn t know& I mean, Pitney Road doesn t mean a thing tofile:///C|/.prehensive%20collection/Anthologies/Book%20of%20The%20Dead/Stephen%20King%20-%20Book%20of%20the%20Dead.htm[3/19/2010 4:15:02 PM] you, does it? Dawson didn t respond [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Somehow, he could not bring himself to move.The first emotions he became conscious of were anger and indignation.They were invading his sanctum sanctorum.They were proving his senseof security to be false.They were proving him for a fool.file:///C|/.prehensive%20collection/Anthologies/Book%20of%20The%20Dead/Stephen%20King%20-%20Book%20of%20the%20Dead.htm[3/19/2010 4:15:02 PM] Then came the fear, and all other emotions became meaningless.He was trapped.Judging by the sounds, there were already too many at the entrance downstairs.Too many in the entrance.There would be no escape through thenarrow confines of the house.Clumsiness notwithstanding, their sheer numbers would overwhelm him.Where had they all come from so suddenly?Finally he bolted from the bed and thrust himself toward the window to look out.Darkness.Within the darkness, five darker shapes no, seven shambling about, moving vaguely toward the broken entrance of the house.Eight no, nine.A sound behind him indicated that the first one had stumbled onto the base of the stairs.It was on his scent.Eleven outside.He wrestled his arms through the straps of his backpack, cursing his own clumsiness, then lurched back to the window.More were comingthrough the trees.Several had disappeared around the front of the house.He thrust his legs out the window and bent awkwardly at the waist to get his head through.When he tried to sit up straight on the windowsill, hisbackpack struck the underside of the window, nearly causing him to fall.He ducked again, this time low enough to clear the backpack, andperched there, peering into the darkness below.One of the ghouls in the yard looked up at him and made a wretched sound.Another turned toward it, then followed its gaze to the window.Behind him Dawson heard the bureau being pushed slowly across the floor.He leapt.A moment of freedom.Falling.Movement through the night s damp air.A sensation of speed.PAIN!Ankles legs spine stomach ribs PAIN.White/black PAIN.Red/white PAIN.Everything PAIN.Nothing but PAIN.Then a thought crept in: Can t walk can t run can t escape. Then, in answer: If I can t walk, they cannot make me be like them.Not like that.A predator. A small victory.A minor success.He told himself to savor that at least.Then he opened his eyes.Dark shapes swayed before him, looming ever nearer.Shadowed, contorted, vacant faces, shattered slavering mouths tight and shrill with horrificexhilaration. NO!!! file:///C|/.prehensive%20collection/Anthologies/Book%20of%20The%20Dead/Stephen%20King%20-%20Book%20of%20the%20Dead.htm[3/19/2010 4:15:02 PM] He pressed hard against the pain and gained his feet, spun away from the approaching figures and lunged into something heavy, putrescently softand yielding.A grunt of air, not his.Hot, fetid breath pushing against his cheek.He screamed and swung his elbow in a high arc, felt it strike deeply into the softthing s substance as it knocked the beast down.He kicked once, futilely, at the wretched face and nearly fell on top of it.He screamed and ran.As dawn began to filter through the trackless woods through which he moved, he believed that he was still running.He was not.His staggering, lurching gait carried him no faster than an old man s ambling morning walk.It was the best that he could muster.Simply continuing onward demanded the utmost of his effort and his will, but he would not stop to rest.Eventually he noticed the light growing bright around him.He decided then to leave the cover of the trees for the easier going of the roadside.Later he heard a sound.Some portion of his mind believed that he should be able to place that sound.That he should recognize it easily.But he was incapable of that.Most of his mind was still trapped in the darkness of time, witnessing and reliving the moments when his hands were shoving putrid flesh awayfrom his own face while, behind him, other hands were reaching out to draw him close.He could feel them there, behind him, getting closer,reaching out, about to grab him. NO! He shuddered.Then he whimpered, no. He stared a moment at the sun, now well above the horizon, and wondered if it held any meaning for him.Whether there was anything he couldlearn or deduce from its existence or position.Then the sound came back to him, and he remembered what it meant.It was the distant hum of acar.It was approaching from behind him.He turned to look down the road just as the vehicle became visible around a distant curve.It was a blue Ford pickup, and it was moving fast.He stared at it a moment.Then with great effort, and a sense of trepidation he did not fully comprehend, he extended his right arm and opened hispalm to it.Beseeching it to stop.Beseeching it to save him.Within moments it was close enough for him to see clearly the muzzle of a shotgun protruding from the passenger window.It was aimed directlyat him.He threw himself upon the ground just as the thunderous sound enveloped him.Pain jarred him.He wondered if he had it in him to rise again, or if he would simply lie there and slowly bleed to death.Then he realized that thepain was not so localized as it ought to be.It was everywhere at once.He had not been shot, he had simply re-wrenched every injury that he hadreceived when he leapt from the window.He cursed his assailants, wept for himself and lay there in a heap.When he finally rose to continue on his way, he was surprised to find not ten feet beyond the spot where he had flung himself to the ground abody sprawled across the shoulder of the road.It s shattered skull oozed fluids that bore only a cursory resemblance to human blood.Its blue-greenskin marked it even more clearly for what it was.It had not been there when he had turned to hail the truck, of that Dawson was certain.He understood then, that he had not been the target.Not of the people in the pickup at least.They had actually saved his life.He hurried on.[8] Just try to relax.We don t live far from here.Just out on Pitney Road. Oh, but that s so stupid of me.I mean, you re not from around here, are you? You wouldn t know& I mean, Pitney Road doesn t mean a thing tofile:///C|/.prehensive%20collection/Anthologies/Book%20of%20The%20Dead/Stephen%20King%20-%20Book%20of%20the%20Dead.htm[3/19/2010 4:15:02 PM] you, does it? Dawson didn t respond [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]