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"You've killed him."
She tore at his eyes, but her hands were wet with something and slid off his
face. With her hand grip gone, her scissored legs let go of him. She came at
him again, and he
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wondered how he had recognized her before. She wasn't Joanne; she was some
crazed animal, her mouth distorted by screaming. She hit him in the gut with
her head, and tried to drive her shoulder into his genitals, but she was
weakening, her screams hoarse whispers now.
"You shot him, you bastard. He saved my life. He was trying to help meùand you
shot him. You filthy pervert."
He tried to hold her off him with his palms against her shoulders, but she
twisted and clawed at him again. He grabbed one wrist and spun her around,
pinioning her against him while she sobbed and twisted, spitting out
obscenities. When he felt her sag, he let her go and she fell onto the grass,
gasping for air.
"You son of a bitch. You lousy, fucking murderer."
She was either unaware that she was naked, that she sprawled in front of him
wantonly, or she didn't care. He turned away, prepared to deck her if she came
at him again, but she stayed quiet.
He looked for the tall, red-haired man, actually sensed someone just behind
him, spun around, and saw no one but Joanne.
"Where is he? Where did he go?"
She began to sob again.
"Where the hell is he?"
"Over there. He's over there. Go see what you did."
He moved behind the boulder that was as high as his waist and saw the prone
figure in the long grass. He did not trust it.
"Get up."
The man played possum, keeping his face buried in the turf.
"Get up you asshole!" Sam nudged the knee raised where the red-haired man had
stopped crawling. "Game's over."
There was no response and Sam saw that a thin line of ants disappeared into
the red hair and then emerged over the visible ear and descended into the
hidden face. The guy had a lot of controlùthey must itch like hell. He touched
the knee with his foot again, harder, and the man rose up and rolled over on
his back.
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There was a red furrow along his skull, disappearing behind the right ear. The
green eyes stared half-closed into the sun without blinking. The mouth smiled
slightly, and the ants dampened their legs in blood that drained into a pool
in the ear. The man's left arm was purple and swollen, streaked with gaping
peninsulas of pus.
"What's the matter with his arm?"
She didn't answer. She seemed unable to walk, and crawled to the body on her
hands and knees, and flung herself on it. He watched her breasts flatten the
red, curling hairs on the body's chest and overcame a terrible compulsion to
pick her up and throw her off the precipice just beyond them.
"Get dressed," he said finally. "Go put some goddamn clothes on."
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Sam walked slowly back to where Max waited, ashamed that Ling had had to see
what Joanne was. He could not see the sleek black head on the rock where
they'd waited. When he shouted, there was no reply.
"Ling! It's over. You can come down now."
Sam called again and waited for the crackling in the trees where Max hid.
He thought first that the little gurgling sound had come from her, but the
source of it was too close for that. He looked down and was surprised to see
how small Ling really was, all curled up with his hands clasped around his
knees, made into a ball so that he could not be seen.
Ling breathed very badly, taking in air and some liquid so that his breaths
were bubbles and whistles. Sam knelt beside him and carefully pried arms and
legs apart, expecting blood again, feeling that every human he came in contact
with had begun to leak red fluid, burst from veins where it belonged.
He found no blood. There seemed to be no wound. He loosened the shirt buttons
one at a time, letting Ling rest between, talking steadily and with some
reassuranceù enough so that Ling's eyes followed him without doubt.
He could not understand where the hole in Max's armpit
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had come fromùfrom which gun. It didn't bleed externally, but it sucked in air
when the Indian's chest flared, and Sam clapped his hand over it
automatically, shutting out the sound. Closed, the hole was not as formidable,
and Ling breathed easier.
"You're O.K., kid. You're going to be fine."
Ling's eyes closed and he shook his head.
"Hardly a scratch," Sam lied.
"... scratch."
"Does it hurt?"
Ling grinned faintly. "It smarts."
"I'll get you down."
".. . bird coming."
Sam looked up, expecting to see some mythic winged creature, and remembered
the helicopter. If it could find them, and if it came in time, and if Max [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]