gns.throwback-第50部分

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day　e　back　in　their　own　time。　He　listened；　couldn't　hear　anything；　didn't　want　to。　He　wished　he　could　go　back　to　sleep；　divorce　himself　from　reality。　Hide。
　　
　　In　the　end　he　swung　his　legs　to　the　floor　and　made　his　way　to　the　sink。　A　glass　of　water；　not　the　same　glass　that　Sylvia　had　used；　he　made　sure　of　that。　There　was　a　sour　taste　in　his　mouth；　the　taste　of　damp　earth。　Grave　soil？
　　
　　He　would　have　to　go　upstairs；　it　was　his　duty。　Better　now；　get　it　over　with；　if　he　put　it　off　any　longer　he　wouldn't　go。　He　would　walk　right　out　of　that　door　and　up　the　steep　hillside　opposite。　I　can't　beat　you　so　I've　e　to　join　you。　Maybe　the　change　will　take　me；　too；　and　then　I　won't　know　any　different。
　　
　　He　mounted　the　stairs　a　step　at　a　time。　In　the　cold　light　of　morning　there　would　be　no　shadows　to　hide　the　awful　facial　details。　You're　not　Sylvia；　you're　something　else。
　　
　　Just　like　Jackie　is。
　　
　　He　stood　on　the　landing；　almost　turned　back。　How　could　it　have　happened？　That　storm　months　ago　had　cleared　the　atmosphere　of　any　remaining　micro…organisms；　blown　them　on　westwards。　What　damage　was　done　was　done；　there　wouldn't　be　any　more。　You　were　just　left　to　live　with　what　remained。　In　theory。
　　
　　The　mating；　the　rape　。　。　。　That　was　it；　he　was　sure。　Eric　had　passed　the　change　on　in　his　semen；　given　Sylvia　new　life　in　a　different　way。　Oh　Jesus　God！　A　husband's　revenge　on　his　unfaithful　wife　and　her　lover！
　　
　　No；　I　don't　want　to　go　near　you；　Sylvia。　Thank　God　our　relationship　has　been　platonic　these　last　few　weeks。　Or　else　。　。　。
　　
　　He　hit　the　bedroom　at　a　rush　otherwise　he　would　never　have　gone　through　that　door。　Revulsion；　curiosity。　All　right；　let's　get　it　over；　let　me　look　at　you　and　。　。　。
　　
　　The　room　was　empty！
　　
　　He　stood　there　just　inside　the　door；　his　brain　trying　to　accept　that　there　was　no　horror　lying　there　on　the　bed；　no　disfiguration；　no　creature　that　might　have　been　four　thousand　years　old。　Nothing　but　a　pile　of　crumpled　sheets　and　blankets；　an　empty　bed　in　a　room　that　stank　of　stale　sweat　and　urine。
　　
　　Instinctively；　dazed；　he　checked　the　wardrobe；　looked　under　the　bed。　Just　to　satisfy　himself　that　she　wasn't　there。　She　wasn't；　he　didn't　expect　her　to　be。
　　
　　She　had　gone　because　the　call　of　the　wild　was　too　strong　for　her　to　resist；　she　had　returned　to　her　own　kind。
　　
　　It　was　some　time　later　when　Jon　Quinn　went　outside。　The　sun　had　been　obliterated　by　a　bank　of　dark　clouds　and　the　temperature　had　dropped　several　degrees。　He　grimaced。　Winter　had　replaced　autumn　overnight；　those　were　snow　clouds；　maybe　only　a　shower；　a　light　ground　covering　but　nevertheless　snow。
　　
　　He　filled　the　hayracks　in　the　goat　shed。　The　animals　were　being　accustomed　to　being　shut　in　now；　didn't　stampede　round　the　building　in　an　attempt　to　get　out　of　his　way。　The　young　billy　was　ready　to　be　slaughtered　for　meat　but　there　wasn't　any　point　anymore。　In　all　probability　he　would　just　turn　him　loose；　let　him　go　to　the　hills。　He　could　have　his　freedom　for　what　it　was　worth。
　　
　　As　he　came　out　of　the　buildings　a　flock　of　rooks　suddenly　rose　into　the　air；　cawing　loudly；　circling；　wanting　to　drop　back　down　on　to　whatever　they　had　been　feeding　on。
　　
　　Jon　stared　in　amazement。　Something　on　the　cultivation　patch　had　attracted　them；　he　couldn't　think　what；　there　were　few　growing　crops　to　interest　corvines　at　this　time　of　the　year。　He　picked　up　the　gun；　changed　his　mind。　He　did　not　have　cartridges　to　waste。　Ali　the　same　he　would　go　and　take　a　look。
　　
　　They　were　probably　scratching　in　the　soil　after　wire…worms　。。。　He　stopped；　almost　turned　and　ran。　God；　no；　not　that。
　　
　　Two　of　the　newly…dug　graves　had　been　disturbed；　the　loose　soil　scratched　out；　scattered　all　around。　And　lying　there；　partly　out　of　the　ground；　exposed　to　their　waists；　were　two　of　the　corpses！　They　stared　fixedly　in　his　direction　out　of　bloody　eyeless　sockets；　flesh　hanging　from　their　faces　in　scarlet　ribbons。　Rigid　in　rigor　mortis；　stiff　arms　pointing　in　his　direction。
　　
　　Murderer！
　　
　　If　his　limbs　had　responded　Jon　Quinn　would　have　turned　and　run。　Instead　he　was　forced　to　stand　there；　cringe　before　the　mute　accusations　of　the　partly　exhumed　dead。
　　
　　Murderer！　You　cannot　be　rid　of　us　so　easily。
　　
　　Gradually　logic；　cold　reasoning　infiltrated　his　sheer　terror。　Those　。　。　。　things　。　。　。　were　dead；　they　could　not　harm　him；　repulsive　as　they　were。　This　was　not　Haiti　where　the　witch…doctors　summoned　the　dead　from　their　graves　to　enslavement　as　zombies。　It　was　Britain　and　things　like　that　did　not　happen。　You　just　got　poisoned　and　thrown　back　into　your　ancestry。
　　
　　Nevertheless；　somebody　or　something　had　dug　the　bodies　up。　He　moved　a　few　paces　nearer；　ran　his　eye　over　the　dispersed　soil。　Footprints；　large　animal　ones　with　claw　imprints。　Dogs！
　　
　　He　laughed　his　sheer　relief　aloud。　The　starving　wild　dogs　from　the　hills　had　scented　death　and　e　during　the　night　hours；　had　scratched　up　the　human　corpses　from　their　shallow　graves；　had　feasted　on　the　dead　meat。　And　when　the　canines　left　at　daybreak　the　crows　had　flown　in　to　a　banquet　of　carnage；　pecked　out　the　eyes；　scraped　the　flesh　off　with　their　talons。　And　now　the　sinister　birds　were　wheeling　overhead；　demanding　a　return　to　their　feast　before　flying　back　to　their　roost。　Jon　turned　away。　Let　the　bastards　e　back　and　feed。
　　
　　That　was　the　role　scavengers　played　in　the　world　of　death；　preventing　putrefaction　and　disease。　　After　dark　the　dogs　might　e　again；　foxes　too。　It　was　the　law　of　Nature　when　things　got　out　of　control。
　　
　　One　last　look　up　at　the　dark　forest　on　the　skyline　before　he　went　back　indoors。　The　first　few　snowflakes　were　starting　to　drift　down。　Sylvia　was　somewhere　up　there。
　　
　　Maybe　Jackie；　too。
　　
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　TWENTY…TWO
　　
　　IT　WAS　morning　again。　Jackie　stirred；　instinctively　clutched　at　the　tree　branches；　experienced　a　dizzy　bout　of　vertigo。　Sickness；　fear；　and　the　fact　that　she　had　neither　eaten　nor　drunk　for　almost　two　days。
　　
　　She　was　going　down　there　today；　down　below　to　where　death　awaited　her。　She　either　died　up　here　slowly　of　starvation　or　gave　herself　up　to　the　pack。　The　latter　would　be　relatively　quick。　Her　mind　was　made　up。
　　
　　A　flap　of　huge　wings　close　by；　a　huge　brown　bird　taking　off；　gliding　and　settling　again　in　a　tree　further　away；　A　buzzard。　It　was　waiting　for　her　to　die　so　that　it　could　feast；　it　wasn't　in　any　hurry。
　　
　　She　released　her　hold　on　the　big　bough；　felt　the　branches　beneath　her　starting　to　bow；　yielding　to　her　full　weight。
　　
　　Sliding；　slippery　。　。　。
　　
　　She　tensed　as　she　felt　herself　go；　closed　her　eyes；　braced　every　nerve　in　her　body　for　the　impact。　Seconds　seemed　an　eternity。　A　brief　flash　of　inexplicable　memory：　that　face　again；　so　smooth　like　Phil　Winder's；　eyes　that　were　filled　with　sorrow；　lips　moving。　Please　don't　die。　Then　it　was　gone。
　　
　　She　hit　something　soft；　rolled；　sprawled。　A　cushioned　landing；　she　had　fallen　on　the　wild　dogs；　amongst　them。　She　closed　her　eyes　tightly。　I'm　not　going　to　look；　I　don't　want　to　see　them。　Kill　me　quickly。
　　
　　Jackie　could　feel　the　rough　hair　of　the　dog　underneath　her；　a　still　form　that　did　not　move。　One　of　the　dead　ones。　She　was　lying　there　waiting　to　die　but　death　did　not　e。
　　
　　It　was　the　silence　that　had　her　opening　her　eyes　in　bewilderment。　The　snarling　pack　should　have　been　on　her　by　now　but　there　was　not　so　much　as　a　warning　growl。　She　should　have　been　dragged　to　and　fro　like　a　rag　doll　caught　up　in　a　canine　tug…o'…war；　pulled　one　way　then　the　other；　teeth　biting　and　tearing　as　they　savaged　her。
　　
　　It　took　several　seconds　for　understanding　to　filter　through　to　her　confused　brain；　rejecting　the　fact　that　she　was　not　going　to　die。　Glancing　from　one　animal　to　another。　She　lay　on　the　big　one；　the　one　which　had　hunted　her；　had　killed　her　panion。　Two　more　close　by；　a　third　by　the　human　corpse。　Another　some　yards　away。　All　of　them　dead。　The　rest　had　gone。
　　
　　For　some　reason　the　dogs　had　left。　They　had　fought　and　feasted　on　human　carrion；　satisfied　their　hunger。　Bee　bored。　It　didn't　matter　why　the