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Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 396 из 425I fumbled in the carry-bag, found the Stenomask Rommie and George had given me as a joke, and slipped it over my mouth and nose with fingers that felt numb anddistant. I breathed shallowly and tentatively. Better. Not a lot, but enough to keep from fleeing, which was undoubtedly what she wanted.
“No!” she cried from somewhere behind me as I grabbed the spade and dug in. I tore a great mouth in the ground with the first swipe, and each subsequent one deepened and widened it. The earth was soft and yielding, woven through with mats of thin roots which parted easily under the blade. “No! Don’t you dare!” I wouldn’t look around, wouldn’t give her a chance to push me away.
She was stronger down here, perhaps because it had happened here. Was that possible? I didn’t know and didn’t care. All I cared about was getting this done. Where the roots were thicker, I hacked through them with the pruning knife. “Leave me be!” Now I did look around, risked one quick glance because of the unnatural crackling sounds which had accompanied her voice—which now seemed to make her voice. The Green Lady was gone. The birch had somehow become Sara Tidwell: it was Sara’s face growing out of the criss-crossing branches and shiny leaves. That rain-slicked face swayed, dissolved, came together, melted away, came together again. For a moment all the mystery I had sensed down here was revealed. Her damp shifting eyes were utterly human. They stared at me with hate and supplication. “I ain’t done!” she cried in a cracked, breaking voice. “He was the worst, don’t you understand? He was the worst and it’s his blood in her and I won’t rest until I have it out!”
There was a gruesome ripping sound. She had inhabited the birch, made it into a physical body of some sort and intended to tear it free of the earth. She would come and get me with it if she could; kill me with it if she could. Strangle me in limber branches. Stuff me with leaves until I looked like a Christmas decoration. “No matter how much of a monster he was, Kyra had nothing to do with what he did,” I said. “And you won’t have her.”
“Yes I will!” the Green Lady screamed. The ripping, rending sounds were louder now. They were joined by a hissing, shaky crackle. I didn’t look around again. I didn’t dare look around. I dug faster instead. “Yes I will have her!” she cried, and now the voice was closer.
She was coming for me but I refused to see; when it comes to walking trees and bushes, I’ll stick to Macbeth, thanks. “I will have her! He took mine and I mean to take his!”
“Go away,” a new voice said. The spade loosened in my hands, almost fell. I turned and saw Jo standing below me and to my right.
“No!” she cried from somewhere behind me as I grabbed the spade and dug in. I tore a great mouth in the ground with the first swipe, and each subsequent one deepened and widened it. The earth was soft and yielding, woven through with mats of thin roots which parted easily under the blade. “No! Don’t you dare!” I wouldn’t look around, wouldn’t give her a chance to push me away.
She was stronger down here, perhaps because it had happened here. Was that possible? I didn’t know and didn’t care. All I cared about was getting this done. Where the roots were thicker, I hacked through them with the pruning knife. “Leave me be!” Now I did look around, risked one quick glance because of the unnatural crackling sounds which had accompanied her voice—which now seemed to make her voice. The Green Lady was gone. The birch had somehow become Sara Tidwell: it was Sara’s face growing out of the criss-crossing branches and shiny leaves. That rain-slicked face swayed, dissolved, came together, melted away, came together again. For a moment all the mystery I had sensed down here was revealed. Her damp shifting eyes were utterly human. They stared at me with hate and supplication. “I ain’t done!” she cried in a cracked, breaking voice. “He was the worst, don’t you understand? He was the worst and it’s his blood in her and I won’t rest until I have it out!”
There was a gruesome ripping sound. She had inhabited the birch, made it into a physical body of some sort and intended to tear it free of the earth. She would come and get me with it if she could; kill me with it if she could. Strangle me in limber branches. Stuff me with leaves until I looked like a Christmas decoration. “No matter how much of a monster he was, Kyra had nothing to do with what he did,” I said. “And you won’t have her.”
“Yes I will!” the Green Lady screamed. The ripping, rending sounds were louder now. They were joined by a hissing, shaky crackle. I didn’t look around again. I didn’t dare look around. I dug faster instead. “Yes I will have her!” she cried, and now the voice was closer.
She was coming for me but I refused to see; when it comes to walking trees and bushes, I’ll stick to Macbeth, thanks. “I will have her! He took mine and I mean to take his!”
“Go away,” a new voice said. The spade loosened in my hands, almost fell. I turned and saw Jo standing below me and to my right.