Chapter 6 Chapter 4 Slow Mutation Xenospecies

The gunslinger said to Jack in a soothing tone with the ups and downs of his dream talk: "That night, there were three of us: Cuthbert, Alan and I. We weren't supposed to be there because we were just kids. We were all in diapers, to use one of our sayings. Well. If we got caught, Curt's sure to whip us all over. Luckily, we weren't seen. I guess none of the kids who'd been there before us were either. The boys must have stolen It’s the same mentality that we do through their father’s trousers, then swagger in front of the mirror, then surreptitiously hang them back on the hanger. And the dads pretend not to notice how the trousers are hung and their Habits are different, and pretend not to see the shoe polish beard under their son's nose. Do you understand?"

The boy said nothing.He hadn't said a word since dark.The gunslinger, on the other hand, broke the silence eagerly, even feverishly.The gunslinger had never looked back at the light since they had passed through the gap into the subterranean kingdom beneath the mountains, but the boy had looked back more than once.Jack's cheek became the gunslinger's mirror through which he judged the changing color of the sky: now it was rosy, now it was milky white, now it was pale silver, now it was the last dark red of evening mist, now there was no color at all.The gunslinger struck a stick of fire, and they went on.

Finally, they stopped to camp.No voice from the man in black came from the front.Maybe he stopped to rest too.Or he continues to float forward in the dark, and can walk in a dark room without lighting a fire. "The light ballroom dance of the Sowing Festival—some old people also call this dance a comma, from the word 'mi'—is held once a year in the West Hall," continued the gunslinger. "The official full name is It's 'Ancestor Hall,' but the kids call it West Hall." They heard the sound of dripping water. "It's a court custom, like all spring balls are a tradition." But the gunslinger dismissed it, and the laugh that spouted from his nose was amplified by the unforgiving wall and echoed back into a hoarse gasp. "The books say that in the old days it was a ceremony to welcome the arrival of spring, and sometimes people called it new earth or fresh koumala. But civilized society, you know..."

He could not go on, unable to describe the changes contained in this dead term: the quality of romance disappeared from people's lives, but its residual sensual ghost remained, a world surviving on red tape and luxury ;The night of sowing is also a traditional courtship day, but the courtship etiquette that is as regular as geometric figures has been formulated and accepted by people, replacing the previous more real, crazy, and natural courtship methods.Now he had only a vague sense of that primitive way.Empty grandeur took the place of the real passion that had built and long sustained their kingdom.He experienced that true love in Mejis with Susan Delgado, but then lost it.There was a king once, he seems to have told the boy, named Elder, and although the blood may have been diluted after so many generations, Elder's blood still flows in my veins.But, boy, in the bright world, the time of kings is over.

"They've made the tradition very decadent." The gunslinger went on after a moment, "a play, or a game." His voice was full of disdain, like that of an ascetic, or rather Said to be like a hermit, very disgusted with sensual dogs and horses.If the light was brighter at this time, you could see the bitter and sad expression on his face, from hatred to pain, this is the real condemnation from the heart.Despite the passage of time, the strength within him has not weakened or disappeared.He still lacks imagination, and his character has not changed at all, which is also surprising.

"But the ball, the ballroom dance of the night of sowing..." The boy did not speak or ask questions. "All the crystal chandeliers were lit, all electric crystal chandeliers. It was so brightly lit, it was like an island of light. "We snuck onto a really run-down balcony that people thought was unsafe because they were going to collapse at any moment. But we were kids and boys were boys. Everything was dangerous in our eyes, but so what Aren't we going to live forever? We think so, even when we're talking about dying with a bang. "We were high up and could see everyone clearly. I don't remember any of us talking. We just drank everything with our eyes.

"There was a big stone table in the hall, and the gunslingers and their wives sat at the table and watched the people dance. A few gunslingers danced too, but there were not many, and only young gunslingers. The gunslingers at Harkers' execution got up and danced too. The older gunslingers were all just sitting, and I thought they were a little embarrassed by the lights, the lights of civilized society. They were awesome characters, yes Patronuses, but among those beauties and knights, they look like grooms... "There were four round tables piled high with food, spinning all the time. The cook's helpers were running back and forth between the lobby and the kitchen from seven in the evening until three in the morning the next morning, serving food and taking away empty plates. Those tables Like a clock that never stops turning, we can smell the aroma of roast pig, roast beef, lobster, chicken, baked apples from afar. The tables are constantly turning and the aromas are constantly changing. There is also ice cream and candy. There are kebabs with flames.

"Ma Teng sat next to my mother and father - at such a high place I could recognize them at a glance - the mother and Ma Teng did a dance, they spun slowly, and everyone else stepped back One side, when the dance music was over, they were all applauding. The gunslingers didn't applaud, but my father stood up slowly and held out a hand to her. She held out her hand too, and walked toward him smiling. "The moment was so heavy, we could feel it even up there. By then my father had taken control of his people, you know - the gunslinger family - and if not the entire Inner World King of Gilead, and he's going to be King of Jili too. Everyone else knows. Marten knows better than anyone... except, maybe, Gabriela Ferris."

The boy finally spoke up, and he seemed to ask reluctantly, "Is she your mother?" "Yes. Also called 'Jabriela of Water', Ellen's daughter, Steven's wife, and Roland's mother." The gunslinger opened his arms and made a teasing gesture, as if saying that I would How about here?Then the hands drooped on the lap again. "My father is the last king in the world of light." The gunslinger looked down at his hands.The boy did not speak again. "I remember the way they danced," said the gunslinger. "My mother and Marten, the counselor of the gunslingers. I remember how they danced. Turning slowly together, then parting, on the ancient Courtship steps."

He smiled at the boy and said, "But it doesn't mean anything, you know. Because the power was transferred in a way that they didn't know about, but people knew the fact. My mother was the holder and protector of this power." Genji. Wasn't it? When the dance was over, she came back to him, didn't she? And slapped his palm. Didn't people applaud? Didn't the hall resound with those handsome men and their beauties Applause and cheers? No? No?" There was the bitter dripping of water in the distant darkness.The boy did not speak. "I remember the way they danced," murmured the gunslinger, "I remember that." He looked up at the top of the stone, which he couldn't see at all, and for a moment he looked as if he was about to shout, howl at the wall, Blindly venting towards the darkness—if these stones, which do not see light and make no sound, have life, they will burrow into the depths of the stone wall at this moment like parasites burrowing into their intestines.

"What kind of hand would be able to take a knife and kill my father?" "I'm tired," said the boy, and then fell silent. The gunslinger was silent, and the boy lay down with a hand between his cheek and the stone.The flame in front of them flickered a few times before it was about to die out.The gunslinger rolled a cigarette.He could still see the chandelier clearly, as if memory had eyes; he seemed to hear the shouted greetings among the gunslingers, echoing across the gray sea of ​​hopeless time over the empty land.The thought of the Isle of Light made his heart bleed, and he wished he had never known about the place, the fact that his father had been humiliated for wearing a "cuckold". Smoke was blowing from his mouth and nostrils, and he looked down at the boy.We've only been drawing great circles on the ground, he thought, and we walk in circles and come back to the beginning, and from the beginning we start again: start again, the everlasting curse of the sun. How long will it be before we see daylight again? He fell asleep. After his breathing became even, the boy opened his eyes and looked at the gunslinger bitterly and lovingly.The last bit of flame flickered in his pupils and went out.He closes his eyes. In the desert the gunslinger lost most of his sense of time, because there was no change; and in this dark passage at the bottom of the mountain, he lost the rest.They have no way of determining time, and the concept of time becomes meaningless.In a way, they stand completely outside the time tunnel.A day can be a week, and a week can be a day.They walk, they sleep, they eat far from filling their stomachs.Their only companion is the constant roar of the water that bores its way through the stone.They walked along the stream and drank the mineral, salty water when they were thirsty, hoping that there was nothing in it that could make them sick or even kill them.Sometimes the gunslinger thought he saw lights flickering under the water, like spirit flames, but he guessed it was just a vision in his head, and he hadn't quite forgotten the light.Still, he reminded the boy not to step in the water. As if with a range finder in his head, he always instinctively recalled how far they had traveled. The road by the river (almost a road, since it is very flat, with only slight depressions) leads straight on to the source of the water.At every distance, they would see pylon gates carved out of the stone wall with recessed rings; perhaps cattle or horses were once tied here.There is a pot-bellied flagon made of metal on each pylon door, and an electric torch is inserted in it, but now there are no signs of cattle and horses here, and the torch has also lost its light for many years. When they sat down for the third time, ready to go to bed, the boy proposed to go shopping alone.The gunslinger could hear Jake's cautious footsteps and the slight thud of gravel. "Be careful," he said, "you can't see what's around you." "I walk very slowly. It's... OMG!" "What?" The gunslinger crouched, his hand on the butt of a gun. There was no sound from Jack.The gunslinger squinted hard, but could see nothing. "I think it's a railway," said the boy hesitantly. The gunslinger stood up, followed Jack's voice, and walked with his toes lightly before each step, fearing that there might be a trap. "Here." A hand reached out from the darkness and touched the gunslinger's face.The boy adapts well to the dark, even better than Roland.His pupils dilated until there was no color left: the gunslinger was surprised to see his eyes as he polished the faint firelight.There was no fuel in the passage, and almost everything they had prepared had been burned to ashes.When the desire for light was insatiable, they found that a person's desire for light can be as strong as for food. The boy stood beside a sunken stone wall lined with two parallel metal pipes that stretched into the dark depths.There are black knobs on each pipe, which may have been used to conduct electricity.Along the stone wall, a few inches above the ground, there are polished metal tracks.What has passed on this track?The gunslinger could only imagine glowing bullets, controlled by electricity, with hideous search probes on their heads, galloping through the night.He had never heard of such a thing, but the lost world had left as many wonders as it had left behind so many demons.The gunslinger once met a hermit who had an ancient gasoline pump.Based on this, he became a saint in the eyes of a group of shepherds.The hermit would squat next to the gas pump, wrapping one arm tightly around it, chanting words like unintelligible scriptures.He sometimes clamped the still-glowing steel nozzle between his legs, the rubber tube connecting it to it rotten.Although the gasoline pump is rusty, the words engraved on it are still legible, but to the locals, those words are inscriptions with mysterious and mysterious meanings: Amoco (Note: AMOC0, Amoco Company, is a large American company A comprehensive multinational oil and gas company that was merged by British Petroleum in 1998.).lead-free.The word Amoko has become the totem of Thor. People sacrificed sheep and sacrificed to the gods in front of "Amoko", and made the roar of the engine: Long!Long!Long-long-long! The gunslinger thought of the hulk, and what had been an ocean had become a desert, and only worthless hulks stood in the desert. In front of you is a railway. "Let's walk along it," he said. The boy said nothing. The gunslinger blew out the fire and lay down. When Roland woke up, the boy was sitting in front of him, on a rail, watching him silently. They walked along the railroad tracks like blind men, with Roland leading the way and Jack following.They always wipe the track with one foot to ensure the direction, which is also the instinct of the blind.The flowing water on the right is their only companion.They kept walking like this without talking, stopping to sleep twice in the middle-the number of sleeps had become the only way for them to measure time.The gunslinger could no longer think coherently or plan, and he stopped dreaming when he slept. In the course of walking after the third sleep since they began to walk along the railway, they bumped into a hand-cranked four-wheeled cart. In the dark, they couldn't see what was in front of them at all.The car hit the gunslinger's chest, and the boy walking on the other side hit his forehead so hard that he crouched on the ground in pain. The gunslinger caught fire immediately. "Are you all right?" He sounded annoyed, and the gunslinger jumped at the sound of his own voice after not speaking for so long. "It's okay." He was covering his head.To prove that he was telling the truth, he shook his head.They turned to see what had hit them. It was a flat square metal plate, sitting firmly on the rails, with a handle in the center that could be shaken, and a series of gears connected to the lower part.The gunslinger didn't immediately understand what the thing was for, but the boy saw it right away. "It's a handcart." "what?" "Hand cart," said the boy impatiently. "Like an old cartoon. Watch." He climbed into the car and took hold of the handle.He tried to push the handle down, but he didn't succeed until he put all his weight on it.Very slowly, the car moved silently forward a foot. "Very well," said a faint mechanical voice.This made both of them jump in fright. "Very well, keep pushing..." The mechanical voice disappeared. "It takes a lot of effort to shake the hand." The boy seemed to be apologizing for his incompetence. The gunslinger stood beside Jack and shook the handle.The car slid forward obediently and stopped again. "Very good, keep pushing." The mechanical voice encouraged him. He felt a shaft turn under his feet.This excited him, as did the mechanical voice (though he didn't see the need to listen to that voice anymore).Apart from the water pump he saw in the station, this was the first functioning machine he had seen in years.But at the same time, it made him a little uneasy.This will take them quickly to the finish line.He must have let them discover the car on purpose by the man in black. "Nice, isn't it?" the boy said, with disgust in his voice.In a moment of solemn silence, Roland could hear the organs in his body working, and he could hear the sound of water droplets. "You stand this way and I stand there," Jack said. "You have to push so hard that it spins so fast that I can take over. You push first, then I push. That way we Quick to move. Get it?" "Yes," said the gunslinger.But he was so angry that he clenched his fists. "Then you'll have to push until it spins really fast," the boy repeated, looking at him. A clear vision suddenly appeared before the gunslinger's eyes, and he saw the central hall.It was about a year after the Ballroom Ball at Sowing Festival, and the central hall was in ruins after rebellion, civil war and invasion.Then this scene was replaced by Aili's figure. This special woman was hit forward and backward by the bullet that penetrated her body. Why did the bullet hit her?The gunslinger couldn't think of any reason... unless making her a memory was the reason.Then the gunslinger saw Cuthbert's face, laughing as he walked down the hill, still blowing the horn, until he fell to the ground... and then Susan's face, weeping, looking terribly distressed.My friends, thought the gunslinger, grinning bitterly. "I'll push," said the gunslinger. He began to shake the handle, and the mechanical sound repeated ("Very well, keep pushing. Fine, keep pushing.") He groped with his other hand on the post supporting the handle, and at last he found what he was looking for : a button.He clicked. "Goodbye, man!" said the mechanical voice cheerfully, and then fell silent.This made the gunslinger relieved. They glide forward in the dark at a much faster speed than walking, and they no longer have to feel like blind people to find their way.A mechanical voice spoke midway, suggesting they have some baked and sugared apple-and-almond pie, and that after a hard day, there's nothing quite like good food to reward yourself.After giving this advice, it never spoke again. The handcart was buried here out of the sun, always a little rusty and loose, and it started to become smooth after running for a certain distance.The boy also wanted to work hard, so the gunslinger asked him to shake the handle for a while, but most of the time he would shake the handle himself, up and down, and the muscles opened and closed according to the movement of the hand.The underground water flow is always with them, sometimes close to their feet, sometimes so far away that they can only be distinguished by the sound of water.At one point the water thundered as loudly as if it had crashed into the porch of some cathedral.But there is also a section where almost no sound of water can be heard. The speed of the car was very fast, and the resulting wind was blowing happily in their faces.This seems to take the place of vision, putting them back into the frame of time again.The gunslinger estimated their speed to be between ten and fifteen miles an hour.He felt that the rails were climbing all the time, even though the slope was so slight that he could hardly feel it.It exhausted him, and every time he stopped to rest, he slept like a rock.There was little food left, but none of them worried. For the gunslinger, the imminent climax made him nervous.This feeling was incomprehensible to him, but it was as real as the tiredness caused by cranking the car, and it was getting stronger and stronger.They were very close to the end, but also the beginning... at least he was very close.He felt like an actor standing center stage, minutes before the curtain would go up; as he struck his pose, repeating the first few lines, he heard—though couldn't see—the audience creeping in. , folding the playlist in his hand.The dirty expectations in his heart made him feel like a tight ball in his belly, and the physical work that would make him fall asleep quickly every day was a good way to divert his attention.He slept like a corpse each time, not bothered by any dreams. The boy's words grew less and less, but the night before they were attacked by the slow mutant mutants—they stopped to rest, it was night for them—he asked the gunslinger shyly what he would be when he grew up. how is it. "I want to know more about growing up," he said. The gunslinger was sitting with his back against the handle, rolling a cigarette from the dwindling leaves in his mouth.He was falling asleep when the boy asked him--as usual. "Why do you want to know?" he asked, amused. The boy's voice was curious and stubborn, as if trying to hide his embarrassment. "I just want to know." After a pause, he added, "I've always wondered what it's like growing up. I guess a lot of people tell a lot of lies." "Because you didn't hear my growing up," said the gunslinger. "I guess I grew up not long after what I told you last time." "When you challenged your teacher," Jack said quietly, "I wanted to hear that story." Roland nodded.Yes, of course it was that moment when he tried to cross the line; a story that probably every boy wanted to hear. "However, my real adulthood started when my father sent me on the road. I was tested in one place after another." He thought for a while. "Once I came across something inhuman." "Inhuman? I don't understand." "You can feel him, but you can't see him." Jack nodded, as if he understood. "He's invisible." Roland raised his eyebrows.He had never heard the word. "That's what you call it?" "right." "That's what it's called. At the time, there were a lot of people who wouldn't let me do it—afraid they'd all be damned if I offended him, but that guy loved rape too much. Do you know what that means?" "Yeah," Jack said, "and I guess an invisible guy would be good at it. How did you catch him?" "That story will be told another day." Knowing that there will be no other day.They both knew that there were not many days left. "Two years later, I left a girl in a place called Kingstown, even though I didn't want to—" "Of course you would," said the boy, though his tone was still mild, but he couldn't hide his sarcasm. "You've got to find your tower, am I right? You gotta go, like the cowboys at my dad's company." Roland's face was hot for a while. Fortunately, he couldn't see his embarrassment blushing in the dark, but when he spoke, his tone was steady as if nothing happened. "That's the last part, I guess. I mean, the last test for me to finally grow up. When those tests happened, I didn't know at all that it was a part of my growing up. I didn't know until later." He was disturbed to realize that he was deliberately avoiding the stories the boy wanted to hear. "I guess age is part of growing up, too," he says, almost reluctantly. "It's formal, almost formulaic; it's like dancing." He smiles awkwardly. The boy waited for him to go on. "A man must prove himself in battle," began the gunslinger. Hot summer. That summer was like a vampire, and the land was dry, the tenant farmers' crops were yellow and yellow, and the fields in Gilead Castle were white with the sun.A few miles further west, on the fringes of civilization, the struggle has begun.All the news from there was depressing, but they all paled and weighed less before the heat that scorched the ruling center.In the livestock paddock, a few cows were lazily lying on the ground with distracted eyes.The meat pigs hummed softly, and the sows and mating could not arouse their interest, and they didn't even look at the slaughtering knives sharpened for autumn.People were complaining about taxes and conscription, as usual; but there was an indifference beneath the empty passion show of politics.The center of Gilead is like a frayed rag that has been trampled on, washed, and hung to dry.The cord that holds the last jewel of the center of the world is fraying.Signs of disintegration are everywhere.The earth breathed heavily, heralding impending decline. Roland was only a child then.He felt the changes, but didn't understand them.He felt terribly empty inside, and desperately needed something to fill that void. Three years had passed since the hanged cook who always found food for hungry boys; Roland had grown considerably taller, shoulders and hips wider.Now, at fourteen, in faded denim trousers, he looked very much like a man: slender, lean, and fast.He's still a virgin, but two young mistresses raised by a businessman in West Town often wink at him.He started to react, and it got stronger and stronger.Thinking of them, even in the cool of the hallway, beaded his back. A little further on was his mother's apartment, which he had no intention of going in, but just passed there and climbed to the roof.There, he can enjoy the breeze and the joy brought by his hands. When he passed the door of his mother's room, a voice stopped him: "You, child." That was Ma Teng, father's counselor.He was dressed very casually and looked suspicious, which displeased Roland a little: he was wearing black breeches, which stretched over his legs like an acrobat's tights, and his white shirt was open, revealing his hairless Chest.His hair is disheveled. Roland stared at him speechlessly. "Come in, come in! Don't stand in the hallway! Your mother wants to talk to you." There was a smile at the corners of his mouth, but the rest of his face was mocking.And his gaze was so cold that it made people shiver. In fact, his mother didn't expect to see him at this moment.She sat by the living room window, from which she could see the glowing white stones of the courtyard below.She was wearing a long loose skirt, a pajama-like long skirt that could only be worn at home. The skirt always slipped off one shoulder, revealing her snow-white skin.She only glanced at the boy, as if she didn't dare to look him in the face, her slightly wry smile quickly disappeared, like the autumn sun passing over a pool of stagnant water.When talking, she only looks at her hands, not her son. He rarely saw her, and the tune of the lullaby (阒ci, qici, qici) faded from his memory.But he loves this "stranger".He felt an inexplicable fear in his heart, and he began to hate his father's closest adviser-Ma Teng. "How are you, Ro?" she asked her son softly.Ma Teng stood beside her, with one hand between her white shoulders and neck, smiling at the mother and son.His brown eyes grew bottomless when he smiled. "Okay." He replied. "Is your study going well? Is Fanny satisfied? How about Curt?" Her lips twitched at the second name, as if she had tasted something bitter. "I'm trying," he said.They both knew he wasn't as amazingly smart as Cuthbert, or even as quick as Jamie.He was a hard-working student, as dull as a samurai with a club.Even Alan learns better than him. "How's David?" She knew he loved the falcon. Roland looked up at Ma Teng, who was still listening to the mother and son talking with a fatherly smile. "Its golden days are over." His mother almost began to tremble; at that moment Ma Teng's face darkened, and his hand on her shoulder tightened.She turned her face to look at the white sunlight outside the window, everything looked the same as usual. This is a riddle (Note: The original text uses charade, which refers to a kind of anagram that uses poems, paintings, actions, etc. to make up a word.), he thought, a game.Who is playing this game with whom? "You have a cut on your forehead." Ma Teng smiled again, pointing at Curt's recent scar with a finger. (Thank you, I benefited a lot today.) "Will you be like your father? Be a fighter, or are you just slow?" This time, she did tremble. "Both," said the boy.He stared at Ma Teng firmly and smiled painfully.Even here, he felt very hot. Ma Teng suddenly put away his smile. "You can go to the roof, boy. I know you've got work to do there." "My mother has not given me leave, you squire." Ma Teng's face twisted, as if Roland had just whipped him.The boy heard his mother's mournful, terrified gasps.She called his name. But the painful smile on Roland's face did not change, and he took a step forward. "Can you make a gesture of homage for me, squire? In the name of the master you serve, my father?" Ma Teng stared at him, unable to believe what he said. "Get out." Ma Teng said restrainedly, "Get out, use your hands." With his hideous smile, the boy walked out. He closed the door and walked back the way he came, when he heard his mother howling.It was the sound of people wailing before dying.Then, in disbelief, he heard the sound of his father's servant hitting her, warning her to shut her beak. Shut your beak! He heard Ma Teng's laughter. Roland walked straight to the practice field, with a painful smile on his face all the time. Jamie was coming out of the shop, and when he saw Roland crossing the practice range yard, he ran over to give him the latest news about the riots on the west side.But after seeing Roland's expression clearly, he couldn't utter a word.They had known each other since they were babies, and they had provoked and fought each other as children, and they had explored countless times within the walls of their common life together. Roland walked past him, glaring in Jamie's direction, but not looking at him, the same pained smile on his face.He made his way to Curt's cabin, the curtains of which had been drawn down against the brutal afternoon sun.Curt was in the habit of taking naps so that he would have the energy to go to some seedy brothel downtown at night to satisfy his tomcat needs. Jamie's intuition told him what was going to happen. He was both scared and excited, and he didn't know whether to follow Roland or find other companions. Then, as if awakened from a hypnotic state, he ran towards the main building, shouting, "Cusbert! Alan! Thomas!" His voice was thin and faint in the heat.They knew, with boyish intuition, they all knew that Roland would be the first of them to try to cross the line.But, this came too fast. The terrible smile on Roland's face shocked him more than any news of war, riot, or witchcraft, than a toothless mouth facing a fly-infested lettuce What is said is far more important. Roland walked to the teacher's cabin and kicked towards the door.The door bounced inward, hit the rough plaster wall, and bounced back. He never went in.Standing at the door, he saw a simple brown kitchen with a table, two upright chairs, and two cabinets.There were black scratches on the faded linoleum floor, from the refrigerator to the cabinet where the knives hung, and between the tables. This is the private space of this public figure.In this run-down shack lived the famous fighter, who liked to party at midnight, and who had trained almost three generations, and made some of them gunslingers. "Kurt!" He kicked the table hard, causing it to slide across the room and hit the cabinet where the knife hung.Several knives fell from the shelf one after another, clanging loudly. A hoarse voice came from the inner room, it was the sound of throat clearing when a person was not fully awake.Roland didn't go in, knowing in his heart that it was just a cover; he knew that the moment he kicked the door open, Curt would have woken up and stood by the bedroom door with his one eye open, waiting for the intruder to let his guard down and walk in. One step and he'd snap the man's neck. "Curt, I need you, guard!" Hearing him speak Higher Tongue, Curt slammed the door open.Standing in front of Roland was a squat man with bowed legs. He was wearing only underwear, showing his strong muscles, and his body was covered with scars from head to toe.He had a general belly, but Roland knew from experience that his belly was like spring steel, both firm and elastic.Not a single hair was left on his head, and his skull seemed to have been deformed. He looked at Roland angrily. The boy saluted him formally. "You don't need to teach me anymore, guard. Today, I will teach you a lesson." "It's too early, furkid." Curt replied casually, but also in high-level language. "In my judgment, it's two years too early, and it's not the best time. I'll just ask you once, are you going to back down?" The boy just smiled, the same painful, terrifying smile.Curt had seen this kind of smile on the battlefield where honor and disgrace were decided, on the battlefield where rivers of blood flowed and the sky was turned red by blood—perhaps only this smile was the only answer that could convince him. "What a pity," the coach sighed. "You've got the most potential—the best, I'd say, in the last twenty-four years. To think you'd be crushed and have to go on that road of exile." Road, it's sad. But the world has begun to change. The dark ages are on horseback." 罗兰仍然没有说话（即使那时柯特要他解释，他也无法讲清楚），但是那一刻，他僵直的笑脸略略放松了一些。 “我们还是得坚持血的界线，不管西线有无暴乱。孩子，我是你的侍从。我听到了你的命令，现在我全心地表示服从——如果将来再也没有机会效忠你的话。” 柯特，这个掌掴过他，踢过他，让他流过血，辱骂嘲讽过他的冷血教练，现在单膝跪地，朝他低下了头。 男孩抚摸着他颈背上坚硬的肌肉，眼前这一幕让他难以置信。“起来，侍卫，以爱的名义。” 柯特慢慢站起来，在他这张毫无表情的面具之下也许藏着痛苦。“这是无谓的牺牲。收回你的话，傻小子。我打破自己的承诺。收回你的话，再等几年。” 男孩没有说话。 “好吧；如果你坚持这样，我们就这样办。”柯特的声音变得有些干巴巴，他公事公办地说：“一小时后，带着你选的武器。” “你带你的棍棒？” “我一直带着。” “柯特，有多少根棍子从你手里被拿走？”实际上他是试探着问：有多少男孩走进大厅后面的方形院子后，能够带着准枪侠的头衔出来？ “今天，我的棍子不会离开我的手。”柯特缓慢地说，“我很遗憾。孩子，机会只有一次。过于心急是要付出代价的，这和那些不值一提的蠢人付出的代价没什么两样。你就不能再等等？” 男孩想起马藤站在他面前的样子。那个微笑。他关上门后，从屋里传来的殴打声。 "No." “好吧。你选择什么武器？” Roland didn't answer. 柯特笑了，露出了他参差不齐的牙齿。“这样的开始倒还算聪明。一个小时后见。你知道你将再也见不到你的父亲、母亲，也不会看到你的子孙了吗？” “我知道流放意味着什么。”罗兰低声说。 “走吧，一个人静思一会儿，想想你父亲的面容。这会对你有好处。” 男孩转身离去，没有往回看一眼。 谷仓的地窖阴冷潮湿，和外面烈日下相比判若两个世界。这儿有蜘蛛网和地下水的气味。狭小的窗户略高出地面，几缕阳光射进来，光柱中灰尘飞扬，但阳光并没有带进来任何暑气。男孩把猎鹰放在这里，它看上去挺自在。 大卫再也不是空中的霸主了。三年前，它的羽毛就失去了耀眼的光泽，不过它的眼神依旧咄咄逼人。人们总说，一个人不可能让猎鹰成为朋友，除非他自己也是个猎鹰似的人物，总是独身一人，永远只是个匆匆过客，没有朋友也不需要朋友。猎鹰可不会买爱情或是道德的账。 大卫已经显出老态。罗兰真希望自己是只年轻矫健的鹰。 “嗨。”他柔声唤大卫，将手伸向系着猎鹰的横条。 猎鹰踱到男孩的手臂上，一动不动地站在那里。它并没有带头罩。男孩从口袋里摸出一块干牛肉。大卫灵巧地从他手指间啄起肉干，一伸脖子肉干就消失了。 男孩小心地抚摸着大卫。若这让柯特看到，他不会相信自己的眼睛，不过柯特也不信男孩到了挑战他的时候。 “我知道你今天会死去。”他继续抚摸，“我知道你今天会成为牺牲品，就像我们训练你时给你的那些小鸟一样。你记得吗？不记得？没关系。过了今天，我就是一只猎鹰，今后每年此时，我都会向长天放枪来祭奠你。” 大卫沉默地站在他的臂膀上，没有眨眼，对它的生死毫不在意。 “你老了。”男孩沉思了一会说，“也许你并不是我的朋友。就在一年前，你甚至都会啄出我的眼珠，而不会对这肉干感兴趣，对不对？那会让柯特大笑。但是，如果我们能够一起靠近……靠近那个戒心很重的人，近得让他来不及怀疑……那会是什么，大卫？年龄还是友谊？” 大卫没有出声。 男孩给鹰套上头罩，找到挂在横条末端的皮带系在鹰爪上。然后他们离开了谷仓。 大厅后面的院子其实不能算作真正的院子，只是条绿色的走廊，郁郁葱葱的灌木形成了它的四面墙。不知从何时起，成人仪式就一直在这里举行。甚至柯特和他的教练马克都不知道这一习俗可以追溯到何时，而马克就在这里，被一个过度兴奋的学徒刺死。许多男孩从东端走出去，这意味着他们成为了男人，而他们的教练总是从东端进来。院子的东部面对着大厅，面对着那个充满光亮、诱人的文明世界。但更多的男孩从西端进来，还从西端出去，遍体鳞伤，常常还鲜血淋淋，永远都无法被看作真正的男子汉。西端面对着的是农田和农田旁的棚屋；再往远处，是无人居住的森林；越过森林便是伽兰；而伽兰西边就是墨海呐沙漠。成为男人的孩子能够从黑暗中走出来，学会适应光明和责任。而失败的孩子只能后退，永远地后退。院子里的绿草地非常平整，就像游戏场地。院子长五十码，正中央是一小块除尽了草的土地，这里就是界线。 通常，院子的边沿都会挤满挑战者紧张的亲戚和旁观者。一般人们对挑战的结果会有比较准确的预测——通常男孩们会在十八岁挑战他们的教练，迎来成人礼；那些到了二十五岁还没有提出挑战的人往往沦为平庸的市井之徒，只靠些许地产维生，这些人没有胆量面对这样孤注一掷的挑战，在这里会失去一切的可能性吓得他们只能苟且偷生。而今天，院子里只有杰米·德卡力，库斯伯特·奥古德，阿兰·琼斯和托玛斯·惠特曼。他们挤在学徒入场的西端，张大着嘴，都吓坏了。 “你的武器呢？傻小子！”库斯伯特声音嘶哑，他生气地说，“你忘了你的武器！” “我带了。”男孩回答。他有点好奇，想知道他疯狂的举动有没有传到主楼，传到他母亲——和马藤那里。他的父亲出去狩猎，几天内不会回来。这一点让他有些难过，因为他觉得在父亲那儿，即使不能得到准许，至少也能赢得理解。“柯特来了吗？” “柯特在这。”声音从院子的另一端传来，一身短打的柯特踏入他们的视线。一条厚实的皮带绑在他的前额，以防止汗水流入眼睛。他系着一条肮脏的腰带，试图保持上身挺直，手里抓着一根硬质木材做成的棍子，一端削得非常尖锐，另一端呈抹刀形，磨得很钝。按照规矩，他开始念应答祈文。在场的所有孩子，沿着他们父亲的血脉一直追溯到祖先艾尔德，人人都知道应答祈文，甚至从孩童时起就已用心背诵了每个字，以便某一天他们能抓住机会成为真正的男人。 “你来这里的目的严肃吗，孩子？” “我为了严肃的目的而来。” “你来这里之前，是从你父亲家中被赶出来的？” “确实如此。”除非他战胜柯特，不然他回不了家。而如果他被打败，他将永远被放逐。 “你来这里，带了你挑选的武器吗？” "I brought it." “你的武器是什么？”这是教练的优先权，他有调整战略的机会，不管学生用的是弹弓、弓箭，还是长矛，都不会让他措手不及。 “我的武器是大卫。” 柯特怔了一下。他非常吃惊，也许被弄糊涂了。这对罗兰有利。 可能会有利。 “那你准备好对付我了吗，孩子？” "Ready." “凭谁的名义？” “凭我父亲的名义。” “报上他的姓名。” “斯蒂文·德鄯，艾尔德的血脉。” “那就显一显身手吧。” 柯特走入院子，木棍从一只手传到另一只手中。旁观的男孩们一阵唏嘘，眼睁睁地看着他们的小领袖靠近柯特。 我的武器是大卫，教练。 柯特猜到罗兰的用意了吗？如果猜到，他完全懂了吗？如果他把罗兰的心思看得一清二楚，那罗兰就没有任何希望了。这全靠出其不意——当然也得看猎鹰能否尽力使出它的招数。当柯特拿着木棍朝罗兰劈头盖脑砸下来时，大卫会不会只慵懒地坐在他的手臂上，毫无扑腾几下的兴趣？或者，它会遗弃罗兰，振翅飞向自由的天空？ 他们越走越近，但尚未越过界线，男孩冷峻的手指解开猎鹰的头罩。它落在绿色的草地上，柯特止住脚步。他看到老斗士的目光落在大卫身上，瞪大的眼睛中充满诧异，但慢慢被会意的光芒取代。现在他明白了。 “哦，你这个小傻瓜。”柯特几乎是从喉咙里挤出了这几个字。听到他这样跟自己说话，罗兰勃然大怒。 “冲向他！”他大叫，朝大卫举起手臂。 大卫飞起来，像一颗无声的褐色子弹，羽毛短硬的翅膀拍了一下，两下，三下，它扑到柯特脸上，鹰爪扑腾着，尖嘴啄下去。鲜红的血滴溅起来，飞扬在炙热的空气中。 “啊！罗兰！”库斯伯特兴奋地狂叫着，“第一滴血！第一滴血，滴在我的胸脯上！”（注：在成人仪式的格斗中，有人洒第一滴血时，观众会这么喊。）他使劲敲打着自己的胸口，留下的淤青一周后都未褪去。 柯特失去平衡，朝后踉跄了几步。他高举着木棍，毫无目的地挥打着。猎鹰只是模糊一团，羽毛被木棍形成的气流吹动着。 同时，男孩一个箭步朝前冲去，他伸直了手臂，捏紧拳头。这是一次机会，很有可能是他仅有的一次机会。 不过，柯特的反应实在太快。猎鹰已经挡住了他百分之九十的视线，但他又举起木棍，抹刀一端朝前。这时柯特残忍地做了惟一能扭转局势的决定。他的肱二头肌毫不留情地屈伸着，拿木棍朝着自己的脸拍打了三下。 大卫落到地上，羽毛折断，身子都变了形。一只翅膀痛苦地狂拍着地面。猎鹰冰冷的眼睛盯着教练血流不止的脸，残忍的目光让人发寒；柯特的一只瞎眼从眼眶里突出来，毫无光芒。 男孩结实地朝柯特的太阳穴踢了一脚。这应该能结束一切，但是没有。柯特的脸失去了生气，但只是一瞬间；很快他又猛冲起来，想抓住男孩的脚。 罗兰急忙往后跳，但被自己的脚给绊倒了。他仰面摔在地上。他听到远处杰米惊恐的尖叫声。 柯特随时都能朝他扑来，结束这场争斗。罗兰已经失去了他的优势，师徒俩都清楚。那一刻，他们互相对视着，教练低头看着他，左脸上仍血喷不止，瞎眼几乎睁不开了，只露出一条白缝。今晚，柯特去不了妓院狂欢了。 有东西拼命地在啄男孩的手。是大卫，此时不管能够到什么，它都会盲目地撕咬。它的双翅都折断了，它仍然还活着已让人不可思议。 男孩像拿石块一样一把抓起它，顾不上它尖利的喙从自己手腕上撕下一缕缕肉。当柯特像只展翅的雄鹰向他扑来时，男孩把猎鹰向上扔去。 “大卫！猎物！” 那时，柯特完全挡住了他面前的阳光，巨大的影子朝他砸下来。 猎鹰在他们俩之间扑腾，男孩感到有只长着老茧的拇指朝他眼眶戳来。他推开手指，同时伸出腿，用大腿骨挡住了柯特朝他大腿根部劈来的膝盖。他用手连续朝着柯特的脖子猛劈了三掌，感觉就像打在石头上。 柯特痛苦地咕哝了一声。他的身体抽动了一下。罗兰模糊地看到有只手挣扎着去抓掉在地上的木棍，他一个屈体，伸脚把木棍踢得老远。大卫的一只爪子牢牢地抓住柯特的右耳，另一只无情地抓打着教练的脸颊，那儿顿时变得鲜血淋漓。热乎乎的血喷洒了男孩一脸，闻起来就像切断的铜块。 柯特的拳头击中了猎鹰，打断了它的脊骨。又一拳，它的脖子断了，朝一个角度扭曲着。但鹰爪仍紧紧地抓着柯特不放。柯特的右耳已经不见了，只剩一个红色的窟窿通向柯特的头颅骨。第三拳柯特把猎鹰打飞了，终于扫清了面前的障碍。 就在那一刻，罗兰伸直手掌对准教练的鼻梁，使尽全部力气劈了下去，打断了那根脆弱的骨头，鲜血喷涌。 柯特出其不意地伸手抓住男孩的臀部，试图把他的裤子拉扯下来缚住他的双腿。罗兰打了个滚，挣脱了柯特。他看到柯特的木棍，一把抓起来，起身跪着。 柯特也直起身子，跪在地上，他咧嘴笑了。令人难以置信的是，他们现在又回到界线的两侧面对着对方了，不过两人的位置已经互换，柯特此刻是在罗兰进场时的方位。老斗士的脸上满是鲜血。他的独眼拼命地挤着，想看个清楚。他的鼻子被打歪了，耷拉在一边。面颊被撕得血肉模糊，没被猎鹰扯下来的肉还挂在脸上。 男孩举着教练的木棍，就像一个专业的棒球选手等待着投掷过来的皮棒球。 柯特做了两个假动作，然后突然径直朝他奔来。 罗兰早准备好了，丝毫没有被这最后一个花招蒙骗住，其实两人心里都明白这实在是拙劣的伎俩。木棍在空中滑出一条低平的弧线，正中柯特的头颅，发出沉闷的重击声。柯特应声倒下，他侧着身子看了看男孩，表情木讷，令人捉摸不透。一小口痰从他嘴里喷了出来。 “不投降就是死路一条。”男孩说，觉得嘴里像是塞满了湿棉花。 柯特笑了。他几乎神志不清了，也许接下去的一周，他会昏迷不醒，只得待在小屋里，靠人照顾了。但是此刻，他硬撑着，用尽了他无情无畏一生中的最后一点力量。他在罗兰的眼里看到他的需要，尽管隔了一层血帘，他还是能明白罗兰迫切的需要，需要他的肯定。 “我投降，枪侠。我微笑着向你屈服。这一天，你让人们记住了你父亲和他的祖先们的面容。你创造了一个奇迹！” 柯特的独眼闭上了。 枪侠轻柔但坚定地摇了摇柯特。其他伙伴都聚到他们身边，他们的手颤抖着，想拍打他的背部，想把他拉起来拥抱他，但他们迟疑地缩回手，感觉到他们之间有一条新的鸿沟。但这种感觉并不奇怪，毕竟他和其他的男孩之间一直都存在着鸿沟。 柯特的眼睛转了几下又睁开了。 “钥匙，我的继承权，教练，我需要它。”枪侠迫切地说。 他的继承权就是枪，还不像他父亲用的枪那么重——特意用檀木包的枪柄让它们特别沉——但枪，都是一样的。只有少数人才有权持枪。按照古老的规矩，他从现在起就得离开母亲的怀抱，到营房的拱顶下寻求庇护，带着他新的武器，镍钢做的沉重累赘的长管枪。在他的父亲成为真正的枪侠前，这种枪也伴随他度过了学徒期，而他的父亲现在已是统领——至少在名义上。 “为何你的需要那样吓人？那样迫切？哎，我担心的就是这点。这么迫切的要求会让你变得愚蠢。然而你还是赢了。”柯特喃喃自语，仿佛在说着梦话。 “钥匙！” “用猎鹰这主意真不错。不错的武器。你花了多长时间才把那畜生训练好啊？” “我从来没训练过大卫。我与它为友。钥匙！” “在我的皮带下，枪侠。”眼睛又合上了。 枪侠将手伸到皮带下面，感到来自柯特肚子的压力，原先的肌肉现在都松弛下来。钥匙挂在一个铜圈上。他紧紧地捏在手心里，努力克制着自己疯狂的欲望，才没把钥匙高举起来，欢呼胜利。 他站起来，这才转身招呼同伴，此时柯特的手摸索着朝他的脚伸来。枪侠害怕柯特给他最后一击，全身肌肉一下子都绷紧了。但是柯特只是抬头看着他，结着硬痂的手指招呼他。 “我要去睡一会。”柯特平静地低语，“我要走过那条路。也许一直走到路尽头的开阔地。我不能再教你了，枪侠。你超过了我，比你父亲当年挑战我时还年轻两岁，你父亲当年已经是最年少的枪侠。但是，你还得听我一句劝告。” “什么？”他非常不耐烦。 “将那个表情从你脸上抹去，傻小子。” 这让他吃了一惊，但立即就按照柯特说的变了表情（当然，就像我们所有人一样，他并不能看到自己表情的变化）。 柯特点点头，轻声说了一个词：“等待。” "what?" 柯特十分费力地慢慢吐出几个字，这显得他好像是一个字一个字地强调着：“放手让这个字眼和这个神话先你而行。有人会死抱着它们不放。”他的目光掠过枪侠的肩头，“也许那些人都是傻瓜。让你的影子长出头发。让它变成黑色。”他的笑容非常怪异。“若有足够的时间，话语甚至会让巫师着魔。你懂我的意思吗，枪侠？” “我想，我明白。” “这是我对你最后的教诲，你会牢记吗？” 枪侠站直了身子，沉思的表情已经预示了他成人后的样子。他抬头看着天空。天色变深了，呈现紫色。白日的热气慢慢消散，西边传来几声闷雷，暴雨将至。天边，叉形的闪电戳刺着连绵山脉平静的侧影。再往远处，升起的是鲜血的喷泉，那里充满着疯狂。他觉得很疲惫，不仅仅是在肉体上。 他低头看着柯特。“教练，今晚我会埋了我的猎鹰。晚些时候，我会到下城区，去告诉妓院里那些等着你的人你今天来不了。也许，我会给其中一两个些许安慰。” 柯特痛苦地张开嘴，他笑了。然后，他闭上眼，睡着了。 枪侠站起来，对他的同伴说：“找个担架来，把他抬回屋里。再找个护士。不，两个护士。行吗？” 他们只是怔怔地看着他，仿佛都被施了魔咒无法醒来。他们盯着罗兰看，以为会看到他头上火焰形成的花冠，或他身上任何魔术般的变化。 “两个护士。”枪侠重复道，对着他们笑了。他们也对罗兰微笑。但十分紧张。 “你这该死的卖马的！”库斯伯特突然大叫出来，咧嘴笑着，“你没给我们留下一点肉，从骨头上都挑不出来！” “明天，世界也不会变得两样。”枪侠微笑着引用这句古老的格言。“阿兰，你这个黄油屁股！快走！” 阿兰赶忙去找担架；托玛斯和杰米一起去大厅的医务室。 枪侠和库斯伯特对视着。他们一直是最亲密的朋友——确切地说，就他们各自不同的个性而言，他们已经达到了他们可能达到的最亲密程度。伯特目光中掠过一丝沉思，枪侠想告诉他等一年或甚至是一年半后再挑战教练，不然他会被送往西方战场，但他努力克制住自己没说出口。他们一同经历过种种艰险，枪侠不敢贸然说出这样的话，他害怕自己脸上的任何表情都会被误认为是傲慢。我也开始学会谋划了，他想，有些不悦。他又想到马藤，想到他的母亲，这时他给了同伴一个狡猾的笑容。 我要成为第一个，他第一次有这么明确的想法，其实以前也有过这个想法，但都被自己看成是痴心妄想。我就是第一个。 “我们走吧。”他提议。 “非常荣幸，枪侠！”库斯伯特有些调侃地说。 他们离开了围满灌木的院子，从东端走出去；托玛斯和杰米已经带着护士回来了。她们穿着胸前有一抹红色的白色纱罗长裙，看上去像鬼魂似的。 “要我帮你一起埋猎鹰吗？”库斯伯特关切地问。 “好，那太好了。伯特。” 然后，夜幕降临，同时暴风雨开始袭击；震耳欲聋的雷声卷过天空，闪电带着蓝色的火焰冲洗了下城区弯曲的街道；被拴在围栏旁的马匹都低垂着头，小股水流沿着它们的尾巴流下来。那时，枪侠正和一个女人睡在一起。 一切进行得很快，枪侠感觉很好。然后他们并排躺着，没有说话。外面下起了冰雹，砸得屋顶窗户砰砰作响，但一阵就过去了。楼下，其他屋子里有人在用繁音拍子弹奏《嗨，裘德》。枪侠陷入了沉思。音乐声停止了，屋里非常安静，只有冰雹拍打玻璃的声音，就在他快睡着那一刻，他第一次想到也许他会是最后一个枪侠。 枪侠并没有对杰克交待所有的细节，但也许男孩自己差不多能拼凑出整幅画面。枪侠早就意识到这个男孩感觉极其敏锐，他和阿兰非常相像。枪侠记得阿兰擅长体察别人的感觉，会和别人有心灵感应，他们那时都说他有点灵气。 “你睡着了？”枪侠问。 "No." “我告诉你的，你都懂吗？” “懂吗？”男孩故作吃惊地嘲讽道，“懂吗？你是不是在开玩笑？” “没。”枪侠有些不悦。他从来没跟任何人说起过他的成人仪式，因为他对那次挑战心里还存有疙瘩。当然，猎鹰是完全没有争议的武器，但毕竟这算是耍手段，而且是种背叛，是他许多背叛中的第一次。告诉我——我真的能把这个男孩扔到黑衣人手里吗？ “好吧。我懂。”男孩最后说，“那是场游戏，对不对？成人是不是一直得玩游戏？每件事都不得不成为另一种游戏的借口？有没有男人是真正地成人了，而不只是从年龄上看是长大了？” “你并不理解每件事。”枪侠说，努力克制着他慢慢升起的怒火，“你还只是个孩子。” “当然。不过我知道我对你意味着什么。” “意味着什么呢？”枪侠问，声音绷得很紧。 “打牌时的筹码。” 这让枪侠恨不得拿起块石头砸烂男孩的脑袋。但他只是平静地说： “去睡吧。孩子需要睡眠。” 他耳边突然响起马藤的声音：出去，用你的手去。 他僵直地坐在黑暗中，想到事后可能会深深地痛恨自己，他感到厌恶和畏惧。（他有生以来第一次有这种感觉。） 他们醒来后继续赶路，铁轨的走向有些变化，他们离地下河越来越近，在那里他们遭遇了缓慢变异种。 杰克看到第一只缓型突变异种时，吓得大声尖叫。 枪侠专注地摇车时，视线始终注视着前方，杰克的尖叫让他朝右边瞥了一眼。车的下方，有个腐烂的磷火般的绿色物体，枪侠可以感觉到它微弱的脉搏。好长时间以来，他的嗅觉第一次开始有感觉——他闻到些臭味，湿湿的。 他看到的绿色物体其实是张脸——如果仁慈些，那勉强可以被称为脸。扁平的鼻子上方是昆虫的节肢似的眼睛，毫无表情地看着他们。枪侠感到五脏六腑一阵涌动，连私密部位都在怵颤。他摇把手的节奏微微放快了些。 发出绿光的脸消失了。 “见鬼了，那是什么？”男孩问，朝枪侠靠近了些。“那是——”话语卡在了喉咙里头，因为这时他们从三个微微泛绿光的身影旁经过，它们就在铁轨和看不见的水流之间，毫无反应地望着他们。 “它们是缓型突变异种。”枪侠解释道，“我看它们不会给我们带来麻烦。也许它们被我们吓呆了，就像我们被——” 正在说话间，一个身影动起来，拖着脚步朝他们走来。那张脸看上去就像个饿坏了的白痴。赤裸的身体就像棵树，所有的枝条和触须都绞拧在一块，形成无数个节瘤。 男孩又发出尖叫，像只受惊的小狗那样抱住枪侠的腿。 那东西一只触角似的手臂伸过来，在手摇车的平板上乱抓。它散发出阴湿黑暗的气味。枪侠放了把手，拔出枪。一颗子弹穿过了那张白痴脸的前额。它跌落在铁道上，身上沼泽磷火的光芒慢慢暗淡，就像被乌云吞食的月亮。枪弹发出的火光与他们久已习惯的黑暗对比如此鲜明，亮光似乎都刻映在了视网膜上，久久没有褪去。飘散开来的火药味火热、粗野，与这片被埋葬的黑暗显得格格不入。 又出现些身影，数量更多。它们并没有明显的向小车发起攻击的势头，但这群丑陋的家伙好奇地伸长了头颈，无声地将铁轨包围起来。 “看样子你得帮我摇车了。”枪侠说，“你行吗？” "Can." “那就做好准备。” 男孩紧贴在他身边，摆好了姿势。只有当这些变异物从身边经过时，男孩才从眼角瞥到它们，他并不左顾右盼，不想有意地找寻绿色的身影。小男孩心里的恐惧被放大膨胀，但他的本我仿佛设法从他的毛孔里钻了出来形成了一层保护膜。枪侠暗自思忖，这男孩有那种灵气倒也不是不可能。 枪侠保持摇车的节奏，并不想加快速度。他知道，那会让变异物们察觉到他们心中的恐惧，但他怀疑即使察