Chapter 23 Chapter 22

Creighton found Starkey looking at the monitors with his hands behind his back on June 24.He could see the ring of West Point Military Academy on the old man's right hand was shining, and he felt sympathy for the old man from the bottom of his heart.Starkey has been cruising on the plane for 10 days, and a crash could happen at any time.Creighton believed that if he was right about the phone call, the crash had indeed occurred. "Lane," Stuckey said somewhat unexpectedly, "it's a good thing you're here." "Lucky," Creighton said, smiling. "You know who called just now."

"It's him, isn't it?" "It's the President. I've been interviewed by him. Ryan, this shitty officer has been interviewed by me. Even though I know this is going to happen sooner or later, I still worry. It's like hell. The pain comes from that A stinking piece of shit that laughs and welcomes." Ryan Creighton nodded. "Okay," Stucky said, reaching up to touch his face, "it's no good, it can't be any more. You're in charge now. He wants you to get out of here for Washington as soon as possible. He Considering you for appointment, he treats you a fool like a piece of blood-stained rag, and you're going to stand at attention and say yes and do what he says. We did our best, and that's enough. I believe that is enough."

"It seems that this country should pay homage to you." "The damper burnt my hand, but I... I'm still going to hold it as long as I can, Lane, I hold it." He spoke passionately, but his eyes wandered aimlessly Turning away, he finally stared at the monitor again, his mouth trembling for a moment. "I can't do anything without you." "Okay... how about we go for a walk, Billy?" "You can still say that, man. But... look, there's something very important. You gotta see Jack Cleveland every chance you get. He knows we've seen through this Iron Curtain or Bamboo Curtain. He knows How to deal with them, and he won't mess up what he has to do. He should know what's going to happen soon."

"I don't know what that means, Billy." "We're going to have to think about the worst," Stuckey said, pursing his lips with a grotesque smile.He pointed to the yellow telegram on the table with his finger. "It's out of control now. We've had outbreaks in Oregon, Nebraska, Louisiana, Florida. We've had outbreaks of unknown origin in Mexico and Chile. When we lost Atlanta, we lost 3 guys who dealt with this wonderfully. We don't know where we're going with Stewart Redman. You know the thing they gave him the blue virus? He thought it was a pain shot. He survived the virus but no one had any other ideas. If we could have had 6 weeks, we might have gotten there. But we're running out of time. This flu story couldn't have been better made No, but it's mandatory—mandatory, you know? As much as the Americans have artificially created this situation, it's never going to be clear to anyone else. This kind of thing may give them Bring on some fantasy."

"Cleveland has 8 or 10 people in the Soviet Union, and 5 to 10 people in each of the European satellite countries. I don't even know how many people there are in Red China." Stucky's lips trembled again, " When you see Cleveland this afternoon, you're going to tell him Rome's broken. You won't forget, will you?" "No." Ryan said.His lips felt an inexplicable coldness. "But do you really expect them to do it? These men and women?" "Our guys got the vials a week ago. They think they contain radioactive particles guided by our spaceflight satellites. That's all they need to know, isn't it, Ryan?"

"Yes, Billy." "And if things are going to go from bad to...worse, no one will know when, Project Blue won't be infiltrated to the bottom, we can be sure of that. A new virus, a variant... ... Our opponents may guess, but time is running out. Evenly matched, Ryan." "That's right." Starkey stared at the monitor again. "My daughter gave me a book of poetry a few years ago. It was written by a man named Izz. She said every soldier should read Izz's poetry. I think her idea is a joke. You heard Ever heard of Izz, Lane?" "I think so," Creighton said.He thought about it, and finally gave up the idea of ​​telling Stucky that this man was called Izzy.

"I read every line of the poem," Starkey said, staring at the long-silent cafeteria, "mostly because she thought I couldn't. The mistake was in jumping to conclusions. There was a lot of it I didn't understand. but I finished the poem. It's a funny book, not particularly rhythmic. But one of the poems I've read all my life Not to be forgotten. As this man described it, everything I devoted myself to seemed hopeless and hell-worthy. He said that things melted away and the core couldn't hold. I think He means things fall apart, Lane. I believe him. Izz knows that things are going to fall apart in the end, even though he doesn't know if anything will."

"That's right, sir," said Creighton quietly. "I got goosebumps the first time I read it, and I still do. I've got some of it by heart. A savage beast, can it end up being good? A sluggish man walking toward Bethlehem, can be reborn ?” Creighton stood silently, having nothing to say. "The beast is still doing its own thing." Stucky turned to tearfully and grinned. "They're still doing their own way, even more ferocious than Izzy imagined. The world is falling apart. As much as possible for as long as possible Do something." "Okay, sir," said Creighton, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes for the first time, "it is so, Billy."

Starkey held out a hand, and Creighton took it in both.Stucky's hands were rough and cold, like critters wrapped in snakeskin, leaving only the brittle bones of a reptilian shell.Tears welled up in Starkey's eye sockets and ran down his carefully shaved cheeks. "I have something to ask you to do," Stuckey said. "Go ahead, boss." Starkey took off his West Point ring from his right hand and his wedding ring from his left. "For Cindy," he said, "for my daughter Cindy. Hope you pass these on to her, Lane." "I will." Starkey walked toward the door.

"Billy?" Ryan Creighton called after him. Starkey turned around. Creighton stood upright, tears streaming down his cheeks.He raised his hand as a military salute. Starkey turned again and walked out the door. The elevator goes up and down frequently.The alarm screamed and made a mournful sound, as if knowing it was warning of a situation that had been missed - Stucky unlocked the elevator with the special key on top of it. Stuckey speculates that Ryan Creighton may have been following him as he drove the jeep through the sprawling uninhabited levels of the test site, past gates marked "Highly Secure Area, No Entry Without Special Permission." Stare at him on the monitor.The checkpoint looks like a checkpoint at a highway tollbooth.The soldiers behind the buff glass were dead, quickly mummified in the dry heat of the desert.The kiosk is bulletproof, but not germs.Their glass-ball sunken eyes still stared blankly at Starkey as he drove by, and only Stucky moved along the dirt roads that criss-crossed the semicircular trailers and low buildings. Taki himself.

He stopped outside a squat bunker marked "Access Absolutely No Access Without A-1-A Permission."He opened the door with the key and walked in, and mustered up the courage to use the key to open the elevator.The corpse of a doorman, stiff as a poker, stared at him in the glass-chambered checkpoint to the left of the elevator doors.When the elevator came and the door opened, Stucky stepped in quickly.He seemed to feel that the dead guard's eyeballs were still staring at him, eyes as heavy as two dusty stones. The elevator descended rapidly, and he felt a churning in his stomach.A small bell jingled softly as the elevator stopped.The door slid open slowly, and a faint rotten smell came over my face.Not very strong, because the air filter is still working, but even the air filter can't completely get rid of the smell.After a person dies, he also wants you to understand something.Starkey thought. There were almost a dozen corpses lying scattered in front of the elevator.Starkey hopped among the corpses, not wanting to step on a rotting limp arm or trip over an outstretched thigh.That might make him scream the last thing he really wanted.Cry not in the grave, it will drive you mad.But now he is literally in a grave.This scientific research facility built at a huge expense has become an out-and-out tomb. The elevator doors closed slowly behind him, and there was a humming sound as it went up.Stucky knew it wouldn't come down again unless someone else used the key again.Once the device is compromised, the computer switches on the suppression program.Why are these poor men and women lying here?Apparently they all hoped that the computer would cut off the emergency program.why not?There is indeed some logic to this.Anything can go wrong. Stucky walked down the corridor leading to the cafeteria with a heavy click on the heels of his feet.Above the head, the fluorescent lamp embedded in a fixed object like an upside-down ice cube casts dazzling shadowless light.Here are more corpses.A man and a woman, both naked, with bullet holes in their heads.The body twisted.Starkey thought he must have shot her first and then killed himself.Even with germs, love still exists.The man still holds a military .45 caliber pistol in his hand.The brick floor was smeared with blood and oatmeal-like dust.He felt creepy, and hurriedly bent down and touched the woman's chest to see if their muscles were stiff. Then into the lobby, where a man sat with his back to the door, a sign tied around his neck with shoelaces.The chin drooped forward, obscuring what was written on the sign.Starkey put his hand on the man's chin and pushed his head back.I saw the man's eyeballs sunken deep in their sockets.The sign reads in red marker: "Now you know it's working? Still have questions?" Starkey let the man's jaw drop, his head resting on the hard corner, his blackened eye sockets staring intently upward.Starkey started walking back, crying again.He thought he was crying because he wouldn't ask any more questions. The cafeteria door was open.Outside is a large cork bulletin board.Starkey saw on the board that there would be a bowling tournament on June 20th.The Wicked Poor Team vs. the First Order, for the championship of the base; Anna Flowers wanted to drive to Denver or Boulder on July 9 and wanted someone to share the driving and the expenses.In addition, Richard Bates hopes to give away some small pets, a half-sized collie and a half-sized St. Bernard dog.There are also weekly Christian religious services held in the cafeteria. Stucky read every statement on the bulletin board, then headed in. It smells bad, the stench of food and dead bodies.Starkey glanced around. It seemed that something was staring at him. "Dude—" Stucky called out, and then fell silent.He could no longer think of what to say. He walked slowly over to where Frank D. Bruce had buried his face in the soup plate.Bending to look at Frank D. Bruce for a moment, then pulling Bruce's head up by the hair.The soup plate was also lifted up together. After a long time, the soup solidified and glued his face to the soup plate.Starkey frightened and tapped the soup plate, but finally knocked it off.The soup plate fell face-down to the floor with a dull sound.Most of the soup still clung to Bruce's face like a pile of moldy aspic.Stucky took out his handkerchief and wiped the soup down as best he could.Frank D. Bruce's eyes were glued together by the soup, and Starkey resisted the urge to wipe his eyelids, fearing his eyes would sink into his skull like the man with the sign.He was even more afraid that the eyelids, held in jelly, would roll up like sunshades.He was most afraid of what Frank D. Bruce's eyes might say. "Bruce, you bastard, you should relax now." He said slowly. Carefully, he placed the handkerchief on Bruce's face, and it stuck right away.Stucky turned and strode out of the cafeteria even as if he were on a parade ground. Halfway to the elevator, he walked over to the man with the sign around his neck.Stuckey sat down beside him, unhooked the pistol, and put the muzzle in his mouth. The shot rang out, dull and undramatic, not even an iota of conspicuousness among the bodies.The air filter sucked out the gunpowder smell that wafted into the air.Inside the blue building, there was a deathly silence.In the cafeteria, Stucky's handkerchief was no longer stuck to the bastard Frank D. Bruce's face, it floated to the floor.Bruce didn't seem to mind, but Ryan Creighton found himself peeking more and more at the monitor showing Bruce, wondering why on earth Billy didn't put the smudge on the man's eyebrow while he was staring. Soup dropped.He had to hurry to see the President of the United States, but the soup on Frank D. Bruce's brow made him uneasy, very uneasy.