Chapter 36 Chapter 35

"I want to get out of this city," Rita said bluntly.She stood on the small balcony of the apartment, and the cool breeze in the morning pulled her back from the nightmare of last night. "Okay," Larry said.He was sitting at the table eating a fried egg sandwich. She turned around, looking very haggard.The first day Larry saw her in the park, she looked forty, but today she looked sixty, holding a cigarette with trembling fingers, sighing first, then nervously suck. "I understand, I'm dangerous." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I understand that you are in danger," he said. "To get out of danger, we have to go."

Her facial muscles were sagging, which didn't cheer her up (though not on purpose), and Larry thought it made her look older. "when?" "Just today, okay?" he asked. "You're a sweet boy," she said. "Do you want more coffee?" "I'll do it myself." "You sit still. My husband used to ask me to make him a second cup of coffee. After he ate his breakfast, he spent the rest of his time reading The Wall Street Journal or some cheap thriller. , such as Boll, Camus, Milton, these books don’t have profound knowledge, but they definitely have a certain appeal. You are really like him.” She turned and went to the small kitchen, “Look, the shy face It's all hidden behind the newspaper."

He smiled vaguely.She seemed unnatural this morning, and she seemed unnatural yesterday afternoon.He remembered that when he met her in the park, her conversation was reserved and shy, but since yesterday afternoon, she has become a little more gentle, like fudge. "Here you are." She walked over.Putting down the coffee cup, her hands were still trembling, so that the hot coffee splashed on his arm.He jerked back, hissing. "Oh, I'm sorry!" Her face was filled with astonishment, almost to the point of horror. "fine." "Excuse me, I'm going to get a...cold towel...sit there and don't move...I'm so stupid...so stupid..."

She cried loudly as she spoke, the piercing cry, it sounded like she saw the tragic death of her dearest friend instead of scalding him lightly. He got up and held her, not caring about her impulsive feelings, and Rita hugged him like a claw—"the biggest claw in the universe"—on Larry.Damn, he thought sullenly, you're not a thing.We have to go. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I did, I don't like this, I'm sorry..." "It's okay, it's okay." He kept comforting her mechanically.His hand was stroking her well-groomed but graying hair (she actually looked fine, since she spent most of her time in the bathroom).

The stench came in from the apartment's living room and the door on the right side of the balcony.It's a smell that makes you wonder what it is, you might say it's like moldy oranges or spoiled fish, but it's not, it's a rotting corpse smell of thousands of people rotting outside, so You want to leave as soon as possible. Manhattan was still running, and Larry didn't think it would be too long.The lights in most parts of the city have been extinguished.Last night, after Rita fell asleep, he walked out onto the balcony.From here, most of Brooklyn and all of Quinn's lights were out.Route 110, leading into Manhattan, was dark.Along the other road there was still the faint light of Union City or maybe Bayon City, but in the direction of New Jersey it was dark.

Darkness means the loss of light, on the other hand, the dullness of the air. After mid-June, everyone who died quietly in the apartment is now starting to rot. Whenever he thinks about this, the scene he saw in the public toilet No. 1 in the park will come to mind.He had dreamed these, and in his dreams dark lives beckoned to him. The other trouble, which was personal to him, was that when they had gone to the park yesterday, she had been happy and talking and laughing, but when they came back, she was troubled by what they had found, and she had grown old all of a sudden.A monster-like person was lying on a small road with a large puddle of blood beside him, his glasses were shattered, his left hand was stiff, and he kept yelling.

She screamed incessantly, and when her hysteria finally died down, she insisted on burying the man.Later, when they were back at the apartment, she was soft again. "It's all right," he said, "just a little burn, the skin is hardly red anymore." "I'll put some ointment on you. There's medicine in the medicine cabinet." She wanted to go, he held her shoulders tightly and told her to sit down, she looked up at him. "The main thing you want is something to eat," he said. "Scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee, and then we'll get a map and find the easiest way out of Manhattan. We've got to hurry, you know."

"I see... I think we have to go." He went into the kitchen, took the last two eggs out of the refrigerator, cracked them into a bowl, threw the shells into the garbage bag, and started stirring the eggs. "Where do you want to go?" he asked. "What did you say? I don't know..." "Which way?" he asked impatiently.Then add the milk to the eggs and put the frying pan on the stove, "North? The way to New England. South? I don't really know where that is. We should go." With a strange cry, he turned and she was looking at him, her hands rubbing against the hem of her dress, tears streaming from her eyes.She tried to control herself, but to no avail.

"What's the matter?" He walked over and asked her. "What's the matter?" "I can't eat," she sobbed softly. "I know you want me...I'll try...but this stink..." He crossed the living room and closed the windows. "Do you feel better?" "It's better," she said eagerly. "It's better. I can eat now." He went back to the kitchen and flicked the eggs, which were already bubbling.There was a cutting board in the drawer, and along the way he came across a large block of American cheese, which he cut into a small pile and sprinkled over the eggs.Rita returned to the room, and after a while, Debussy's music filled the apartment. It was just to Larry's taste, relaxing and pleasant. He didn't like relaxing classical music.If you're going to fucking appreciate classical music, you should go all out and listen to Beethoven or Wagner or some other big name.Why the fuck is it here?

She absent-mindedly asked him what he would do with his future life... Hearing this, he jumped up in resentment.A simple word like "life" is never a problem for a person, I'm a rock and roll singer, he told her.The tape sang for a while, and he changed to a different tape, which was a kind of jazz, and she nodded.He had no desire to tell her about "Baby, are you satisfied with your man?" That was a thing of the past.The difference between the past life and the present situation was so great that he really didn't appreciate it. He put the eggs on a plate and made a cup of instant coffee with cream and sugar, a diet she liked (“If you asked for cream and sugar, why don’t you have coffee?” Larry approves of the trucker).He put the finished things on the table.She sat on a cushion with her elbows raised, facing the stereo.Debussy's music poured out of the speakers like melted butter.

"Here's soup," he called. She approached the table with a wry smile on her face, looked at the egg like a cross-country runner hitting a series of obstacles, and started eating. "Very well," she said, "you're doing well, thank you." "You're more likeable now," he said, "you see, what I'm going to suggest is this, we go down Fifth Avenue to 39th Avenue, and then we go west through New Jersey by the Lincoln Tunnel. We go along Take the 495 northwest to Passaic, and then... are the eggs okay, haven't they spoiled?" She smiled. "Very good." She stuffed a big mouthful of the fork into her mouth, then took a sip of coffee, "Exactly what I wanted. Go ahead, I'm listening." "It's clear enough from the west of Passaic to the highway. Then I think we'll turn northeast and head towards New England. Make a button hook, you know what I mean? It's going to be a little longer, I think it will End our many quarrels. Maybe build a house by the sea in Maine. Kit, New York, Wells, maybe Ogunquit. He kept looking out of the window while he was talking, and at this moment he turned his head and saw that she seemed to be smiling, and her mouth was open as if in pain and fright, with bean-sized beads of sweat oozing from her face. "Rita? God, Rita, what's the matter with you?" "I'm sorry." She came back to her senses, stood up from the chair, walked into the living room, tripped one foot on the kneeling mat she had been sitting on, and almost fell down. "Rita?" She goes into the bathroom.He slapped the table angrily, then stood up and followed inside.God, he hates it when people throw up as if they were throwing up too.The smell of American cheese in the bathroom made him want to gag too.Rita sat with her legs crossed on the light blue tiled floor, her head leaning weakly over the toilet bowl. She wiped her mouth with a small piece of toilet paper, then looked at him beggingly, pale as paper. "I'm sorry, Larry, I can't eat anymore, I'm really, really sorry." "My God, if you knew you were going to throw up, why did you eat it?" "Because you wanted me to eat it, and I didn't want you to be angry, but you were angry anyway. Right? You were angry anyway." He remembered last night, the first time she had made love to him frantically.He moved quickly, like a clockwork machine, trying to forget her disgusting age.She kept twisting and catering to panting below, but she was not satisfied.When he was intoxicated, she leaned close to him gently, and he smelled her fragrance again, a kind of expensive perfume that his mother used to use when she was out, and she begged in a low voice: Don't leave me, please?Don't leave me alone, okay?He woke up with a start. At this time, she was lying quietly on the bed, and what should happen happened naturally.He saw her drooping breasts with prominent veins, and he was nauseous for a moment, (it reminded him of his mother's varicose veins).But when she spread her legs and clamped his hips with incredible force, he forgot all about it. Take it slow, she said with a smile, and take it step by step. When she pushed him away and got up to get a cigarette, he was almost at orgasm. What are you doing?he asked himself in amazement.At this time, his thick dick pointed angrily in the air, visibly throbbing. she smiles.Your hands are free, are you?me too. They stopped making love and smoked.She talked about various poses easily, and as she talked, her face lit up, her breathing became short, and she stopped talking. Now she took his and hers and crushed them.Let's see if you can finish what you're working on, if you can't I'll probably upset you. He was done, and they both fell asleep contentedly. After 4 o'clock, he woke up for a while, reflecting on the previous things.In the past ten years, he has had sex many times, but compared with this time, nothing he did before can be regarded as sex.This time it was better than ever. Well, she must have a lover. The thought excited him again, and he woke her up. Last night they worked until they heard monster yells.Something's been bothering him these days, but he's accepted, stuff like this, he's used to it, and if it makes you feel a little psychotic, go ahead and get on with your business. Two nights ago, he would wake up at two o'clock, listening to her fetch water in the bathroom.He knew she might be on another birth control pill.She also has some of what she calls "my lovely stimulants," the red ones.He guessed that she might have been taking medicine before the cold caught on. She catered to him everywhere in the apartment, standing in the bathroom doorway and talking to him even when he was in the shower or wanted to relax by himself. but now…… Did he have to take her with him?God.He hoped not.She sometimes seems more powerful than that.There's nothing real in an ad, he mused.How could he be qualified to take care of her when he couldn't even take care of himself? "No," he told her, "I'm not angry, it's just... you know, I'm not your boss, if you don't want to eat, just say so." "I told you... I said, I don't think I want to eat." "Damn it," he yelled, surprised and angry. She looked down, looking at her hands.He knew that she was trying her best not to cry, because he didn't like her crying.After a while he became even angrier, almost shouting: I am not your father, nor your tycoon husband!You don't need me to worry about it!You are 30 years older than me.Then he felt the familiar urge of self-contempt, not knowing what was wrong with himself. "Sorry," he said, "I'm an insensitive fellow." "No, you're not." She choked up, "It's just...everything started to catch up with me...Yesterday, that poor man in the park... Larry, do you understand me?" Barking eyes looked at him. "I understand," he said, but he was still impatient with her, even a little contemptuous.This is a real attitude, how could it not be?They are all in it, watching it develop from afar.His mother died, and he watched her die.She kept saying that somehow she was more sensitive to all this than he was?He had lost his mother, and she had lost the man who took her around the Mercedes, but somehow.Her loss appears to be greater.Forget it, it's bullshit, just bullshit. "Try not to get mad at me," she said, "I'll do better." "I hope so, I do hope so." "You're fine," he helped her up. "Go on, what are you talking about? We have a lot to do, do you think you can handle it?" "Yes." she said. "When we get out of the city, you'll be fine." She looked at him innocently. "Will I?" "You will," said Larry earnestly. "You certainly will." They went into the first cabin. The Manhattan sports store locked its doors, Larry poked a hole in the display window with a long iron pipe, and burglar alarms screamed relentlessly through the deserted streets.He picked out a large bag for himself and a small bag for Rita, into which she put two changes of clothes as he ordered, and he stuffed everything else into a Pan Am he found in the closet. In the airline handbag, including the toothbrush.Rita was smartly dressed in a baggy blouse and white silk trousers.Larry was wearing faded blue jeans and a white shirt. They stuffed large and small bags with the frozen food they found. After a fierce ideological struggle, he took another .30 caliber rifle and 200 rounds of ammunition. He pulled the price tag from the trigger safety and threw it on the ground carelessly. The tag was marked with $450. "You think we really need that?" she asked worriedly, since she also had a .32 in her bag. "I think it's best to take it." He didn't want to say more, but he remembered the ugly ending of the monster screamer. "Okay," she said quietly.He could tell from the look in her eyes that she was thinking about the monster too. "This bag is not too heavy, so I'll carry it for you, okay?" "Oh, no. It won't work, really." "If you go far, it will become heavy. I will carry it in a while." "I can do it," she said with a smile.They were on the sidewalk again, and she looked at the two roads and said, "We're leaving New York." "yes." She turned to him and said, "I'm so happy, I feel like... oh, when I was a little girl, my father used to say, 'We're going on a trip today.' You know how that goes?" Larry smiled back, remembering every night his mother would say, "The west you want to see is in Crest, Larry, what did you say?" "I think I do remember," he said. She stood on tiptoe and adjusted the bag on her shoulder. "The beginning of the journey." She said so softly. "what?" "It's a road of adventure, and I always thought it was a road of adventure," she said. She was still looking at the street.There's a narrow road near the intersection that's clogged with cars for miles, as if everyone in New York decided at the same time to hit the park on the street. She said: "I've been to Bermuda, England, Jamaica, Montreal, Saigon, Moscow. But, since I was a little girl, I haven't been delayed in my journey. My dad took my sister Beth and me to the zoo as well. , let's go, Larry." It's a journey that Larry Underwood will never forget, and he finds himself thinking.Next to the park was once a bustling business district, a man was hung from a lamppost at 5th Avenue and East 54th Avenue, with a plaque around his neck that read Robber.A cat lying in a bedding-stuffed hexagonal basket (advertisement for a fresh-looking Broadway show next to it) stays with its kittens as the mother cat nurses them and enjoys the afternoon sunshine. A young man with an anguished face and a suitcase strolled up to them and told Larry that he would give them a million dollars in 15 minutes.The million was probably in that suitcase, and Larry took the rifle down and told him to move the million elsewhere. "Sure, buddy. Don't point the gun at me, will you kill me? Don't be angry about little things, okay? The weather is fine, hang the gun back!" Immediately after meeting the man, they rushed to the corner of Fifth Avenue and East 54th Avenue.It was almost noon, and Larry suggested lunch.There was a deli on the corner, and when he opened the door, the stench of rotten meat hit her, and she stepped back. "If I want to save my appetite, I'd better not go in," she argued. Larry didn't know if he could find unstinky salami in there, hard spiced sausages, and the like.They had to find a bench and eat strips of dehydrated vegetables and strips of dehydrated bacon.They spread cheese on Ritz shortbread and whip out a small cup of iced coffee. "I'm really hungry this time," she said proudly. He smiled back, feeling good.Everything is developing, and everything is developing for the better.Now, he needs to concentrate on thinking. He thinks that New York is now a cemetery where the dead cannot stay in peace, and he should leave as soon as possible.She might go back to the same path she took in the park the day before.They will pass through Maine for the second time, start a family life in a rich woman's summer house, stay in the north now, and wait to go south in September and October.Booth Bay Harbor in summer and Key Biscayne in winter where there is a good racetrack.He thought about it, but he didn't see her frowning expression.He stood up, rifle slung over his shoulder, and insisted on going. Now they were walking west, shadows following them, crawling at first like frogs on the ground, and growing longer after noon.They walked down Avenue of America, from 7th Avenue to 8th, 9th, 10th.The street was chaotic and quiet, cars of various colors blocked the street like a frozen river, the vast majority of which were yellow taxis.Many of the cars have become hearses, with rotting drivers still leaning behind the wheel and passengers slumped in chairs as if fed up with traffic jams.Perhaps, Larry thought, they could hitch a motorcycle halfway and get out of the city as quickly as possible. He thought that if she could ride a bicycle, it would be better along the way, and there would be no more miserable life she couldn't imagine. At least in some respects, he guessed that she would ride a woman behind him. Qingqi. At the intersection of Thirty-ninth and Seventh avenues, they saw a young man in tattered denim shorts lying on top of a taxi. "Is he dead?" Rita asked. Hearing her voice, the young man sat up, looked around, and seeing them, he rose.They retreated quickly, and the young man lay down peacefully again. As they crossed Eleventh Avenue, it was exactly two o'clock in the afternoon when Larry heard a dull, distressed cry behind him and realized that Rita was not walking to his left. She was kneeling on one leg and rubbing her feet.Something terrible happened.Larry first noticed that she was wearing an expensive pair of open-toed leather sandals costing around $80, the same pair he had picked up in the Fifth Avenue window.These shoes don't go very far, but they're for long hikes, the kind of trips they've been on. The ankle buckle scraped the skin, and blood trickled down the ankle. "Larry, I..." He jerked her to her feet, "What were you thinking?" he yelled at her.For a moment he couldn't bear to treat her in such a cruel way.She flinched. "Do you think you can take a taxi home when you're tired?" "I never thought about it." "Enough, God!" He ran his hands through his hair, "I guess you won't, you're bleeding, Rita, how long have you been hurt?" Her voice became so low and hoarse that it annoyed him to hear it in such an extremely quiet environment. "I think it's from ... well, probably from 5th and 49th Avenues." "It's been 20 blocks before you feel hurt, and you didn't say anything?" "I thought...maybe...leave...it won't hurt more, I don't want to tell you...we have to hurry up...leave this city as soon as possible...I just thought..." "Don't think about anything." He said angrily, "How can we hurry up like you? Your fucking feet are nailed to a cross." "Don't call me Larry," she began to sob softly, "please don't... I feel bad when you call me...please don't call me." He was so angry now that he screamed in her face, "Fool! Fool! Fool!" The voice echoed through the towering buildings. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry, which made him even more angry.There were reasons, he thought, that she really didn't want to know: just when she was stroking her face and wanting him to take her away, why not, there were always people around to take good care of our heroine.Little Rita, someone will drive over, go shopping with her, clean the toilet for her, and let her take a taxi.So let's listen to a few Debussys that are suffocatingly soft, put our manicured hands over our eyes, and leave it all to Larry, take care of me, Larry, at the sight of the monstrous shouter After what happened, I decided I didn't want to watch it anymore, it was all filthy stuff. He pushed her hand away vigorously, but she was trembling and wanted to touch her eyes again. "look at me." She shook her head. "Damn it, look at me, Rita." She winced at him at the end, as if he would punch her in addition to swearing.It really worked for him this way. "I want to tell you the truth, because you don't seem to get it. The truth is, we have to walk twenty or thirty miles, and if your wounds get infected, you're going to be poisoned. You hold out your hand, and I'll Help you." He kept holding her arm, he saw his thumb was almost embedded in her flesh, when he saw the red blood appearing from her foot again, he really wanted to vomit and walk alone, but he couldn't feel it. It was so fitting, he knew he was too emotional.Larry Underwood is having a fit again, and if he's so fucking smart, why doesn't he check her shoes and socks before leaving? Because that's her business.He murmured again. No, that's not true.That's definitely his problem.Because she doesn't know.If he was going to take her with him (he didn't realize until today how easy life would be without her), he was responsible to her. Damn me.He thought again. His mother's words echoed in his ears: Larry, you are a possessor. The hygienist from Fordham shouted at the window behind him: I thought you were a nice guy!In fact you are not! What to expect from you, Larry, you're a possessive. lie!That is a big lie! "Rita," he said, "I'm sorry." She sat down in the driveway, her hair looking even grayer.She lowered her head and raised her injured feet, but she didn't look at him. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "I... look, I don't have the right to say those things." He thought, if you apologize, those things should be written off, this is the world. "Go on, Larry," she said, "don't let me hold you back." "I said I'm sorry," he said with some edginess in his voice, "I'll find you a new pair of shoes and some white socks. We'll..." "We have nothing left. Let's go." "If you say that again, I can't stand it. You are such a fool. Your apology is not easy to accept. Let's go." "I said I was." She turned her head and screamed.He took a step back and looked around to see if anyone was listening to her screaming, to see if any police officers had come up to see what ugly things had happened between the young man and the old lady sitting on the sidewalk with her shoes off.He thought distractedly, what a joke. She stopped screaming and stared at him blankly.She made a flicking gesture with her hand, as if he were an annoying fly. "You'd better stop shouting," he said, "or I'll really leave you." She just looked at him, and he didn't even glance at her, just staring blankly ahead. "All right," he said. He picked up his rifle and started off again.Turning left is a slope with an entrance to Route 195 in the middle. This slope leads down to the tunnel, and the slope road is full of cars.He saw the remains of an explosion at the entrance, and a caravan of Mayflowers was scattered about the van like boules pegs as an oncoming Mayflower van tried its best to squeeze into the traffic. The driver of the van was half-hung from the window, with his head hanging and his arms shaking. There was a puddle of dried blood underneath.There was also a pile of vomit on the door. Larry looked around, expecting her accusing eyes as she walked towards him, but Rita disappeared. "Damn it," he said angrily, "I already apologized." After a while he couldn't go on, and he felt hundreds of dead people staring at him with hatred from the car.A Dylan song came to mind: "In the traffic jam, I'll wait for you... You know, where I'm going... Where are you tonight, dear Mary?" A little further on, he saw 4 westbound lanes disappearing into a tunnel of black curved doors.It's like walking into a car graveyard.They stopped halfway, and then, they all started moving...resurrection...he could hear the car door click open, then slam shut again...and heavy footsteps... … Larry broke out in a sweat, and jumped to his feet as a bird croaked above his head.What a fool you are, he said to himself, a child's trick.All you have to do is pull over on the narrow sidewalk, or you'll be... Get strangled by walking zombies. He licked his lips, trying to laugh.But just laughing miserably.He took five steps toward the point where the slope joined the road, then stopped again.On the left is a car, a "Firebird", and a woman with a long dark face is staring at him.Her nose was squeezed into a ball by the glass, blood and snot dripped on the window, and the driver slumped on the steering wheel, as if looking for something on the floor.The curtains of the car are all rolled up, like a green house.If he had opened the door, the woman would have tumbled, onto the driveway like a sack of stinking watermelon. The stench is coming from the tunnel. Suddenly, Larry turned around and trotted back to where he had walked, the sweat on his brow chilled by the breeze. "Rita, Rita, listen! I want to..." As he ran back to the top of the ramp, the sound died away, and Rita was still nowhere to be seen.39th Avenue shrinks to a point.He ran north from the south sidewalk, clutching the railing and clutching the hood so hot it blistered his skin, but the north sidewalk was empty, too. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he yelled, "Rita! Rita!" All he answered was a lifeless echo: "Rita...ta...ta..." At 4 o'clock, the sky over Manhattan was covered with dark clouds, thunder rolled from between the tall buildings in the city, and lightning split on the buildings.It was as if God was frightening the few poor living beings.The lights got yellow and weird, and Larry didn't like the lights.There was tension in his stomach, and he wanted to light a cigarette to relax, but his hands were trembling, just like Rita had done in the morning when he held the coffee cup. He sat on the side of the road close to the slope, with his back leaning against the railing and his bag resting under his feet. The .30 caliber rifle is by his side.He thought she must be very scared too, and would come to him soon, but she didn't come back. Fifteen minutes ago, he had stopped calling her name, and the echo caused him to have various hallucinations. The thunder came again, closer this time.A gust of cold wind blew against his back, making his skin goosebumps, and he had to dodge, gather strength, and walk through the tunnel.If he didn't work up the courage to go across, he would have to spend another night in the city. He thought rationally, there would be nothing in the tunnel to bite him.But he forgot to bring a big handy flashlight, and you never think of such things.But he has a lighter on him.What else would there be? ...all those dead people in the cars...horrifying stories?If that's all you can think about, and worry about evil monsters in your closet as much as you did when you were a kid, then Larry (as he calls himself), you're out of this exciting new world.Don't even think about it.you just... A bolt of lightning split almost overhead, followed by a muffled thunderclap.He thought wildly, today is July 1st, this is the day people bring candy to Coney Island to eat hot dogs, where you can hit three wooden milk bottles with a ball, win an angel doll, and at night fireworks... One drop of cool rain fell on his face, another on the back of his neck, and then the big raindrops began to drip down incessantly.He stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and picked up his rifle.He hadn't figured out which way to go, whether to go back to Thirty-ninth Avenue or into the Lincoln Tunnel.But he had to find shelter from the rain, which had started pouring down. Thunder roared overhead, and he screamed in terror. "You're such a fucking coward," he said to himself, trotting down the ramp toward the tunnel.The rain was getting heavier, he stuck his head out of the tunnel mouth, the rain was dripping down his hair, and he saw the woman whose nose was bumping against the window of the "Firebird" again, although he didn't want to look at it at all, But I still saw it in the corner of my eye.The rain crackled on the roof like jazz percussion, so hard that it bounced off the ground, and a thin mist rose from the ground. Larry hesitated for a moment at the tunnel door, whether to go in or not, and was frightened again, when it began to hail.Stone-like hailstones hurt the body, and the thunder roared again. Well, he thought, well, well, well now, I'm confident.He walked into the Lincoln Tunnel. It was much darker inside than he had imagined.At first the hole in the back let in a little dim light, and he could see cars next to each other, (he thought it must be bad to be crowded here, it would be terrible to be confined here, This sense of panic has always been with him.) The bow-shaped ceiling wall of the tunnel is made of green and white tiles. "No Lane Changing" sign.Fluorescent lights and CCTV camera lenses are mounted on the roof of the tunnel.He first bent over and walked slowly to the right so that he could hold on to the railing. The light was getting darker and darker, and finally he could only see a little reflection of the chrome on the railing, and then there was no more light. He took out the lighter, held it up, and turned the small wheel. The light emitted by the lighter was pitifully small.Even if the flame is adjusted to the maximum, it can't illuminate a place 1 meter away. It is better not to illuminate. He put the lighter back in his pocket, and continued walking with one hand on the railing.There were echoes here too, but he didn't like the echoes here.The echo here sounded like someone was following him...creeping towards him.He stopped several times, pricking up his ears and opening his eyes wide (but seeing nothing), until the echo died away.So he had to drag his feet and feel his way on the ground, not daring to leave the ground with his heels, so that there would be no echo. Once, he stopped again, lit the lighter, and looked closer to his watch to see that it was 4:20, but he didn't know whether it was day or night.Day or night seemed moot on such dark days.I don't know how far I've come.How long is the Lincoln Tunnel? 1 mile? 2 miles?It must not be 2 miles, it must be shorter than the Hudson River, let it be 1 mile.But if it's only 1 mile, then he must be almost at the end.At an average of 4 miles per hour, he can walk a mile in 15 minutes, and he must have walked in this stinky hole for more than 20 minutes. “我走得很慢，”他自言自语，这声音把他自己吓了一跳。打火机从手里掉了下去，卡嗒一声掉在人行道上。回音响了起来，好像有个疯子发出的诙谐的声音： “慢……慢……慢……” “上帝，”拉里咕哝道，回音也是轻轻的，“帝……帝……帝……” 他用手抹了一下脸，胆颤心惊地，努力克服要盲目向前跑的冲动，突然他跪了下来（膝盖砰地一声碰到了地，就像手枪发射的声音，又吓了一跳），手指前后交替在狭窄人行道的小块地方摸索，水泥地里有块凹陷的地方，有些破纸烟蒂，有一堆小锡箔球。终于他摸到了打火机，他轻轻地叹了口气，将它紧握在手中，站了起来，继续走。 突然拉里一脚踩到了一个僵硬的东西，他不由自主地大声尖叫起来，摇晃着后退了两步。稳下神来后，从口袋里摸出打火机，点燃起来，火焰在他颤抖的手里不停地摇晃着。 他踩着了一个士兵的手。那士兵背靠着隧道壁。双腿伸在走道上。原来是一个可怕的哨兵留在这儿阻挡道路。他圆圆的眼睛瞪着拉里，嘴唇消瘦得能见牙齿，真可谓是龇牙咧嘴。他的喉咙里插着一把弹簧折刀。 手里的打火机变得越来越烫。拉里熄灭了它，舔了舔嘴唇，手死死抓着栏杆，他强迫自己往前走，直到脚再次踩在了那士兵的手上。他只好跨一大步越了过去，他感到像在噩梦中似的。当他走着时，似乎听见那士兵站了起来，后面响起靴子声，然后士兵伸出冰凉的手抱住他的腿。 拉里跑了十来步，然后停了下来。他明白如果不停下来，恐怖就会占据上风，他盲目地射了几枪，随后是一阵可怕的回音。 他感到稍微镇静下来后，才敢继续走。不过这回更糟，他的脚抽筋了，担心随时都有可能踩着另一具尸体……很快地，事情真的发生了。 他呻吟着，又把打火机摸了出来，这次实在是太糟了，他的脚踩着了一个穿蓝工作服的老头。黑色的帽子已从光秃的头上滑到衣服上。胸前有6处伤痕。离他稍远的地方还躺着6具尸体：两具中年女尸，1具中年男尸，1具将近70岁老太太的尸体和两具只有十几岁的小孩尸体。 打火机越来越烫，他再也拿不住了，赶紧熄火，顺手放进裤袋里，腿上立即像触着火球似的灼热起来。他看见了血迹、撕破的衣服、瓷砖的碎片和累累弹痕。他们是被枪杀的。拉里记起有传闻说，军队已经把曼哈顿岛的出口处封锁了。当时他不知道是否该相信，但现在，上星期他听说的这些谣言已开始明朗。 这儿的情形是极容易想象了。这些士兵被困在隧道里，并不是病得不能走路。他们从汽车里跑出来，向泽西边界逃跑，他们只能像他这样走狭窄的人行道。前面有一个指挥所，架着机枪和迫击炮。 是继续走呢？还是停呢？ 拉里冒出了冷汗，努力转动脑筋。长时间的黑暗使他脑子像电影屏幕，各种奇怪的念头一幅幅出现。他看见有一些士兵身穿防菌制服，睁着血红的双眼，趴在有瞄准镜的机枪后，他们的任务是把那些想通过隧道的开小差的士兵杀死，他看见有一个戴着红外线眼镜的士兵拉在后面，嘴里咬着一把刀向前爬着，他看见有两个士兵戴着防毒面具，直直地站在迫击炮旁。他竭力使自己认为这只是幻想，但是要这样做非常困难。 士兵们现在肯定已经消失了。他跨过去的那个死人似乎要站起来，但是……但是真正麻烦的是，他想，是那些横在前面的尸体，他们伸开手脚躺了大约八九英尺。他无法越过他们，他已经越过那个士兵。如果他不走狭窄的人行道，而走在他们身上，他怕会摔破自己的脚。如果他想继续走下去，他将不得不……哎……他就不得不踩在他们身上。 在他后面，黑暗中，有什么东西在动。 拉里转了一圈，听见了一种磨擦声……是一阵脚步声。 “谁在那儿？”他大声喊着，同时取下了步枪。 除了回音，没有别的声音。回音消失后，他只听见或想到自己急促的呼吸声。黑暗中，他简直有些目瞪口呆，他憋住呼吸，仔细聆听，他正想当作想象来消除疑虑时，这时声音又响了起来……一阵悄悄的、静静的脚步声。他急不可耐地摸着打火机，至于会不会被当作靶子的念头从未想过。当他从口袋里掏出打火机，转动小轮时，打火机亮了一瞬间，就从他的手里滑了下去。他听到叮当一声，打火机撞在栏杆上，接着再听到轻轻的一声，好像掉在车底了。 消失的脚步声又出现了，这时更近了，但是说不出有多近。他的脑子浮现出喉咙上插着弹簧折刀的那个士兵，黑暗中慢慢地走过来。 轻轻地，脚步声又出现了。 拉里想起步枪，他用肩顶住枪托，扣动扳机开始扫射，隧道里充满了子弹哒哒哒的爆炸声，听到枪声爆炸声他不由地大声尖叫起来，但尖叫还是被枪声和轰鸣回音覆盖了。0．30口径射出的一连串子弹，击碎的瓷砖引发了堵塞的车辆接二连三地爆炸，瓷砖碎片和石片四处飞溅，就像女妖报丧，枪的反撞力不停地击打着肩膀，直到麻木，直到全身。他明白自己是将子弹射向车行道而不是人行道的。他脑子想让打枪的手停下来，手指还是无意识地扣着扳机，直到扳机卡嗒一声无力地落下来。 回音滚滚而来，他眼前出现了清晰的余音。他模糊地感觉到火药味和哭声，他将头深深地埋在胸口。 他始终紧握着枪，脑海中想象的恐怖画面中那些穿防菌制服的人不是士兵，它们是Ｈ·Ｇ·威尔在《时光机器》中描写的那些又驼又瞎的动物，它们从地底下爬了出来。 他开始在尚未僵硬的尸体中挣扎，跌跌撞撞有好几次都要摔倒了。他紧紧抓住栏杆，继续探索着向前走着，脚踩着了可怕的、有腐烂臭味的尸体。他气喘吁吁地继续走着。 这时从他的后面，黑暗中传来了一声尖叫，吓了他一跳。一声悲惨的喊叫，非常地清楚：“拉里！喂，拉里……” 是丽塔·布莱克莫尔。 他转过身，听到呜呜的哭声，哭声在满是回音的隧道里回荡。有那么一瞬间，他决定还是自己一个人往前走，把她留下。她终于有路可走了，为什么自己又要连累她呢？于是他想大喊“丽塔！你呆着吧！听见了吗？” 低声的啜泣继续着。 他东倒西歪地穿行在尸体中，憋住呼吸，抑住想呕吐的念头，然后向她跑过去。由于有回音，他不知道要跑多远，最后他终于抓住了她。 “拉里，”她依着他，拼命地搂着他的脖子，他能感到她的心在剧烈地跳动。“拉里，拉里，别把我一个人留在这儿，别把我一个人留在黑暗中。” “好的。”他紧紧地抱着她，“我伤着你了吗？你被射中了吗？” “没有……我只是觉得有风……有人经过这儿，我觉得是风……和碎片……瓷砖的碎片，我认为……在我的脸上……擦破我的脸……” “噢，上帝，丽塔，我不知道，我在这儿处在极度的害怕中，黑暗中，我把打火机弄丢了……你应该大声喊的，我可能已经伤着你了，事实就是这样，我可能已经使你受伤了。”他晕乎乎地重复着。 “我不相信是你。在你走下斜坡时，我进了一所公寓。你回来找我，大喊着的时候，我几乎……但我不能……而在下雨后，来了两个人……我以为他们在找我们……或者是在找我。因此，我呆着不敢动，我想等他们走后，我才能走。可能他们不走了，可能他们正躲在某地，正在找我，直到我认为你已经走远了，我才咬着牙出来，我再也没见你……所以我……我……拉里，你别离开我，好吗？你别离开。” "No," he said. “我错了，我说错了，我应该告诉你凉鞋的事儿，当你叫我去……我会吃……” “嘘！”他说，“好了，好了。”他眼前出现了一幅画面，他看见自己盲目地向她开火，以为这么多子弹打中她的手臂或打中她的腹部应该不难。 “如果你觉得能走，那我们该走了，得抓紧时间。” “有一个男人……我觉得那是一个男人……我踩着他了，拉里。”她吞吞吐吐地，“噢，那时，我几乎想大叫，我想是那其中的一人，而不是你。当你大喊的时候……回音……我没猜到会是你……或……或……” “前面有好多死人，你能忍受吗？” “要是你跟我在一起，请……要是你跟我在一起。” "I will." “那我们走吧，我想离开这儿。”她吓得发抖，靠着他，“在我的一生中，我从来没想到过会有这么糟的事。” 他摸着她的脸，吻着她，从鼻子到眼睛，然后到嘴。 “谢谢，”她温顺地说，但表达不了内心的想法，“谢谢，谢谢。” “谢谢，”她重复道，“噢，亲爱的拉里。你别离开我，好吗？” “不会的，”他说，“我不会离开你的，快告诉我，你想什么时候走，丽塔，我们一起走。” 她觉得该走了。 他们越过尸体，就像喝醉酒的人从饭馆里互相搀扶着回家。走不了多远，又碰到了许多障碍，什么也看不见，她用手摸了摸说，可能是一堆水泥。他们一起跨了过去，这时有什么东西掉到了汽车上，强烈的回音使他们俩全都跳了起来，互相紧抱着。前面又有三个横七竖八的尸体，拉里猜想可能是打死犹太人的士兵。他们越了过去，手拉着手继续走着。 一会儿丽塔停了下来。 “怎么啦？”拉里问，“路上有什么东西？” “没有。我看见了，拉里！我看见隧道口了！” 他眨了眨眼睛，他也看见了。光线很暗，但是渐渐地越来越清晰了，丽塔说出来他才知道，丽塔脸上的污迹越来越清楚。 “过来，”他欢欣地说。 离洞口还有60多步远，躺在人行道上的尸体，全是士兵。他们越了过去。 “他们为什么只封锁纽约？”她说，“除非可能是……拉里，可能只发生在纽约吧！” “我想不是的。”他说，但没有合理的理由。 他们走得越来越快，隧道出口就在眼前，门口挡着两排巨大的紧挨着的装甲车。装甲车挡住了大部分光线，要是拉里和丽塔没在隧道呆过，就感觉不出来隧道口那一点点光线。又有一堆横七竖八的尸体躺在通向外面的人行道上，他们紧紧抓着装甲车，顺着车厢爬了过去。丽塔没敢往里看，但拉里看了，里面有一挺机枪，有弹药以及看起来像催泪毒气似的东西，还有，还有3个死人。 当他们来到外面时，一股潮湿的微风迎面吹来。 “你看。”他指着前面。 公共电话亭空荡荡的，玻璃全部碎了，左边车道也是空荡荡的，但是东边的车道，与隧道连接，也与他们刚离开的那个城连接，堵塞着长长的车流。车道里有凌乱的尸体，一群乌鸦在上面盘旋。 “噢，天哪。”她有气无力地说。 “有那么多人想进纽约，又有那么多人想离开纽约，我不知道他们为什么要费心封锁泽西端的隧道。可能他们也不知道为什么，这只是某些人的好主意，看上去有意义，但实际都是徒劳。” 但她却已坐在马路上哭了起来。 “别哭！”他跪在她身边，隧道里的经历刚过，他不会对她发脾气。“行了，丽塔。” “什么？”她抽噎着，“什么，快告诉我。” “不管怎么说，我们出来了，并没有什么事，这儿有新鲜的空气，事实上，新泽西从没这么美好过。” 拉里脸上有些惨淡的笑容，他看到在她脸颊和太阳穴上有被瓷片擦伤的划痕。 “我们应该到杂货店去，买点双氧水擦擦伤口，”他说“你还能走吗？” “可以。”她默默地看着他，看的他很不自在。“我会买双新鞋，买轻便的旅游鞋，我会按你说的那样做的，拉里，我愿意。” “我大声喊你，因为我想你。”他静静地说。他用手理了理她的头发，吻了吻右眼角的一个伤痕。“我不是个坏家伙。”他静静地补充道。 “别离开我。” 他把她扶了起来，一只手搂着她的腰，他们慢慢地向前走。纽约离他们越来越远。