Chapter 38 Chapter 37

At first, Stu didn't pay much attention when he heard the barking dogs; this happened quite often on bright summer mornings.He had just passed through the town of South Ryegate, New Hampshire, and the road in front of him snaked through the beautiful countryside, with the sun shining through the elms on the side of the road and covering the road with a layer of dangling coins. The size of the spot.Thick undergrowth grew on both sides of the road—saltskin, juniper, and many other shrubs that he did not name.The variety dazzled him, and he was familiar with the plants of East Texas, where there were not as many kinds of plants along the roads as here.To his left, an ancient stone wall snaked through the undergrowth, appearing and disappearing.On the right, a brook flows merrily eastward.From time to time, there are small animals running in the bushes (yesterday, a huge doe stood on the white line of Route 302 and sucked the morning air heartily. with.Against the backdrop of this sound, barking is the most natural thing in the world.

He walked another mile or so before suddenly realizing that the dog (sounding, it was very close) must be unusual anyway.Since leaving Stowington, he had seen many dead dogs, but not a single one alive.So it occurred to him that the flu killed many people, but not all.Apparently the flu killed a lot of dogs too, and there are still dogs still alive.Maybe the dog is afraid of people now.When it sniffed him, it probably burrowed into the bushes and barked at him until Stu was out of its territory. He adjusted the straps of the rucksack, and folded two handkerchiefs on the shoulders pressed by the straps.He wore a pair of Georgia boots, and after the three-day journey, the lines on the soles of the soles were almost worn out.He wore a fashionable red wide-brimmed felt hat, and slung an army carbine over his shoulder.He didn't expect to meet a murderer, but he still had a vague feeling that it was a good idea to carry a gun, to shoot some wild animals.He really saw the wild thing yesterday, it was still alive, and he was so surprised and happy that he forgot to shoot.

Now that the bag rested comfortably on his shoulders again, he continued down the road.From the barking of the dog, it seemed to be just around the next turn.Maybe I'll see it, Stu thought. He chose Route 302, heading east, because he thought it would eventually lead him to the sea.He also made something like a plan for himself: When I get to the seaside, I will decide what I want to do.At that point, I will forget what happened.It's day 4 now, and the trek feels like a therapeutic process.He thought about riding a ten-speed bike or motorcycle, but decided to walk instead.He's always loved long hikes, and his body craves exercise.Before he fled Stowington, he hadn't exercised for almost two weeks. He felt his muscles began to relax and his body was out of shape.He used to think that this kind of slow journey would make him impatient sooner or later, and then he would find a bicycle or motorcycle, but now he is very willing to walk, walk east along this road, and see what he wants to see , rest when you feel like it, or take an afternoon nap during the hottest part of the day.It was good for him, and gradually the frantic desire to escape became a memory, something that happened in the past, no longer a living thing that made him break out in a cold sweat.During the first two nights on the road, he also dreamed of his last encounter with Elder, when Elder came to complete his mission.In the dream, Stu was always one step slower in swinging the chair. Elder took a step back to avoid the blow, and then pulled the trigger of the pistol. Stu felt like a lead-filled boxing glove hit his chest. , but not a very painful blow.He kept dreaming about this scene until he woke up tired in the morning, but still thankful that he was alive.He had no such dream last night.He couldn't believe that the catatonic symptoms had stopped so abruptly, but he thought the hike would, little by little, clear the nightmare from his mind.Probably he'd never get rid of all of it completely, but when he got rid of most of it, he figured he'd be planning carefully for the future, whether or not he got to the beach.

He turned the corner and there was the dog, a golden-brown Irish setter.As soon as it saw Stu it barked cheerfully and ran towards him along the road.Its paws tapped the road to make a beeping sound, and its tail was wagging excitedly.It jumped up and put its front paws on Stu's abdomen. The action was so fierce that Stu couldn't help but take a step back. "Slow down, lad," he said with a grin. Hearing his voice, the dog barked even more happily, and jumped up again. "Kojak!" a voice sternly called, and Stu looked around in surprise. "Come down! Don't bother the gentleman! You'll stain his shirt! Poor fellow!"

Kojak stood on the road, tail tucked, and turned around Stu.The tail was still wagging excitedly. Now he could look up at Kojak's master.This is a man in his 60s, wearing a worn sweater, a pair of faded gray trousers, and a beret.At this time, he was sitting on a piano bench, holding a palette in his hand, and an easel with canvases stood in front of him. Now he stood up, put the palette on the piano bench (Stu could hear him muttering faintly, "Don't forget to sit on it later"), and walked towards Stu with his hand outstretched.The floppy gray hair that was pressed under the hat trembled in the breeze.

"Sir, I don't think you'd greet me with a gun. Grant Bateman, at your service." Stu took a step forward and grabbed the outstretched hand (Kojak was excited again now, bouncing around Stu, but this time he didn't dare jump on Stu— At least not yet). "Stuart Redman. Don't worry about the gun. I haven't seen enough people to shoot them now. In fact, you're the first one I've seen." "Would you like some caviar?" "Never have." "Try some this time, then. If you don't like it, there's plenty of other food here. Kojak, stop dancing. I know you want to jump again—I know what you're thinking— - Take care of yourself. Remember, Kojak, it's the mark of nobility and baseness to keep yourself in check. Take care of yourself!"

Kojak sat down obediently and began panting with his mouth open.It grinned like it was laughing.Stu knew from experience that this smiling dog was either a bite dog or a very good dog.And this dog is not like a biting dog. "I'm taking you to lunch," said Bateman. "You're the first person I've seen since last week. Would you like to stay?" "very willing to." "Southern, right?" "East Texans." "Eastern, I was wrong." Bateman couldn't help laughing at his own judgment, and he turned and walked to the easel, a line of careless watercolors dripping on the road.

"I wouldn't be sitting on that piano bench if I were you," Stu said. "Of course not! I don't want to sit, do I." He changed direction and walked to the back of a small clearing.Stu saw an orange and white ice box in the shadows, covered with what looked like a white tablecloth.When Bateman removed the tablecloth, Stu saw what was inside. "It used to be part of the church property of the Holy Baptist Church in Woodville," said Bateman, "and I'll use it. I don't think the Baptists would miss it. They've all gone to see God. At least It's the Woodville churchgoers who have all gone to meet God. They can celebrate their reunion there now. But I think Baptists will find heaven disappointing unless heaven allows them to watch tv - maybe they're in heaven Call it 'Sky Vision' - on TV they can watch Jerry Falwell and Jack Van Emper. And what we have here is an old pagan communing with nature. Kojak , don't step on the tablecloth. Take care of yourself and always remember this, Kojak. Whatever you do, always remember this. Mr. Redman, how about we wash it down the road?"

"Wash it, Stu." "Okay, wash it off." They crossed the road and washed up in the clear, cold water.Stu felt very comfortable.There is something almost divine about meeting this special person in this special moment.Kojak took a few sips of water down the stream, and then ran into the woods, screaming happily.It alarmed a pheasant in the forest.Stu watched the pheasant flopping away from the bushes, wondering with wonder that everything seemed normal.Inexplicably normal. He didn't like the taste of caviar much—it was like cold fish jelly—but Bateman had pepperoni, salami, two cans of sardines, some apple mush, and a big box of fig sticks.Bateman says fig bars are good for the gut.Stu's stomach has been fine since he left Stowington for his long walks, but he still loves fig bars and eats six in one sitting.In fact, he ate a lot of everything.

Bateman, who ate a lot of sardines, told Stu that he used to be an associate professor of sociology at Woodville Community College.Woodville, he says, is a small town six miles away ("It's famous for a community college and four gas stations," he told Stu).His wife died 10 years ago.They have no children.Most of his co-workers dislike him, he says, and he dislikes them, too. "They think I'm crazy," he said. "They're probably right, and that possibility doesn't improve our relationship." He's taking the pandemic in stride because he's finally able to retire himself , and can paint all day like he has been looking forward to.

As he parted the cake and handed Stu half, he said, "I'm a terrible painter. But, I said to myself, no one painted landscapes this July better than BA, MA, MA Grant Bateman's cheap self-travel is more beautiful than my own painting." "Has Kojak been your dog all this time?" "No, it's kind of a curious coincidence, isn't it? I think Kojak was raised by someone in town. I've seen him before, but I don't know his name, so I ventured New name. Doesn't look like it cares. Just a second, Stu." He trotted all the way to the side of the road, and Stu heard him splashing.After a while he came back again, his trousers rolled up to his knees.He holds a 6-pack of beer in each hand. "It was supposed to be with dinner. I was so stupid to forget." "Good after dinner, too," said Stu, pulling a can of beer out of the box. "thanks." They pulled back the beer, and Bateman held up the beer can and said, "Cheers to us, Stu. Have a good day and a good mood." "Amen." They clinked the cans together and drank.Stu thought, the taste of beer has never been as good as it is today, and maybe it will be so good in the future. "You're a man of few words," said Bateman. "I hope you don't think I'm gloating." "Nothing," Stu said. "I'm biased against the world," says Bateman. "I'm not shy about it. At least for me, the world of the last quarter of the 20th century had all the symptoms of an 80-year-old dying of colon cancer." ...they say that when a century draws to a close, disaster always befalls all westerners. We always wrap ourselves in shrouds and cry about our misfortunes everywhere, woohoo Jerusalem... woohoo Kerry Fran. Chorea outbreak at the end of the 15th century. The Black Death at the end of the 14th century that nearly wiped out Europeans. Whooping cough at the end of the 17th century. The first outbreak of influenza at the end of the 19th century. Now we are very used to the word flu- To us, it almost sounds like a cold, doesn't it? — no one except historians seems to know about the flu 100 years ago." "In the last 30 years of each century, your religious fanatics will jump out and use facts and figures to explain that the end of the world is finally coming. Of course, there have always been such people, but at the end of each century, The ranks of such people seem to be growing rapidly...and they are taken seriously by many. That's when the devil appears. Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, Jack the Ripper, Liz Borden. If you will hear and our contemporaries Charles Manson, Richard Speck, and Ted Bundy. My colleagues, more imaginatively than I, argued that Westerners need to cleanse their colons from time to time , doing it at the end of the century helps them face a pure, optimistic world. In this case, we got the best enema ever, so when you think about it, it makes a lot of sense. Anyway , this time we are approaching not just the beginning of a century, but the beginning of a brand new millennium." Bateman paused and thought for a moment. "Now that I think of it, I'm a schadenfreude. Another beer?" Stu took another can of beer, thinking about what Bateman had said. "It's not the end yet," he finally said. "At least I don't think so. It's just... a break." "Apt. Well said. I'm off to do my picture, if you don't mind." "Go." "Have you met any other dogs?" Bateman asked as Kojak happily came across the road. "No." "Neither have I. You're the only person I've ever met besides me, and Kojak seems to be the only dog." "If it's alive, there will be other dogs." "Your reasoning isn't very scientific," said Bateman kindly. "What kind of American are you? Show me there's no second dog—preferably a bitch—and I'll accept you." My reasoning is that there will be a third dog. But don't prove to me that there is a dog and then deduce from that premise that there will be a second dog. That won't work." "I've seen cows," said Stu thoughtfully. "Cows, yes, and deer. But the horses are all dead." "That's right." Stu agreed.During his travels, he had seen many dead horses.In some cases, cows graze on top of horse carcasses that are beginning to swell. "Hey, why is this happening?" "Don't know. We all breathe the same way, and it looks like it's mostly a respiratory disease. I wonder if there's something else, though? People, dogs, and horses all get sick. Cows and deer don't. Rats just started It was also affected, but now it seems to be alive again." Bateman casually adjusted the paint on the palette. "It's all cats, it's all a disaster, and the insects, as far as I can see, are just as normal as ever. Of course, human ailments seem to affect them very seldom - the flu-mosquito is ridiculous to think about. Not at all." It doesn't make sense. It's just crazy." "That's right," Stu replied, opening another can of beer.His head was slightly dizzy. "We're going to see some interesting changes in biology," Bateman said.He made a big mistake when he included Kojak in the painting. "Things that survive, we'll see if humans can reproduce after this plague - that won't be known until later - but at least we can try and try together. But will Kojak still find a mate ?Can it still be a proud father?" "God, I don't think it will." Bateman stood up, put the drawing board on the piano stool, and took a can of beer. "I think you're right," he said. "There may be other people, other dogs, and horses. But many animals may die before they can reproduce. Of course, there may be some susceptible animals that happened to be pregnant at the time of the flu outbreak. Now there will be in the United States. Quite a few healthy women whose bellies are now - pardon me - stuffed dumplings. But the point of no return has been reached. Looks like uninfected deer if dogs are taken out of the equation It would breed like crazy. The survivors would certainly not be enough to keep the deer population under control. There would be no hunting season for a few years." "Then," said Stu, "the excess deer will starve." "No, they won't, most of them won't starve. Not here anyway. I can't say what's going to happen in East Texas, but New England had a lot of vegetable gardens before the flu hit, And it's growing nicely. Deer will have a lot to eat this year and next year. After that, the crops will grow wild. There probably won't be starving deer in 7 years. If you come back in a few years, Stu, you'll have to Push the deer out of the way to get onto the road." Stu thought about it carefully.Finally he said: "Aren't you exaggerating a bit?" "Not intentionally. There are many factors that I haven't considered, but frankly, I don't think so. Let's assume that there are no dogs in the deer environment, or there are almost no dogs, and extrapolate that hypothesis , generalized to relationships between other organisms. Cats will reproduce indefinitely. What does this mean? I just said that the number of mice in biological relationships will decline, but will rise again. If there are enough cats , that would change. A world without rats sounds like a good idea at first, but I doubt it." "You just said that whether human beings can reproduce is still a problem. How do you understand this?" "There are two possibilities," Bateman said. "At least I see two possibilities now. The first possibility is that the baby might not be immune." "Do you mean they die as soon as they are born?" "Yes, or just die in utero. It's unlikely, but not impossible, that this superflu could have a sterile effect on the rest of us." "It's just crazy," said Stu. "That's what mumps is," said Glenn Bateman quietly. "But if the mothers...with babies...if the mothers are immune—" "Yes, in some cases immunity is heritable like susceptibility to disease. But not all of them. You can't be sure of that. I think the future is very uncertain with the children you're carrying now. They mothers are immune, but statistics show that most fathers are not, and are now dead." "What about another possibility?" "We might destroy ourselves," said Bateman calmly.Actually I think it's quite possible.But not now, because now we are too spread out.But humans are gregarious, social animals, so if we live long enough to tell each other how we survived the cataclysm of 1990, we will eventually come together. "The majority of societies that formed then were probably some primitive dictatorships with a few petty dictators, unless we were lucky. The few societies that formed were probably civilized democracies, I can tell you exactly 90's to 2000's or so Necessary conditions for society at that time: a society with sufficient technology to bring back the light. This will certainly be achieved, and it will be easily achieved. This is not the same as the situation after the nuclear war, where everything Can't be used any more. Now the machines are all there in good condition, waiting to be used by people who can use them, of course, who know how to clean plugs and replace worn bearings. How many people are left who know Technologies that we used to take for granted.” Stu took a sip of beer and asked, "Is that true?" "Of course." Bateman also took a sip of his own beer, then leaned forward slightly, and said to Stu with a smile: "Mr. Stuart Redman from East Texas, I might as well assume for you .Suppose there is a community A in Boston, and a community B in Utica. They both know each other, and they know each other's situation. Community A is in good condition. Since one of them happens to be a repairman for Con Ed Co. , so they live very comfortably in Bickenhill, very well off. The repairman knows how to get the power plant that feeds Bickenhill running again. It may just be knowing which gate to pull to turn on the plant after it shuts itself down. Once Once the generator starts up again, it runs almost automatically. The mechanic can teach the rest of Society A which brakes to pull and which gauges to look at. The generator runs on oil, and there is plenty of oil there because People who used to use oil are long dead. So, in Boston, people are very comfortable. There is heating to keep out the cold when it is cold, and there is an electric lamp to light you for reading at night, and there is a refrigerator so that people can drink like civilized people. Scotch whiskey on ice. In fact, life is idyllic. There is no pollution problem, no drug problem, no race problem, and no material scarcity problem. Money and barter problems do not exist, because all kinds of materials are placed It's there for the people to choose, enough for a depopulated community for 300 years. From a sociological point of view, this society is essentially a communist society. There is no dictatorship, because there is no such thing as breeding dictatorship, The soil of greed, uncertainty, and private ownership. Boston may end up being run by town councils in the form of government." "And no one in Utica's B community knows how to run a power plant. All the technicians are dead. It's going to be a long time before they figure out how to get the power plant running. It's freezing at night (winter Arrived), the canned food was gone, and it was starving and cold. At this time, a strongman stepped forward. And the rest were willing to accept him, because they were at a loss, hungry and sick. Let the strongman make the decision! He naturally A decision was made. He sent someone to Boston to ask for help. Would the people of Boston send their precious technicians to Utica to help them? Not sending would mean a long and dangerous journey south for the winter in the B community. So what should community A do after getting the news?" "Will they send someone?" Stu asked. "To hell with it! Of course not. That technician could be detained, very likely actually. In a post-flu world, know-how is arguably worth nothing. From this point of view, society A is rich, and Community B is poor. So what should Community B do?" "I think they'll go south," Stu said, and smiled. "Probably to East Texas." "Possibly, or they could threaten the people of Boston with nuclear warheads." "That's right," Stu said. "They can't get their power plants running, but they can launch nuclear missiles." "If it was me, I wouldn't bother with the missiles," Bateman said. "I'd just figure out a way to dismantle the warheads and take them to Boston by train. Do you think that would work?" "If I knew, I wouldn't give an inch." "Even if that doesn't work, there are plenty of conventional weapons out there. That's it, all kinds of weapons lying around just waiting to be used. If both community A and community B have their own technicians , they may initiate a nuclear war due to differences in religion or territory or some trivial ideals. Think about it, by then, we will not only have six or seven world nuclear powers, but sixty or seventy in the United States Nuclear state. Even if that wasn't the case, I'm sure there would have been fighting with rocks and maces. But the truth is, all the veterans are gone, leaving their equipment behind. Think of it Cruel, especially when so many cruel things have happened...but I think it's quite possible." A moment of silence fell between the two.They heard Kojak calling in the woods in the distance, and it was past noon. "You know what? I'm an optimist at heart," said Bateman at last. "It's probably because I don't have high standards of satisfaction. That's why I'm not popular in my profession. I have my faults, I talk too much, you've already found out. I'm also a bad painter, as you've seen, and I used to be very poor with money. I sometimes live on peanut butter sandwiches for three days before I get paid, and I'm in Wood Vail is notorious for taking all his money out of his bank account within a week of opening it. But Stu, I never get discouraged by it. Quirky, but happy, that's my personality. The only curse of my life like this It's my dream. I've had all sorts of vivid dreams in my head since I was a child. Many are depressing. Like a young man fishing under a bridge reaching out and grabbing my leg, or a wizard Turned me into a bird... and every now and then I want to open my mouth and yell, but nothing happens, just some cows come out. Have you ever had a nightmare, Stu?" "Sometimes," Stu replied, thinking of Elder and how he had ambushed him in his nightmares, of endless, echoing hallways lit by cold fluorescent lights . "You know, when I was a teenager, I used to have sex dreams. I used to have dreams like this: the girl I was with in the dream would turn into a toad, or a snake, or sometimes even a snake. A rotting corpse. When I was growing up, I used to have dreams of failure, dreams of my own degeneration, dreams of suicide, and dreams of horrific accidental sudden deaths. One of the recurring dreams was that I was being fueled by a The elevator at the station was slowly crushed to death. I think these are variants of fishing dreams. I do believe that such dreams are psychological emetic, and people who have such dreams are blessed by God, not cursed." "If you forget about it, it won't build up." "That's right. There are many ways to realize dreams, and Freud is the most famous one, but I always think that they just play a simple clearing function, and they don't have much effect. Dreams are just a way for psychologists to reduce stress. And those who don't dream, or who wake up and forget their dreams, are mentally dull in some way. Anyway, the only viable compensation for having nightmares is to wake up and realize that they are just dreams .” Stu smiled. "Not long ago though, I had a really scary dream. Dreams like being crushed to death by an elevator, it kept recurring, but it was nothing compared to the most recent dreams. It was nothing compared to my The dreams I've had before are different and somewhat similar. It's like... like it's all the nightmares condensed. When I wake up, I'm in a terrible mood, like it's not a dream but some kind of Hallucinations. I know it sounds crazy." "What kind of dream is it?" "A dream about a man," said Bateman quietly. "At least I think it was a man. He was standing on top of a tall building, or a cliff. Whatever it was, it was tall. , thousands of feet above the ground. It was almost dusk and the sun was setting, but he was looking east. Sometimes he seemed to be wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black denim jacket, but more often he looked like He was wrapped in a robe and with a hood on his head. I never saw his face, but I could see his eyes. He had red eyes. And I felt he was looking for me, and sooner or later he would I'll be found, or I'll have to walk up to him...and that would mean the end of my life. So I want to yell..." He paused with a nervous shrug. "Are you awake at this time?" "Yes." They watched as Kojak ran back erratically.Kojak put his nose into the aluminum plate and ate the last bit of cake, and Bateman patted it. "Forget it, it's just a dream," Bateman said, standing up, and then ducked back when his knees almost straightened. "If I were psychoanalyzed, those guys would have to say that this dream reflected my subconscious fear of some kind of leader who would make all of this happen again. It could be a fear of technology. Because I do believe in all development The new societies that are growing -- at least in the West -- will make technology their foundation. It's sad, it doesn't have to be, but it has to be, because we're stuck. They won't remember, or Say they don't want to remember how we cornered ourselves in the past. Dirty rivers, big holes in the ozone layer, atomic bombs, air pollution. What they'll remember is that a long, long time ago they were warm and warm with very little effort Overnight. You see, I'm a Luddite. But that dream...it's stuck with me, Stu." Stu didn't say anything. "Oh, it's time to go back." Bateman said lightly, "I'm a little drunk, I think there will be a thunderstorm this afternoon." He walked back to the open space and began to pack up. He returned a few minutes later with a cart.He lowered the piano stool to the lowest point and put it in the trolley, then put in the palette, the ice box one by one, and finally put his second-rate painting carefully on top of everything. "Have you been pushing it all the way here?" Stu asked. "I keep pushing it until I see something I want to paint. I go somewhere different every day. It's a good exercise. If you go east, why don't you come back to Woodville with me, to my house Overnight? We can take turns pushing the cart, and I’ve chilled 6 cans of beer there so we can comfortably go home with us.” "Okay, that's it," Stu said. "Dude, I'm going to talk all the way home. You're in the hands of Professor Rap, East Texan. If I tire you out, just tell me to shut up. I won't be mad. " "I'd like to hear from you," said Stu. "So you are a man of God. Go." So they started walking down Route 302, one of them pushing a cart, the other drinking a beer.No matter who pushed the cart or drank the beer, it was always Bateman who did the talking, jumping from topic to topic in his long, uninterrupted tirade with barely a pause in between.Kojak ran merrily beside them.Stu listened attentively to Bateman's eloquent talk for a while, and lost his mind for a while, not knowing where to go. Bateman was deeply disturbed by the scene he described: hundreds of small tribes, some very warlike, living across the country, thousands of destructive weapons scattered like children's blocks there.Strangely though, the dream of Glenn Bateman kept coming to his mind: the faceless man with the pair of red eyes standing on the top of a tall building or a cliff.With his back to the setting sun, he looked uneasily towards the east. He woke up before midnight, drenched in sweat and worried that he might cry out in his dreams.In the other room, though, Glenn Bateman's breathing was slow and even, showing no signs of being disturbed.In the hallway he could see Kojak asleep on his paws.The interior of the house is bathed in bright moonlight and the decoration is like being in a fairyland. When Stu woke up, he sat up on his hands, and now he lay down again, pressing his body against the wet sheet, his arms covering his eyes, unwilling to remember the dream just now, but still unable to get rid of it. drop it. In his dream he was back in Stowyton again.Elder is dead.All of them are dead.The place was an empty tomb.He's the only one alive, and he can't find his way out.At first he struggled to control his fear.He said to himself over and over, "Walk slowly, don't run." But before long he was running.He walked faster and faster, and couldn't help but want to look back. The thought of trying to figure out that the sound behind him was just an echo became more and more irresistible. He passed the next closed office.The milky white frosted glass on the door was written in black.He walked past the overturned push bed and the body of the female nurse with her white skirt shrunk down to her thighs. Her jet-black grinning face was staring at the ice box glowing coldly under the fluorescent lamps on the roof. Finally, he started running. He ran faster and faster, doors flashed past him, his feet danced quickly on the linen rug.Orange arrows painted on white hollow brick wall.signpost.开始时这些路标还显得正常：“放射科”、“乙号走廊通往试验室”、“无有效证件请勿进入”。过了一会他来到了这座建筑的另一部分，这部分建筑从来没看过，也不想看。墙上的漆开始剥落、龟裂。一些日光灯黑着，余下的则发出嗡嗡的响声，就像困在纱窗中的蚊子。许多办公室的磨砂窗户已经破碎，透过破碎的窗户他可以看到屋里一遍狼藉，躺满了死状痛苦的尸体。到处是血。这些人不是死于流感，而是被杀死的。尸体上到处是刀伤和枪伤，还有被钝器打击才会出现的创伤。死尸的眼睛都圆睁着，突出在外边。 他沿着一个停着的电梯中向下爬去，钻进了一条长长的四周嵌着磁砖的黑暗隧道。隧道的另一头办公室更多，门都漆得黑黑的。墙上是鲜红色的箭头。日光灯在嗡嗡作响。墙上的路标写着：“此路通向激光武器”、“响尾蛇导弹在这此”、“传染病室”。当他看到指向右转弯的箭头和它上面写的令他快乐无比的“出口”时，竟兴奋地哭了。 他转过了弯，门开着。门外是迷人的夜晚。他冲了过去，突然一个身影插了进来挡住了他，正是那个穿着牛仔裤和粗斜纹布夹克的人。斯图猛地停了下来，叫喊声像锈铁块一样地堵在了他的嗓子里。当那个人走入到闪烁的日光灯下时，斯图看到他的脸上有一块黑色的阴影，阴影上面嵌着两只血红毫无生气的眼睛。没有生命，只有一丝幽默，一种跳动的、疯狂的喜悦。 黑衣人伸出手，斯图看到那手上在滴着血。 “天哪！”从黑衣人本应是脸部的空洞处传出低语声。 斯图醒了过来。 科亚克在厅中发了一声呻吟，又轻声地嗥了几声。睡梦中爪子还抽搐了一下。斯图想狗也会做梦。这是再自然不过的事了，做梦，甚至偶然做做噩梦。 但是，他过了许久才入睡。