Chapter 42 Chapter 41

At 8:30, Larry awoke to morning light and birdsong.All this excited him.After leaving New York City, every day can be greeted with sunshine and birdsong.If that's your thing, there's an extra, a free gift - air, fresh and pure.Even Rita noticed this.He kept thinking: well, the situation is going as I want.As long as you don't want what humans are doing to the planet, you'll feel better.It will make you wonder if it's like Northern Minnesota.That's how the air smells in places like Oregon and the West Coast of the Rockies. Larry was lying on one side of the double sleeping bag, with the low canvas top of the two-person tent overhead that had been packed into the travel bag in Passaic on the morning of July 2.Larry remembers when Spellman, one of the survivors, tried to convince Larry to go on a camping trip with him and two or three others.They were planning to go East, spend a night in Vegas, and then go to a place in Colorado called Loveland.They will camp in the mountains of the Land of Love for about 5 days.

Larry sneers, "You can leave all the high mountains of the Rocky Mountains to go to John Denver, and you'll come back covered in bug bite herpes, or scratched by poison ivy from shitting in the woods." Traces. Now, ring me a bell if you change your mind and decide to camp 5 days at Danes in Vegas." But maybe it could be, in your own mind, no one to argue with you ( Except for Rita, who, he guessed, would put up with his arguments), the fresh air and the nights without tossing and turning.You can fall asleep with a bang, like someone punched you in the head.No questions asked, except where you're going tomorrow and how much time you'll spend, it's fantastic.

This morning in Bennington, Vermont, driving due east on Hwy 9, this morning was a little bit special, God bless you, today is the 4th of July, Independence Day. He sat up in the sleeping bag and leaned over to look at Rita, who was still like a dead light, unable to see anything but the line of her body under the sleeping bag and her shaggy head of hair.He didn't wake her up this morning, though. Larry opened one side of the sleeping bag and crawled out. Goosebumps all over his bare bottom, and after a while the air around him naturally warmed up.Maybe it will be 70 degrees.Another good day is about to start.He climbed out of the tent and stood up.

Parked by the tent was a 1200-cc Harley-Davidson motorcycle in black chrome.Like the sleeping bag and the tent, you can get it in Passaic.They had driven three cars before, two of which were stopped in heavy traffic and the third got stuck in the mud outside Nutley when he tried to get around two colliding lorries .So switch to a motorcycle now, and it can still travel at a low speed in the event of a traffic accident.When stuck in traffic, it can drive along curbs or sidewalks. Rita didn't like motorcycles - sitting on the back seat made her nervous, and she desperately grabbed Larry, which she also thought was the only practical solution.Human ultimate traffic jam is a great game to play.

They've saved a lot of time since they left Passaic for the county.By the evening of July 2 they had crossed New York state again and pitched their tents on the outskirts of Querryville, with the foggy and mysterious Catskills to the west. On the afternoon of the 3rd they turned eastward and reached Vermont by nightfall.Now in Bennington. They bivouaced on a rise outside the city, and when Larry peed naked next to his motorcycle, he looked down on New England like it was on a postage stamp.Two simple white churches with soaring spiers that seemed to pierce the blue morning sky; a private school, gray and ivy-covered; a factory; two red-brick school buildings; Put on a green dress.The only elusive fallacies in the picture are the absence of smoke from the factory and the many shiny toy vehicles parked at odd angles on the main street, which is the highway they're going to take.But in the pleasant stillness (that is, silence, save for the occasional chirping of birds), Larry might have felt what she felt, had he known Irma Far According to Yate, this feeling is: in such an environment, no matter how great the loss is, it is nothing.

He still considers himself an American except on the Fourth of July. He cleared his throat, spit, and hummed for a while, trying to find his pitch.He took a deep breath, and the morning breeze brushed over his bare chest and buttocks, and he immediately felt refreshed and sang a song. "Oh! in the morning light, In the last rays of evening light, Can you see what we are cheering so proudly? ..." He kept singing the song, facing Bennington, occasionally cocking his hips comically, and finally wiggling a few times, because Rita was probably smiling at him from the tent door. With a last quick salute in the direction of what he thought might be Benlington Court, he turned and remembered that the best way to start a new year of independent life in America was with a good authentic American women as love objects.

"Larry Underwood, patriotic youth, I wish you a loving couple...", but the tent door was still open, and he suddenly felt an impulse.He resolutely suppressed the urge.She can't always get along with him.For this reason, when you are able to recognize this and possibly work it out, you are developing into an adult relationship.He'd been trying really hard to get along with Rita since that harrowing experience in the tunnel, and he thought he'd done pretty well. You have to put yourself in her place, and that's the point.You have to realize that she's more mature than she was, she's used to having her own way of life most of her life.It will be difficult for her to adapt to this changed world.He discovered that Rita carried all her birth control pills with her, in a juice bottle with a screw top.Yellow capsules, Quadrazone, Darfon, and what she called "my lovely stimulants."Those little stimulants are red.Three of them had a Mexican agave pellet.After you take it you get high and you wobble all day, he doesn't like it because it makes you jerk around and go back and forth like you have a monkey on your back.A monkey about the size of King Kong.He doesn't like the drug, also because when you're about to walk in the direction of the cheese, it's like a slap in the face, doesn't it?Does she have anything else to worry about?Why can't she fall asleep for a long time at night?He certainly did not have such a situation.Was it because he didn't take good care of her?But he was sure he didn't.

He returned to the tent and hesitated for a moment.He should probably put her to sleep.Maybe she's exhausted.but…… He looked at old Sparky, who didn't want him to sleep.Humming the song called "Bananas Dotted with Stars", an old song made him excited again.Larry lifted the tent cover and climbed in. "Rita?" He would be sleepy now if he hadn't come out after breathing the fresh morning air outside.The smell wasn't too strong because the tent was better ventilated, but it was strong enough: the sour smell of vomiting and sickness. "Rita?" Seeing her sleeping so peacefully, he suddenly felt nervous, only to see her dry and shaggy hair sticking out of the sleeping bag.He knelt down and crawled towards her, the smell of vomit intensified and his stomach convulsing. "Rita, what's wrong with you? Wake up, Rita!"

Nothing happened. He turned her over, the sleeping bag half-opened, as if she had struggled to get out during the night, perhaps realizing what was wrong with her, and struggling as hard as she could, without success, while he remained by her side Sleepy, what an old Mr. Rockies.He turned her over, and a medicine bottle rolled out of her hand, and her eyes were half-open, and the eyeballs were like two dull moiré marbles, overflowing with a green disgusting thing. He stared at her hard face for what seemed to be a long time.They were pretty much nose to nose, and the tent seemed to be getting hotter and hotter, like an attic on a late August afternoon, until a thunderstorm later cooled it down.His head seemed to be constantly expanding.Her mouth was full of that nasty filth.His eyes were never far from these things.Like a rabbit being chased by a hound, one question kept haunting me: How long did I sleep with her after she died?It's disgusting, it's disgusting.

With great difficulty, he regained his strength and crawled out from the carpet in the tent to the open space outside, with skin scraped on his knees.He thought he was going to vomit, but he tried his best to control it, hoping that he wouldn't. He hated vomiting the most, and when he thought that he had to go back to deal with her funeral, he let out an "ah", and the contents of his stomach gushed out. Up, he crawled away from the filth, crying, hating the nasty taste in his mouth and nose. He had been thinking about her for most of the morning.It was a relief to him in part to feel her death—a great deal of relief, actually.He never tells anyone this.It was exactly what his mother had said about him, the little nonsense in the apartment near Fordham University.Larry Underwood, a pervert from Fordham.

"I'm not a good person." He said aloud, and after he finished speaking, he felt much better in his heart.It becomes easier to tell the truth, which is the most important thing.He had made a pact with himself that no matter what happened in his subconscious mind, he would take care of her.Maybe he wasn't a nice guy, but he wasn't a murderer either, what he was doing in the tunnels bordered on premeditated murder.So he has to take care of her, and sometimes no matter how annoyed he is, he won't yell at her (like when she grabbed him in her unique Kansas way when they were climbing Mount Harley ), no matter how much she gets in his way or how stupid she is about something, he doesn't go mad with rage.She had roasted a tin of peas over the coals the night before without opening a vent in the top, and by the time he rescued the tin from the fire it was all charred and puffed up, Three seconds later it was bound to go off like a bomb, and the flying debris from the can would probably blind them.But did he blame her for it?No, he didn't.He just made a lighthearted joke and let it go.So are drugs.He thought it was her own business to take medicine. Maybe you should have talked to her about it, maybe she wants you to talk to her too. "It wasn't some damn accident, it was just surviving this time," he exclaimed.There was nothing she could do to get rid of this ignorance.Maybe she's known that since the day she accidentally shot a neem tree with a cheap . Maybe…… "Maybe, damn it!" Larry said angrily.He poured the can into his mouth, but when it was empty his lips still had that disgusting taste.Maybe there are many people like her in the whole country. Larry sat in the stop lane of the freeway, and the view from Vermont to New York in the golden morning fog was mind-blowing.The road sign says it's mile 12.In fact Larry thought he could see farther than twelve miles.You can see farther in clear weather.There was a knee-high stone wall on one side of the driveway, the stones were put together, and there were some smashed Budweiser bottles.There are also some used condoms.He thought high school students used to come here in the evening to watch the lights of the city below.At first they get excited, then they lie down and have what they call a great sex trade. But why did he feel so bad, what happened?He's telling the truth, isn't he?The worst thing about it was that he felt relieved, didn't he?The stone tied around the neck is gone? No, the worst thing was that he was lonely, so lonely. So sad, but true.He wanted someone to share those thoughts with him.One he could honestly say to him: On a clear day, you can see far.The only companion was still in the tent a mile and a half back, with a mouthful of green filth.Thinking of this, Larriton felt stiff all over.Larry leaned his head on his lap and closed his eyes.He told himself not to cry.He hated crying as much as he hated vomiting. He was still afraid afterward.He couldn't bury her.He racked his brains to think of the nastiest things—maggots, beetles, woodchucks that would smell her, climb onto her and start devouring her, and of one person making another person like a sugar wrapper or a discarded Pepsi can It's so unfair to throw away the same.But burying her seemed a bit illegitimate, and to be honest, (he was telling the truth now, wasn't he?) it was just a cheap cosmetic device.He could come down to Benlington, pop into the New Trend Hardware Store, grab a New Trend shovel, and a matching New Trend pickaxe; he could even come back to this peaceful and beautiful place , digging a "new trend" grave at mile 12.But go back to the tent (now it smells a lot like the public restrooms in Central Park), open the side of her sleeping bag, drag out her stiff and distended body, grab her armpit and drag it out, throw it in the grave , watching the dirt layer upon her white legs with swollen veins and into her hair. Ah... ah, man.Think about if I let go.If I'm being a coward, let it be, pick yourself up... pick up... pick up. He walked back to the tent and pulled back the cover.Saw a long stick.He took a deep breath, then held it, and picked the clothes out with a stick.He sat on a fallen tree and put his shoes back on.There is also a smell on the clothes. "Fuck." He cursed under his breath. He could see her half inside the sleeping bag, half outside, her stiff hand still outstretched, still holding the bottle, but the medicine bottle was gone.Half-closed eyes seemed to stare at him accusingly.This reminded him of tunnels again, and the shadow of the living dead always appeared in his mind.He snapped the tent cover shut with a stick. But he still smelled of her on him. So his first stop was in Bedlington, where he stripped off all his clothes at a men's store and put on new clothes, three replacements, plus four pairs of socks and four pairs of shorts.He also found a new pair of boots.He looked at himself in the three-way mirror, and saw the empty store behind him, and the Harley parked indecently by the side of the road. "Strong thread," he muttered. "Tight stitches." But no one catered to his taste. He left the store, cranking Harry up.He figured he'd stop at the hardware store to see if there were tents and sleeping bags for sale, but what he wanted more than anything else right now was getting out of Bedlington.He will also stay farther afield. He drove Harry away from the city and looked ahead. The terrain rose slowly and he could see 12 miles away, but he could no longer see the place where they pitched their tent.This is really the best thing, it is... Larry looked back at the road, suddenly frightened.An International Harvester towing a wagon made a sharp turn trying to avoid a car, and the wagon overturned.Because he hadn't looked in the direction he was driving, and was driving Harry towards the place where the car overturned. He turned sharply to the right, nearly turning a circle with a new boot on the pavement.But the left pedal got caught in the rear bumper of the trailer, yanking the motorcycle away from him.Larry fell on the freeway curb with a thud, his bones shattered.Harry rattled loudly behind him for a while before stopping. "Are you okay?" he asked aloud.Thank goodness that his speed is only about 20 mph, and thank goodness that Rita is not with him, otherwise she will definitely be hysterical and insane again.Of course, if Rita was still there, he wouldn't look there, he would just focus on himself, and this kind of thing wouldn't have happened. "I'm fine?" he asked himself, but he still wasn't sure.He sat up.The feeling of loneliness came to him in bursts.It was maddeningly quiet.Even the sound of Rita's wailing and yelling would make it easier for him now.In an instant, everything in front of him was shining with golden light, and he was frightened, thinking that he was going to die.He thought, I'm really hurt, I'll feel it in a moment, I'll feel it when the panic passes, I'm hurt badly or something, someone will give me a hemostatic agent. When the bout of dizziness passed, he looked at himself and thought maybe he was all right.Both his hands were torn, and the right knee of his new pants was torn--the right knee was cut--but it was just a skin wound, and now the worst fucking wound was somewhere.Has anyone dropped the car, and after a while, someone just dropped one. But he knew where the worst part was.He might have hit himself on the head, cracked his skull, and he might have died in the hot sun.Or suffocate like some dead friend of his. He walked up to Harry tremblingly and stood up the car.It doesn't look like it's broken, but it doesn't seem to be the same as before.Before, it was just a machine, a fascinating machine that did double duty, carrying him and making him feel like James Dean or Jack Nico on a bike in Hells Angels Elson.But now Chrome Steel is grinning at him like a clown in a circus, inviting him to get aboard and see if he's brave enough to take the wheel of this two-wheeled monster. On the third foot, the car started, and he drove out of Benlington slowly as if on foot.He was covered in cold sweat, and suddenly he felt that he had never wanted to see another person's face as much as he did now in his life. But he didn't see anyone that day. He picked up the speed a little in the afternoon, but when the speed indicator reached 20, he couldn't get any more throttle.He could even see the ground in front of him clearly.At a sporting goods and motorcycle store on the outskirts of Wilmington, he stopped and grabbed a sleeping bag, some big, thick gloves, a helmet, and even with the helmet on, he couldn't go faster than 25 kilometers.He slowed down at a hidden corner and pushed the car for a long way.He could not stop thinking of himself lying unconscious on the side of the road, bleeding to death. At 5, as he was approaching Brattleboro, Harry's overheat light came on.Larry stopped and turned off the overheat light, a mixture of relief and boredom. "Maybe you can drop it," he said, "and get to 60, so fucking stupid!" He dropped the car and walked into town, not sure if he'd come back to pick it up. That night he slept on the common in Brattleboro.As soon as it got dark, he got into his sleeping bag and fell asleep quickly.After a while, a voice suddenly woke him up.He looked at his watch.The dial pointer indicates 11:20.He propped himself up on one elbow, and stared into the night, feeling as if a gigantic bandstand surrounded him, and missed the little tent, how nice and lovely it was inside! If there was any sound just now, it's gone now; even if it was a cricket, it's gone now.Is it all right?Is it possible to be at ease? "Is anyone there?" Larry yelled, startled by his own voice.He fumbled for the . 30 pistol, and after a long, panic-stricken fuss, he couldn't find it.When he found it, he squeezed the trigger without thinking, like a drowning man clutching a lifebuoy thrown at him.If it doesn't feel safe yet, he'll fire.Chances are you'll shoot yourself. Always felt that there was something in the silence, he was sure.It might be a person, or some large and dangerous animal.Of course, people can be dangerous too.Like the guy who repeatedly assassinated that poor monster would throw him a million dollars in cash to use his women. "who is it?" He had a flashlight in his pocket, but to find it he had to drop the rifle he was carrying on his lap.But did he really want to see what it was? So he just sat there, waiting for something to happen, or the sound that woke him up again! (If there was a sound? Maybe it was just a dream?) After a while, he dozed off and fell asleep again. Suddenly his head popped up, his eyes widened, his muscles tensed.There was indeed a voice at this time, and if the night sky had not been cloudy, he would certainly be visible through the light of the nearly full moon. But he didn't want to see it.Yes, he definitely didn't want to see it.Yet he sat a little farther back, with his head on one side, listening to the sound of the dusty heels of his boots rattling away from him along the Main Street sidewalk, disappearing westward into the noise. Larry felt a sudden urge to stand up, and letting the sleeping bag drop around his ankles, he yelled: Come back, whoever you are!I do not care!return!But is he really willing to write anyone a blank check?The bandstand amplified his cry—his oath.What if the sound of the boot did return, growing louder in the silence where the crickets didn't squeak? Instead of getting up, he lay down again, his rifle clutched in both hands, and curled up, guarding his position. "I'm not going to sleep tonight," he thought, but three minutes later he fell asleep again, sure that the next morning he would think it was all a dream.