Chapter 60 Chapter 59

birds chirping. She can hear birds chirping. Franny lay in the darkness, listening to the birds for a long time before realizing that the darkness was not really darkness.It is reddish, active, and calm.It reminded her of her childhood.On Saturday morning, I don’t have to go to school or church, so I can sleep in.You can sleep anytime you want that day.It is possible to lie with closed eyes and see only a reddish darkness, the sun of Sunday filtering through the delicate screen of the capillary network in the eyelids.You can hear the birds singing outside in the old oak trees and maybe smell the salty sea because your name is Frannie Goldsmith and you're an 11-year-old girl, Ogunqui Especially on a Sunday morning...

little bird.She could hear the birds singing. But this is not Ogunquit; here is (Boulder) She spent a long time reminiscing in this red darkness, and suddenly, she remembered the explosion. (?explode?) (! Stu!) Her eyes flickered and opened suddenly.There was a sudden fear in my heart. "Stu!" Stu was sitting on the edge of her bed with a clean white bandage wrapped around one of his forearms.On one cheek there was a very ugly scab and a piece of hair was burned off, but this was Stu, and he was alive, with her.She opened her eyes, and his expression suddenly relaxed a lot, "Frannie, heaven has eyes."

"Child," she said.A whisper escaped from her parched throat. He looked dazed, and nameless fear slipped into her cold and numb body again. "Child," she struggled to force the words out of her hoarse throat. "Did I lose my baby?" There was a look of understanding on his face.He held her tightly with his good arm. "No, Franny, no, you haven't lost a child." She cried, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, and she hugged him warmly, ignoring the pain in every muscle to cry.She holds him.The future is later.What she needs most now is to stay in this house bathed in sunshine.

Birdsong flew in through the open windows. After a while, she said, "Tell me, how bad is it?" His face looked very painful, and he didn't really want to tell her. "Frannie..." "Nick?" she whispered.She swallowed dryly, making a slight noise in her throat. "I saw an arm, a broken arm..." "Better wait..." "No. I have to know. How bad is it?" "Seven people died," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "We're lucky, I figured it out. It could have been worse." "Who, Stuart?" He grabbed her hand awkwardly. "Nick's one of them, dear. There's a windowpane, I guess it's—you know, iodized glass—it's...it's..." He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands, He looked up at her again. "He...we can recognize him...by the special scar..." He turned away, pausing for a moment.Franny let out a harsh sigh.

When he was able to continue speaking, Stu went on, "And Susan. Susan, she was still inside when it exploded." "That...seems unlikely, doesn't it?" said Franny.She only felt dizzy and numb for a while, and her heart was confused. "it is true." "Who else?" "Chad Norris," he said, and Franny let out another harsh sigh.A teardrop slipped from the corner of her eye; she wiped it away blankly. "They were the three that stayed in there. Kind of a miracle. Brad said there must have been eight or nine bombs attached to the toilet. Nick, he almost... I figured he might just put his hand on that shoebox... "

"Don't..." she said, "... there's no way of knowing." The other four were guys from the city on motorcycles—Andrea, Dean, Dale, and a young girl named Pat. Stu didn't tell Franny that Pat, the girl who taught Leo the flute, was hit by Glenn Bateman's tape recorder, which nearly knocked her head off with the spinning recorder. Franny nodded, and it hurt her neck.When she moved her body, even a little, her entire back hurt. Twenty people were injured in the blast, one of whom, Teddy Weichak of the Funeral Board, has no chance of recovery.There are two other critical situations.A man named Lewis lost an eye.Ralph Brentner lost the third and fourth fingers of his left hand.

"How am I hurt?" Franny asked him. "You, you sprained your neck, you sprained your back, and you broke your foot," Stu said. "George Richardson told me that. The explosion threw you across the yard. The couch fell and hurt your back and your feet." "sofa?" "do not you remember?" "I remember something like a coffin...a padded coffin..." "That's the couch. I pulled it away from you. I guess I was in a frenzy of rage... almost hysterical. Larry came up to help me, and I punched him in the mouth. I was like that Fuck." She touched his cheek, and he put his hand on hers. "I think you must be dead. I remember thinking, I don't know what to do if you don't. I think I'm going to go crazy."

"I love you," she said. He held her - gently, because of her hurt back - and they held each other for a while. "Harold?" she said at last. "And Nadina Cross," he agreed with her, "they've hurt us. They've hurt us so much. But they haven't destroyed anything near them except where they want to. If we can Catch them before they escape not too far to the west..." He stretched out his scarred and bloody hands to his body, and snapped them together, the joints slammed, and the wrists were pierced. His tendons jumped.He gave a sudden cold grin that almost made Franny shiver.This sneer is all too familiar.

"Don't laugh like that," she said, "don't ever laugh like that." He restrained his sneer. "Everyone has been searching for them on the mountain since dawn," he continued without a smile on his face. "I don't think people can find them. I tell them not to go more than 50 miles west of Boulder under any circumstances. I think Harold is smart enough to make them go 50 miles. But we know they are How did the bomb go off. They hooked it up to a walkie-talkie..." Franny began to gasp, and Stu looked at her with concern. "What's the matter, baby, is your back hurting again?"

"No." She suddenly understood what Stu meant when Nick put his hand on the shoebox when the bomb went off.She understood everything at once.She told him slowly about the wire heads and the walkie-talkie box under the desk. "If we had checked the whole room instead of just his damn blue book, we might have found the bomb," she choked out. "Nick and Susan won't... no... won't die..." He grabs her. "Is that why Larry looked so down this morning? I thought it was because I punched him. How would we know, Franny, eh? How could we possibly know?" "We should know! We should know!" She buried her face in his blackened shoulder, tears rolling down her cheeks.The hospital bed was electric and couldn't be rolled up, so he had to lean over and hug her with difficulty.

"I don't want you to blame yourself, Franny. It's happened. I tell you, there's no way anyone—except a demining squad detective might—find something out of some wire heads and an empty box .If they put some dynamite and detonators around, it would be a different issue. But they don't. I don't blame you, and neither does anyone else in the Free State." As he said these words, two things were slowly connecting in her mind. They were the only three in there...it was like a miracle. Mama Abagil...she's back...oh she's in a bad situation...we need a miracle! Enduring the slightest pain, she tried to sit up straight so that she could see Stu's face. "Mama Abagil," she said, "if they didn't come and tell us we'd all be in the house when it exploded..." "It's a miracle," Stu repeated, "that she saved our lives. Although she..." He fell silent. "Stu?" "She came back and saved us, Franny. She saved our lives." "Is she dead?" Franny asked, holding his hand tightly, "Stu, is she dead too?" "She was back in town about 8:15. Larry Underwood's son took her by the hand. He couldn't say a word, you know when he got agitated, but he took her to Lucy There. She just fell down." Stu shook his head, "God, she's never gone that fast... She ate or did something... I'll tell you something, Fran Annie. There's a lot more in the world--outside of this world--than I ever thought possible at Arnett. I think women are very intuitive, always have been." She closed her eyes. "She died, didn't she? In the night. She came back and died here." "She's not dead. She might be, and George Richardson said she might not have much time, but she's alive now." He looked straight at her. "I'm worried. She came back to save us, but I worry about her, I worry about why she came back." "What do you mean, Stu? Mama Abagil would never hurt..." "Mama Abagil did what God told her to do," he said sternly, "but the same God murdered his own children, or so I heard." "Stu!" The anger in his eyes went out. "I don't know why she came back, maybe she just forgot to tell us something. I don't know. Maybe she won't regain consciousness and just go. George said it was very likely. But I don't know that the explosion... ...and Nick's death...and her return...the whole town was confused. They were all talking about "him". They knew it was Harold who planted the bomb, but they thought it was "he" who made Harold did that. Hell, I thought so too. And a lot of people say Flagg is responsible for Mama Abgail's return. I don't know. Like I don't know anything, but I'm scared. Like It's about to end so badly. I've never felt this way before, but I do now." "But we," she said to him almost pleadingly, "we're there with the baby, aren't we?" For a long time he didn't answer.She didn't think he would answer.Afterwards he said, "Yes. But how long?" On the evening of September 3, people began to walk slowly, almost aimlessly, down the Taber Mesa drive toward Larry and Lucy's house.Some are alone, and some are in twos and threes.They sat on the front steps of the houses with Harold's "X" on the doors.They sat on the curb, on the grass that had turned brown from a long summer.From time to time they whispered a few words.Others were smoking cigarettes or pipes.Brad Kitchener was there too, one arm heavily bandaged and in a sling.Candy Jones and Rich Moffat were there, and Rich Moffat was carrying a newsboy's mailbag.Norman Kroger sits with Tom Greenger, his shirt sleeves rolled up, showing sunburned and speckled muscles.His son's sleeves were rolled up like his.Harry and Sandy sat on a blanket holding hands.Dick, Chip, and sixteen-year-old Tony sat in an aisle halfway from Larry's house, alternating between a bottle of Canadian "club" beer and a hot 7-Up.Patty Kroger sat with Riley Hammett.A picnic food basket was placed between them, full of it, but they ate only morsels.At 8 o'clock in the evening, the street was full of people, all watching the house.Larry's bicycle was parked in front of the house, next to George Richardson's motorcycle. Larry watched them from the bedroom window.Behind him, Mama Abagil lies unconscious on Lucy's bed.The dry, foul smell of her came straight up his nose and made him sick--he hated it--but he didn't want to go away.He does it out of a sense of atonement, because while Nick and Susan died, he got away with it.He heard a low sound behind him, it was the death call beetle beside the bed.George also has to go to the hospital to check on other patients.Now there are only 16 of them. 3 people have been discharged from the hospital.Teddy Weichak is dead. Larry himself was unscathed. Again he saved his life, while everyone else around him died.The blast lifted him up, flew across the driveway, and landed in a flower bed, but he wasn't scratched at all.Nick was dead, Susan was dead, but he, Larry Underwood, wasn't even hurt. There are corpses inside and out, even the roads leading to these houses.There are at least 600.Harold, you should come back with another dozen grenades and finish your job, Harold.He'd followed Harold's trail out into the country, searching for traces of sugar wrappers and their other improvisations.He nearly lost his finger trying to get Wells to turn the gas back on.Harold found the outlet for the piston, using only a running water elbow.Harold was one of those who suggested that the size of the committees should be proportionate to the population.He also suggested accepting a special committee.Smart Harold, Harold and his ledger, Harold and his grin. Stu's statement could satisfy that no one knew what Harold and Nadina could do with some wire tips under their desks.But for Larry, such reasoning couldn't stand.He had seen Harold's clever improvisations before.Once, he wrote some words on the top of a 20-meter-high granary.He should make some guesses.Detective Underwood is great at spotting sugar wrappers, but not so good at spotting bombs.In fact, Underwood is a complete douchebag. Larry, if you knew... It was Nadina's voice. If you like, I am willing to prostrate before you. There was one more chance to avoid this murder and destruction... a chance he'd never be able to tell anyone.Was this really planned at the time?possible.If not the details of how the bomb and the walkie-talkie go together, at least there is an overall plan. Flagg's plan. And yes - there's always Flagg in the background, the puppeteer in the dark, tying the ropes to Harold, Nadina and Charlie Impenning, and God knows how many more.The people of the Free State would love to see Harold executed, but it was Flagg who did it... and Nadina.And who, if not Flagg, gave her to Harold?She came to Larry before she got to Harold's, but he sent her away. How could he be sure?He has a responsibility to Lucy.That was all that mattered, not because of her, but because of him—he felt that just one or two more confrontations would knock his manhood out of him forever.So he sent her away, thinking that Flagg must be very proud of his work the night before...if Flagg was his real name.Oh, Stu was alive and he could speak for the committee—he would never speak for Nick.Grant was still alive, and Larry regarded him as the voice of the committee, but Nick had been the core of the committee, and Susan and Franny, the moral representatives of the committee.Yes, he thought bitterly, all in all, the blast that night was a good job.If Harold and Nadina were there, he should reward them well. He turned his gaze from the window and felt a dull throbbing pain behind his forehead.Richardson is taking Abgail's pulse.Laurie fiddled with the drip bottle on the T-bracket.Dick Ellis stood aside, and Lucy watched Larry from the door. "How's she?" Larry asked George. "Still the same," Richardson said. "Will she make it through the night?" "I don't know, Larry." The woman on the bed was a skeleton wrapped in loose gray skin.She can't seem to tell the gender.Her hair had nearly fallen out; her breasts were gone: her mouth was propped up by a device, and from it came harsh breathing.To Larry, she looked like a photograph of a mummified corpse in Yucatan, Mexico—not decomposed but dry; and ageless. Yes, that's what she is now, not a mother, but a mummy, only the harsh sound of breathing still coming out of her mouth, like a breeze blowing through hay stubble.How is she still alive? Larry thought so... Will God bring her back to life?why?It's a joke, a big joke.George said he had heard of similar things, but it would never have been so typical, and he himself had never expected to encounter such a thing.She's kind of... devouring herself.Her body kept going until it broke down from malnutrition.She's smashing parts of her body for nourishment.It was Lucy who put her to bed, and Lucy told him in a low, mysterious voice that she seemed to weigh less than a child's box kite, which a little wind could blow away forever. Lucy surprised everyone by saying something from the corner by the door: "She has something to say." Laurie said uncertainly: "She's still in a severe coma, Lucy... she doesn't even have a chance of waking up..." "She came back and told us what happened. God wouldn't let her go until she told us." "But what will she tell us, Lucy?" Dick asked her. "I don't know," Lucy said, "but I'm afraid to hear it. I know. The dying period isn't over, it's just beginning. That's what I'm afraid of." George Richardson broke the long silence that followed. "I've got to go to the hospital. Laurie, Dick, I need you both." You won't leave this mummy alone with us, will you?Larry almost asked, but he shut up and finally stopped. The three of them went to the door and Lucy took their coats.The temperature tonight is probably less than 60 degrees, and it is very uncomfortable to ride a bike in a shirt. "What can we do for her?" Larry asked George quietly. "Lucy's on a drip," George said, "and nothing else. Look..." His voice trailed off.Of course they all saw it.Isn't it on the bed? "Good night, Larry, Lucy," said Dick. They walked out.Larry went back to the window.Everyone outside stood up and watched.is she still aliveis dead?Or is it dying?Resuscitated by divine power, perhaps?Did she say anything? Lucy put an arm around his waist and made him jump slightly. "I love you," she said.He groped for her.He bowed his head, trembling helplessly. "I love you," she said quietly. "It's going to be all right. Don't hold it in, and let it out what you want, Larry." He cried.Tears are as hot and hard as beans. "Lucy..." "Shh." Her smooth hands stroked the back of his neck. "Oh, Lucy, my God, what's going on with all this?" He cried against her neck, and she hugged him too, not knowing, not knowing that behind them, Abagil Mom was panting with difficulty, persisting in a deep coma. George drove slowly through the street, delivering the message over and over again: Yes, alive.Medical diagnoses and predictions are inaccurate.No, she didn't say anything, and she didn't seem to say anything.You can also go home.If anything happens, you'll hear about it. At the corner of the street, they accelerated toward the hospital.The crackling sound of motorcycle exhaust pipes echoed from house to house, faded, and died away. People are not going home.They were still standing in the street, adding to their conversation, pondering every word George had said.Diagnostic prophecy, what does that mean?coma.brain death.If her brain is dead, that's what it means.You might as well try to make a can of peas talk to a brain-dead person.From a rational point of view, it is possible, but things seem to be difficult to make sense now, don't they? They sat down again.Night fell.A light went on in the room where the old woman lay.They have to come home late again tonight, toss and turn, and have trouble falling asleep. The conversation turned reluctantly to the man in black again.Wouldn't Abagail be stronger if he died? What do you mean, "not necessary"? I think he is pure devil. I think he's an anti-Christian.We live by the Book of Revelation...how can you doubt it? "Those 7 vials are already opened..." seems like a superfluous thing to me. Ah, nonsense, people say Hitler was an anti-Christian.If those dreams come back, I'll kill myself.For me it was like being in a subway station and he was the ticket collector, only I couldn't see his face.Terrified, I ran into the subway tunnel.I could hear him chasing me and grabbing me. For me, I was going down to the cellar to pick up a jar of pickled watermelon slices and saw a man standing by the fire...just a blur.I knew it was him. The crickets began to chirp.The sky is full of stars.People talk idly about the coolness in the air.The people who drink are already drunk.In the darkness, only pipes and cigarettes flickered. I heard the people at the power plant keep going, shutting things down. wish them well.If they hadn't sent light and heat so quickly, we would have been in a lot of trouble. Faces could not be seen in the darkness, only whispers could be heard. I think we are safe this winter.I'm pretty sure.He can't pass those barriers.It was also full of cars and snow.But come spring... Suppose he got some atomic bombs? Damn the atomic bombs, but what if he had a few damn neutron bombs?Or the other 6 of Salina's 7 vials? Or an airplane? How to do it? I have no idea. fuck if i knew. Fuck, not a single clue. Dig a hole, jump in and bury yourself. At about ten o'clock Stu Redman, Glenn Bateman and Ralph Brentner came among them, whispering and handing out leaflets telling them to pass on today's People who are not here at night.Grann walks with a slight limp because a hob flew over during the explosion and chipped a small piece of flesh off his right calf. The mimeographed leaflet reads: Free State Conference＊Musinger Auditorium＊September 4＊8:00pm. This looks like a signal to leave.People left silently in the dark.Most took the flyer, but a few crumpled it up and threw it away.Everyone went back to sleep. Sometimes dreaming while sleeping. When Stu called the meeting the next night, the gallery was full, but very quiet.Larry, Ralph, and Grant sat next to him.Franny wanted to get up too, but her back still hurt badly.Ralph ignored the disgusting sarcasm and relayed the status of the meeting to her on the walkie-talkie. "There's something we need to discuss," Stu said in a calm, deliberately understated tone.His voice, although only slightly amplified, was clearly heard in the quiet hall. "I don't think there's anyone here who doesn't know about the bombing, who doesn't know that Nick and Susan and the others died in the bombing, and who doesn't know that Mama Abagil is back. We're going to talk about these things, but we Just wanted to give you some good news first. Wanted you to hear what Brad Kitchener had to say about it. Brad? Brad walked to the podium, this time less nervous than before, and there was a listless round of applause.He turned around to face everyone, held the desk with both hands, and said simply: "We are going to connect the electricity tomorrow." The applause was much bigger this time.Brad raised his hands, but the applause was like waves.The applause lasted for more than 30 seconds.Stu later told Frannie that if it hadn't been for the events of the past two days, Brad would have been dragged off the podium and carried on the floor like a winning half with a touchdown in the final 30 seconds of a championship game. Walk up and down the hall a few times on your shoulders.Now that it's so close to the end of the summer, in a sense, he used to be that way. The applause finally died down. "We're going to have electricity at noon and I want you all to be ready at home. What are you going to do? Four things. Now listen carefully, it's very important. Number one, turn off every light and other appliance that's not in use in your respective homes ;Second, turn off all electrical appliances in the houses that are unoccupied around you; Third, if you smell gas, please follow the smell to find and turn off any equipment that is on; Fourth, if you hear a fire Call the police, please find the source of the sound...but do it with safety and a clear head. Let's stop breaking necks from motorcycle accidents. Okay...any problem?" Several people asked questions, and they all checked off Brad's initial points.He answered them one by one patiently, and the only nervousness he showed was that he kept folding his black notebook back and forth in his hands. When there were no more questions, Bullard said, "I want to thank the people who are doing everything they can to get us up and running again. I also want to remind the Powers Council that it hasn't been disbanded. There will still be breaks in Denver and here with us." Lines, outages and lack of fuel. I hope you will continue to support. Mr. Glen Bateman said that when it snows, maybe by next spring, we may have 10,000 people here. The power stations in Longmont and Denver must be in next year online..." "If that tough guy messes around as he pleases!" A hoarse voice sounded from the back of the hall. Then there was a dead silence.Brad stood there with his hands firmly gripped on the desk, his face as white as paste.This is the end of it, Stu thought. Brad didn't continue, his voice surprisingly flat: "Whoever says that, my job is electricity. But I think I'll be here long after those guys are gone. If I didn't think so, I'd probably wind up with a generator next to him, who the hell cares about him?" Brad stepped down from the podium, and someone yelled, "You're absolutely right!" This time the applause broke out, almost crazy.But there was one thing Stu didn't like.He had to pound the table hard with the gavel for a long time to get the meeting under control. "The second item on the agenda is..." "Fuck your agenda!" screamed a young woman. "Talk about the man in black! Let's talk about Flagg! I say it's been too long!" A roar of approval.Someone yelled, "Mess up!" The naysayers babbled about the young woman's words.There were also people standing by and muttering something. Stu hit the wooden blocks on the table with the mallet so hard that the head flew off the handle of his mallet. "Here's a meeting!" he yelled, "you'll have a chance to say whatever you want, but right now I'm running a meeting, and I want... a little... order!" He yelled that last word so The sound echoed like a boomerang in the hall, and finally the people fell silent. "Okay," said Stu, who deliberately lowered his voice and said calmly, "the next thing is to report to you what happened at Ralph's on the night of September 2nd. I think since I was elected by everyone Law Enforcement Officer, it's up to me to speak." They fell silent again, but like the applause that Brad's last words had just received, it wasn't the silence Stu liked.They lean forward, their eyes are focused, and their faces are full of eager expressions.It made him feel anxious and confused, as if the Free State had changed completely in the past forty-eight hours and he didn't know what it had become.It brought him back to what he felt when he was trying to find his way out of the Stovington Disaster Center - a struggling fly trapped in an invisible web.There are so many faces outside that he doesn't recognize, so many strangers... But there is no time to think about it now. He briefly described the situation before the explosion, omitting Franny's last-minute premonitions; that's not what they needed in the current mood. "Brad, Ralph and I searched the wreckage for over 3 hours yesterday morning. We found what appeared to be a bomb connected to a walkie-talkie. It looked like the bomb had been placed in the living room or toilet. .Bill Scanlon and Ted Frampton found another walkie-talkie at the Sunrise Theatre, and we think that's where the bomb went off. It..." "Guess, shit!" Ted Frampton yelled from the third row. "It's that shameless Lauder and his little bitch!" An uneasy murmur sounded in the room. Is this the good guys?They don't care about Nick, Susan, Chad and the others, they're like a bunch of lynch mobs, all they care about is grabbing Harold and Nadina and hanging them... The curse cast by the man in black. He happened to catch Gran's eye; Gran shrugged him slightly wryly. "If there is one more person shouting down there and not recognized, I will adjourn the meeting and you can discuss it with each other," Stu said. "This isn't a discussion or small talk. If we don't play by the rules, why are we sitting here?" Ted Frampton glared at him from below, and Stu glared at him from above.After a while like this, Ted dropped his eyes. "We suspect Harold Lauder and Nadina Cross. We have some strong evidence, some evidence that fits very well with the circumstances. But there is no real evidence of their guilt, and I hope you will I know what's in my mind." A deep whisper swirled like a vortex, and then disappeared. "What I meant by those words was to say to everybody," Stu went on, "that if they show up in the district again, I want them to be brought to me. I'm going to lock them up, Al Bundle Will be in charge of judging them...judgment means they will state their position if they have one. We... we're going to be good people here and I think we know where the bad guys are. Being good means we're going to be civilized This matter." He looked at them hopefully, but all he saw was incomprehensible resentment.Stuart Redman watched his two best friends die, their eyes said, and now he's here to speak out about the culprits. "It's worth your while," he said, "but it's doing well. I'm telling you now that it's going to work." People's eyes were fixed on him, more than 1000 pairs, and he could understand the thoughts behind those eyes: What are you talking about?They ran away.ran to the west.You mean as if they went to the forest to watch the birds and would be back in two days. He poured a glass of water and took two sips to moisten his thirsty throat.Kai Shui was bland, and he put on a strange face. "Anyway, that's our position on the matter," he said feebly. "Next, I think we're going to refill the committee. We're not doing it tonight, but you should think about who you want to..." A hand was raised below, and Stu pointed and said, "Go forward and let everyone see who you are." "I'm Sheldon Jones," said a large man in a checkered cardigan. "Why don't we pick two new ones this evening? I'm Ted Frampton." "Hey, I agree!" Bill Scanlon yelled. "Great!" Ted Frampton clapped his hands twice and waved over his head to silence the applause.A feeling of despair and bewilderment crept into Stu's heart again.Will they put Ted Frampton in Nick Andros' place?It's almost like a malicious joke.Ted tried it in the Powers Council and found it too much work.He was at the Law Council again, which seemed to suit him better, even though Chad had told Stu that Ted was the kind of guy who would turn a cup of coffee into a lunch and a lunch People who procrastinate into a half-day vacation.他在昨天搜寻哈罗德和纳迪娜时动作很快，也许因为它能提供一次变化的机会。而且他和比尔·斯坎伦纯粹出于运气地在日出剧场踩着了那个步话机（公正地说，他也承认这一点）。但是在此之后，他就因此而就变得趾高气扬，这令斯图很不喜欢。 斯图又遇到了格兰的目光，这次他几乎能读懂格兰那挖苦的表情背后的想法，他的嘴角微微地一撇：我们也可以利用哈罗德把这事搞乱。 斯图的脑海中突然出现了尼克松过去常用的一个词，这使他突然明白了他的绝望和不知所措的感觉来自何处。那个词是“授权”。他们的授权已经消失了，消失在两晚上前爆炸的火光和巨响声中。 他说，“谢尔登，你可能知道你自己想选的人，但是我想还有其他人需要有时间考虑一下。让我们就这个问题表决一下。希望今天晚上选出两个新代表的人请说同意。” 只有少数几个人应声。 “希望就此事考虑一周左右的，请说反对。” 反对的声音更大一些，但并不大很多。有很多人完全弃权了，好像这个问题与他们毫不相关。 “好的，”斯图说。“我们计划一周后，也就是9月11日，在这儿，穆星格礼堂，开会提名候选人并选举委员会两个空缺的席位。” 相当糟糕的悼文，尼克。真是对不起。 “理查德森医生在这儿要告诉大家有关阿巴盖尔妈妈以及那些在爆炸中受伤者的情况。医生？” 理查德森医生在一阵响亮的掌声中擦着眼镜走上讲台。他告诉他们已经有9个人死于爆炸，还有3个人情况危急，2个人伤势严重，另外8个人的情况还不错。 “考虑到爆炸的冲击力，我想我们还是很幸运的。现在，我讲讲阿巴盖尔妈妈的情况。” 人们都向前倾着身子。 “我想一个很短的声明和一个简短的详细解释就足够了。我的声明是：我对她无能为力。” 人群发出一阵小声的嘟哝后又静了下来，斯图看到的是人们遗憾的表情，但是他们并没有真正感到吃惊。 “在她离开这儿之前就生活在这个区里的人们告诉我，老太太据称有108岁。我不敢保证，但是我敢说这是我见到并治疗过的年龄最大的一个病人。人们告诉我她走失了两个星期，我的估计——不，我的猜想——是她那段时间的日常饮食没有任何做好的食物。她好像就靠一些树根，草叶等纯天然的东西生活。”他停顿了一下，“她从回来之后就很少大便。大便里有一些小树棍和细枝。” “上帝。”有人小声嘟哝了一句，听不出来是一个男的还是女的。 “她的一只胳膊上缠着有毒的常春藤。双腿布满溃疡，并且将会扩散，如果她的情况不是那么……” “嗨，你能不说这些吗？”杰克·杰克逊叫着站了起来。他的脸色苍白，愤怒而痛苦。“你还懂不懂情理？” “我不关心情理，杰克。我只是在如实地汇报她的情况。她还在昏迷，营养不良，而且最重要的是，她非常非常老。我想她快要死了。如果她是其他人，我会肯定地这么说。但是……就像你们所有人一样，我也崇拜她。崇拜她和另一个人。” 又一阵嘟哝像一阵微风吹过，斯图感觉他颈背上的汗毛微微动了一下后立了起来。 “对我来说，梦想这种相反的情况是不可思议的，”乔治说。“事实上我们都有这种愿望，这最起码说明一种心灵相通的能力。但是我像传递情理一样传递通灵学和理论，只是出于同样的原因：这些都不是我的领域。如果那个老太太是从上帝那里来的，上帝可能会把她治好。我不能。我会告诉你们她还完全活着这个事实对我来说看起来像个奇迹。这就是我的声明。还有什么问题吗？” 没有什么问题。人们都望着他，默然无语，有的已开始抽泣。 “谢谢。”乔治说，他在一片死寂中回到了他的座位上。 “好，”斯图小声对格兰说，“你接下来讲。” 斯图没有做介绍。格兰走上讲台，熟练地握住讲桌。“别的事情我们都已经讨论过了，只剩下那个黑衣人了。”他说。 又一阵嘟哝。有几个人本能地划着十字。靠左首通道的一个老妇人立刻用双手捂住了眼睛，嘴巴和耳朵，并低头埋进大腿中，这个动作极像以前尼克·安德罗斯把头伏在肥大的黑钱包上再埋进大腿中的动作。 “我们已经在封闭的委员会会议上在一定程度上进行了讨论，”格兰继续用平静的，谈话似的口气说着，“这个问题是人们在私下提出的，这就关系到我们是否应该把它拿出来公开讨论。有一点很明确，那就是看来区里面没有人真正愿意谈论它，我们可不是刚从游乐宫的梦想里出来。也许我们需要一段时间的恢复。我想现在是我们提出这个问题的时间了。像过去一样，把他拉到明处。警方有一个灵便的小机器，叫容貌拼具，警方的艺术家可以用这种工具，根据目击者对罪犯的回忆来拼制出罪犯的面部画像。在我们这个案子中，我们没有目击罪犯的面目，但是我们的确有一系列的回忆，这些至少能勾画出我们对手的轮廓。我已经和少数几个人讨论了这件事，我想告诉大家我对他的描述。“这个人的名字好像是兰德尔·弗拉格，也有人把理查德·弗赖伊、罗伯特·弗里蒙特、理查德·弗里曼特尔和他联系在一起。这个首字母R． F．可能有点意义，但是如果这样，自由之邦委员会成员里没有人知道它是什么。他的存在——至少是在梦中——制造了害怕，不安定和恐怖情绪。很多事情表明，他的性格中有一种冷酷。 " 人们都点着头，嗡嗡的激动的谈话声又响了起来。斯图心里想，他们就像是一群刚刚有过性经验的男孩在交流经验，他们都激动地发现那东西都在大致一样的地方。他用手捂住嘴边露出的一丝窃笑，提醒自己回去把这事告诉法兰妮。 “这个弗拉格在西部，”格兰继续说道。“同样数量的人们已经在拉斯维加斯，洛杉矶，旧金山和波特兰'见'到了他。一些人——包括阿巴盖尔妈妈——说弗拉格正在迫害异己。所有的人好像都相信在这个人和我们自己之间，一种对抗正在形成，而弗拉格为打败我们，会不择手段。不择手段包括许多方法。装甲部队，核武器，或许……瘟疫。” “我真想抓住那个恶心的杂种！”里奇·莫法特尖叫着，“我要给他注射一针那该死的瘟疫！” 人们发出一阵大笑，紧张的气氛一下子放松了，里奇赢得了一阵掌声。格兰轻松地笑了。开会前半小时，他给了里奇他的角色和路线，里奇极好地运用了它。老头子在一件事上毫不含糊，斯图发现：在大的会议上，社会背景总是很管用。 “好了，我已经讲了他的大致情况，”他继续讲到，“在把会议引向公开讨论之前，我最后讲一点：我认为斯图的话是对的，那就是如果我们抓住了哈罗德和纳迪娜，我们必须以文明的方式对待他们，但是和他一样，我认为这是令人很不愉快的。还有，我也像他一样，相信他们这样做是奉了这个弗拉格的命令。” 他的声音响彻大厅。 “这个人必须对付他。乔治·理查德森说玄学不是他研究的领域。这也同样不是我的领域。但是我对你们说，我觉得那个垂危的老妇代表着正义的力量，正像弗拉格代表着邪恶势力。我觉得不管什么力量控制她，她都能让我们团结起来。我不相信这种力量打算现在抛弃我们。也许我们有必要就此讨论一下，往这些噩梦中加入点新鲜空气。也许我们有必要开始决定怎么对付他。但是他不能在明年春天自己走进这个区并取而代之，只要你们大家站着看着，就不可能。现在我要把会议交还给斯图，由他来主持讨论。” 他最后的话淹没在热烈的掌声中，格兰非常高兴地走回了自己的座位。他用一根大棍把他们搅了起来……或者是他的空话像拉小提琴一样使他们兴奋起来？这其实无关紧要。他们不再害怕，而是疯狂，他们已经作好了准备以迎接挑战（尽管在经历一个漫长而寒冷的冬天之后会冷静下来，在来年的4月份不会还那个渴望）……最重要的是，他们已经准备好要发言了。 之后的3个小时，他们的确发言了。一些人直到半夜才离去。正像拉里预料的那样，人们没有提出什么苛刻的建议。有几个温和的建议：储备一些他们自己的炸弹或是核武器，召开一个高层会议，组织一个训练有素的突击队。还有几个很实用的主意。 最后的几个小时，人们一个接一个地站起来描述着他或她的梦想，这些梦想听上去好像对其他人有着无穷的魅力。这又让斯图想起他十几岁时参加的有关性的无聊而没完的讨论（他大多数时候是个旁听者）。 令格兰感到吃惊并为之感动的是他们有增无减的讨论的欲望，那种与会议开始时的枯燥和沉闷气氛截然不同的充满激情的气氛。在压抑了很长时间之后，一次痛快的渲泻正在进行着，这又让他想起了有关性的谈话，但却是另一种方式。他想，他们就像一群把有关他们的愧疚和缺点的秘密长时间藏在心里，后来才发现这些事情说出来时，也没有什么大不了的中学生。当在睡梦中播种的内心的恐惧最后在这种马拉松似的公开讨论中收获时，这种恐惧就更容易对付……甚至可以征服它。 会议在凌晨1点30分结束了，格兰和斯图一齐离开这儿，这是自尼克死后第一次感觉不错。他感觉他们已经迈出了艰难的第一步，不管前面是什么样的战场。 他感觉到了希望。 正如布拉德承诺的那样，在9月5日的中午，市电恢复了。 尖利刺耳的空袭警报突然在镇政府上空响起，受惊的人们都涌到了街上，心慌失措地抬头望着那无辜的蔚蓝的天空，想看看那个黑衣人的空军。一些人躲进了地下室，直到布拉德发现了一根熔断的保险丝，关掉了警报器，他们才面带愧色地爬了出来。 在柳树街发生了由电引起的火灾，但是一群自愿消防队员很快赶到并扑灭了它。在布罗德威街和沃尔纳特街的十字路口，一个检修孔盖被炸飞到了空中约50米，正好砸在奥兹玩具店的房顶上。 在这之后被区里人称为“通电日”这一天，只发生了一件伤亡事件。不知什么原因，外珍珠街上一个汽车商店发生了爆炸。而里奇·莫法特当时正坐在街口，一片瓦楞铁从侧面飞过来击中了他，他当场就死了。他再也不会去砸玻璃窗了。 斯图正在医院的病房里陪着法兰妮，这时候屋顶的日光灯开始咝咝地响了起来。他看着它们闪呀闪呀闪，最后发出了熟悉的荧光。他目不斜视地足足看着它们稳定地亮了3分钟。当他再看法兰妮时，她已经是满眼泪光。 “法兰妮？你怎么了？是疼吗？” “我又想起了尼克，”她说，“他没能活到现在，没能看到这些，真是太遗憾了。抓住我，斯图。如果我能的话，我想为他做个祷告。我想试一试。” 他抓住她，但是不知道她是否做了祷告。他突然发现他也非常想念尼克，因此也比以前更加痛恨哈罗德·劳德。法兰妮说的对，哈罗德不仅仅杀了尼克和苏珊，他还偷走了他们的光明。 “嘘，”他说，“法兰妮，嘘。” 但是她哭了好长时间。当她最后擦去眼泪的时候，他把病床摇了起来，打开了台灯，这样她能读点什么。 斯图被摇醒了，但是他过了好长一段时间才完全清醒过来。他的脑海里慢慢地掠过很长一串好像没有尽头的名单，这些人都想夺去他的睡梦。那是母亲，告诉他该起床把炉子打开，准备上学去了；那是曼纽尔，就是那个低级的小拉雷多妓院里的保安，告诉他他的20美元已经用完了，如果他想整夜呆在那儿的话，他必须再交20美元；那是一个穿着长长的白大褂的护士，要给他量血压。那是法兰妮。 那是兰德尔·弗拉格。 这最后闪过的念头像往他脸上泼了一盆凉水一样惊醒了他。站在他身边的并不是梦中的那些人，而是格兰·贝特曼，还有站在他膝边的科亚克。 “叫醒你真困难，东德克萨斯，”格兰说，“像根石柱子一样。”他站在几乎是完全的黑暗中，只显出一个模糊的身影。 “喂，你们可以先把灯打开再说吗。” “你知道，我真是把这事忘得一干二净。” 斯图打开了灯，突然亮起的刺眼的灯光下，他眯起眼睛，像猫头鹰一样，废力地看着那只发条闹钟。现在是凌晨2点45分。 “你们来这儿干什么，格兰？我在睡觉，除非你们没有注意到。” 他放下闹钟，第一次善意地看了格兰一眼。他看上去脸色苍白，惊恐……而且苍老。脸上满是深深的皱纹，看上去非常地憔悴。 "What's wrong?" “阿巴盖尔妈妈。”格兰平静地说。 "died?" “天呐，我倒希望这样。她醒过来了。她想见我们。” "Both of us?" “我们5个。她……”他的声音粗糙而沙哑，“她知道尼克和苏珊已经死了，她也知道法兰妮在医院里。我不知道她是怎么知道的，但是她确实知道。” “她想见委员会？” “委员会剩下的成员。她已经快不行了，她说她有些事必须告诉我们。我不知道我自己想不想听。” 屋外，夜已经不是仅仅有些凉意，而是有些寒冷了。斯图从衣柜里拉出一件夹克穿上，把拉链一直拉到脖领，感觉好多了。一个冷若冰霜的月亮悬在空中，这让他想起了汤姆，是他让他在月亮圆的时候回来向他们做汇报。现在的月亮正是上弦月刚多出来一点。上帝知道那个月亮在哪儿往下看着汤姆，看着戴纳·于尔根斯和查理斯法官；上帝知道月亮正在看着这儿发生的奇怪的事情。 “我先叫了拉尔夫，”格兰说，“我告诉他赶到医院去叫法兰妮。” “如果医生允许她起来走走的话，他会把她送回家的。”斯图生气地说。 “这是特殊情况，斯图。” “因为有人不想听那个老太太必须说的话，你好像非常仓促地想到她那儿。” “我想恐怕不是。”格兰说。 吉普车在3点10分的时候开到了拉里的屋门口。屋子里灯火通明——不是煤气灯，而是电灯。街上的路灯整夜地亮着，不光是这儿，而是城里的每个角落。一路上，斯图一直在着迷地盯着它们看。夏天的残虫在寒冷中失去了活力，没精打采地撞击着球形灯罩。 他们刚钻出吉普，就看见有车的头灯扫过街角，那是拉尔夫的哐啷作响的老卡车。拉尔夫把车开上来，与吉普头顶头地停了下来。拉尔夫下了车，斯图快步绕到卡车的乘客座一侧，法兰妮坐在那儿，背后垫着一个方格子沙发垫。 “嗨，宝贝。”他轻声说。 她抓住了他的手，黑暗中，她的脸色更显苍白。 “很疼吗？”斯图问。 “不太疼，我吃了点止痛药。只是别催我太急。” 他帮她下了车，拉尔夫搀住她的另一只胳膊。她从驾驶室走下来时，他俩都看到她的脸上抽搐了一下。 "Do you want me to carry you?" “我能行，你们就这样搀着我胳膊，行吗？” "OK." “还要走慢点儿，我们小姑娘不能走太快。” 他们从拉尔夫的卡车后面绕了过去，与其说是走，还不如说是脚拖着地挪了过去。他们走到过道边时，斯图看到格兰和拉里站在门口看着他们。在背后灯光的反衬下，他们就像是从黑色的美术纸上剪下来的人物。 “你们觉得她会说些什么呢？”法兰妮低声问。 斯图摇了摇头。 "I have no idea." 他们走上过道，法兰妮显得疼痛难忍，拉尔夫帮斯图把她弄进了屋。拉里也像格兰一样脸色苍白，面带焦急。他穿着一条褪色的牛仔裤，一件皱巴巴的衬衣，最下面的扣子还扣错了，光脚穿着一双名贵的莫卡辛鞋。 “这时候把你们叫出来，真是不好意思，”他说，“我在这里看着她，间或打个盹儿。我们一直在看着她，你们理解吗？” “是的，我理解，”法兰妮说。不知什么原因，“看着”这个词让她想起了母亲开的小店……而且比以前想起来时有一种更加亲切和谅解的感觉。 “露西已经睡了大约1个小时了。我打了个盹，醒过来时就……法兰妮，你怎么样？” 法兰妮摇了摇头，很勉强地笑了笑。“我没事，你接着说。” “……她正看着我。她只能耳语，但是能听懂。”拉里咽了口唾沫。他们5个现在都站在门厅里。“她告诉我，上帝想在早上带她回家。但是她说她有话必须对上帝第一次没带走的人说。我问她说的是什么意思，她说上帝已经把尼克和苏珊带走了。她知道。”他疲惫地出了口气，用手拢着他的长发。 露西出现在大厅的那头。“我煮了咖啡。就在这儿，你们要就说一声。” “谢谢，亲爱的。”拉里说。 露西有点犹豫地说：“我能参加进来吗？这是不是像委员会那样，是私下的讨论？” 拉里看着斯图，斯图平静地说：“快点过来。我想她快不行了。” 他们走得很慢，以让法兰妮能跟上。他们离开大厅，来到楼上的卧室。 “她会告诉我们的，”拉尔夫突然说，“妈妈会告诉我们的。不用发愁。” 他们一起走进屋，阿巴盖尔妈妈用临终前那种明亮的目光凝视着他们。 法兰妮知道老太太的身体情况，但还是很吃了一惊。她已经成了一堆骨架和肉干。屋里连一丝腐烂的气味都没有，也没有即将到来的死亡的气氛。而只有一种干燥的顶楼的气味……不，那应该是一种小店的气味。打点滴的针头深深地扎进她的肉里，只留一半在外面，她已经没有什么地方可以扎针了。 她的眼光还是那样，包含着热情，亲切和慈祥。那是一种解脱，但是法兰妮还是感到一种恐惧……不是纯粹的害怕，但也可能是一种被神圣化的东西——敬畏。是敬畏吗？一种正在临近的感情。不是判决，但是一种可怕的责任，像一块石头一样悬在他们头顶。 Man proposes, God disposes. “小姑娘，坐下，”阿巴盖尔低语道，“你浑身疼痛。” 拉里扶她坐在扶手椅上，放松地轻叹了一声，尽管她知道这样坐一会儿身上还是会疼的。 阿巴盖尔妈妈仍然用那种明亮的目光凝视着她。 “你很快就会有孩子的。”她低声说。 “对……你怎么……” "Hush..." 屋子里又沉寂下来，深深的沉寂。法兰妮着迷地看着这个临终的老妇人，这个出现在他们生活中之前就出现在他们梦中的老妇人。 “小姑娘，你往窗外看。” 法兰妮把脸转向窗户，拉里正站在那儿，望着外面那些两天前曾聚在那儿的人们。她看到的不是压抑的黑暗，而是一片安静的光明。那不是屋里光线的反射，而是月光。她正看着那模糊的，有点变形的保育室反射的影子。保育室很明亮，挂着一条皱巴巴的方格窗帘。那里有一张单床，床空着；那儿还有游戏围栏——但也是空的，还有一只在风中会动的颜色鲜艳的塑料蝴蝶。恐惧又把它冰凉的双手伸向了她的心脏。其他人从她的脸上看到了这一点，但他们却不理解它；他们从窗户中看到的只是一片被街灯照亮的草坪。 “孩子在哪？”法兰妮声音嘶哑地问。 “斯图尔特不是那个孩子的父亲，小姑娘。但是他的小命在斯图尔特的手里，也在上帝的手里。这个孩子将会有4个父亲。如果上帝让他活下来的话。” “如果他……” “上帝已经把它藏起来不让我看见了。”她低语道。 空空的保育室也不见了。法兰妮看见的只有黑暗。恐惧把它的双手握成了拳头，她的心在它们中间跳动。 阿巴盖尔妈妈耳语着：“皇帝在叫他的新娘呢，他想让她和孩子在一起。他会让你的孩子活下来吗？” “别说了。”法兰妮叫着。她用双手捂住了脸。 沉默，深深的沉寂，像是在屋里下了雪。格兰·贝特曼的脸像一个破旧昏暗的手电筒一样黯淡无光。露西的右手慢慢地上下揉捏着她浴袍的领子。拉尔夫把帽子拿在手里，心不在焉地在帽带上的羽毛上捡着什么。斯图看着法兰妮，但却不能走过去。not now.他的脑海中闪过一幕，那是在那次会议上，当提到那个黑衣人的名字时，她立即用手捂住了眼睛，耳朵和嘴巴。 “母亲，父亲，妻子，丈夫，”阿巴盖尔妈妈嘟哝着。“敌视他们，神坛的帝王，黑暗的早晨的君主。我沉陷在骄傲中。你们也都沉陷在骄傲里。你们没听见它说的话吗，别相信这个世界的主宰？” 他们都注视着她。 “电灯解决不了问题，斯图·雷德曼；民用电台也解决不了问题，拉尔夫·布伦特纳。社会学解决不了它，格兰·贝特曼；拉里·安德伍德，既然已了结的事无法阻止它的到来，你终生悔过自责就显得为时过长了。还有你的小伙子，法兰妮·戈德史密斯，也阻止不了。罪恶的月亮已经升起。在上帝的视野内，你们什么也提不出来。” 她挨个看了他们一遍。“上帝会在他觉得合适的时候作出安排的。你们不是制陶工人，你们是他们手中的陶土。西部的那个人可能会成为你们通向毁灭的车轮。我也不得而知。” 一滴泪珠，从那即将死亡的沙漠中，令人吃惊地，偷偷地从她的左眼中滑落，滚过脸颊。 “妈妈，我们应该怎么做？”拉尔夫问道。 “你们都靠近点。我的时间不多了。我要回到天国的家了，从来没有人像我现在这样完全做好了准备。你们都过来。” 拉尔夫坐在床沿上，拉里和格兰站在床脚边。法兰妮表情痛苦地站了起来，斯图把她的椅子拉到拉尔夫旁边。她坐下来，用冰冷的手指抓住他的手。 “上帝把你们这些人弄在一起并不是要组成一个委员会或是一个团体，”她说，“他把你们带到这儿，只是为了试图把你们分得更远。他想让你们毁灭这个黑衣人。” silence.阿巴盖尔叹了口气。 “我想尼克能领导你们，但是上帝把他带走了，尽管以我来说，并不是尼克的一切都被带走了。不，没有完全带走。但是你必须领导，斯图尔特；如果他想把斯图也带走，那么你必须领导，拉里；如果他把你也带走了，由拉尔夫来领导。” “看起来我落在后面，”格兰说，“我……” “领导？”法兰妮冷冷地问，“领导？领到哪儿……？” “西部呀，小姑娘，”阿巴盖尔妈妈说，“西部。你不能去，只是他们4个。去。” “不！”她不顾浑身伤痛，一下站了起来，“你在说什么？让他们4个去自投罗网？自由之邦的几个灵魂人物？”她的眼睛闪着怒火，“这样那些人就可以把他们绞死在十字架上，然后明年夏天走进自由之邦杀光所有的人？我可不愿看着我的人去祭供你那屠夫上帝，去他的吧。” “法兰妮！”斯图喘息着说。 “屠夫上帝！屠夫上帝！”法兰妮啐了一口，“上百万人——没准10亿人——死在那场灾难中。还有数百万人将随他们而去。我们甚至都不知道我们的孩子还能不能活下来。这难道不是他干的吗？这一切还不是就这样没完没了地进行，直到地球上只剩下老鼠和蟑螂？他不是上帝。他是个魔鬼，而你是他的巫婆。” “住嘴，法兰妮。” “对极了。我完了。我想走了。把我送回家吧，斯图。不去医院，回家。” “我们想听听她必须说的事。” “好。你们留神听着，我们两个人。我要走了。” "Little girl." “别叫我小姑娘！” 她猛地伸出手抓住了法兰妮的手腕。法兰妮一下僵住了。她闭着眼睛，却蓦地回过头来。 “别，别……哦，天呐……斯图……” “这儿！在这儿呢！”斯图叫着，“你想对她做什么？” 阿巴盖尔妈妈没有回答。接下去的一刻是那么漫长，化成了短暂的永恒，然后老太太放开了紧抓法兰妮的手。 法兰妮开始慢慢地，茫然地揉着刚才被阿巴盖尔妈妈抓住的那只手腕，尽管手腕上没有红印，也没有凹痕。突然法兰妮睁大了眼睛。 “宝贝？”斯图焦急地问。 “消失了。”法兰妮嘟哝着。 “什么……她在说什么？”斯图环视了一下周围的人，用颤抖的声音恳求道。格兰只摇了摇头。他脸色苍白而紧张，但并没有怀疑。 “疼……颈部扭伤。背痛。消失了。”她迷惑地看着斯图，“全消失了。看。”她弯腰轻轻摸了一下脚趾，一次，两次。她第三次弯腰时，可以不用分开双腿，还用手掌摸了一下地面。 她又站起来的时候遇到了阿巴盖尔妈妈的目光。 “这是你那上帝的贿赂吗？如果是，他可以收回他对我的治疗。有斯图在，我宁可忍受疼痛。” “上帝不会贿赂谁的，孩子，”阿巴盖尔低声说，“他只是给人们个信号，如果愿意，他们可以接受它。” “斯图是不会到西部的。”法兰妮说，但现在看来她既茫然又恐惧。 “坐下，”斯图说，“我们听听她要说些什么。” 法兰妮震惊地坐了下来，心怀疑虑，茫然若失，双手在腰背上悄悄地揉摸着。 “你得去西部，”阿巴盖尔妈妈低语道，“你不能带吃的，也不能带喝的。你今天就要走，就穿你现在的衣服，还要步行去。我知道你们中的一个到不了你们的目的地，但我不知道是哪个人会倒下。我知道上帝将会在带走弗拉格之前带走其他人，他不是一个人，而是一个超自然体。我不知道上帝是否愿意让你们打败他。我也不知道上帝是否愿意让你们再次看到博尔德。这些事情不是我能预见的。但是他现在在拉斯维加斯，你们必须去那儿，而就在那儿，你们能够进行反击