Chapter 66 Chapter 65

That night, in the Amy Grant Valley north of Las Vegas, a small fire flickered across the field.Randall Flagg sat by the fire, brooding over a little hare.He turned the rabbit meat evenly on the simple homemade barbecue grill, watching it sizzling and dripping oil into the fire.There was a little wind tonight, and the fragrance drifted into the desert, so a few wolves came over.They squatted two dunes away from his fire, howling at the fading moon and the smell of roasting meat.Now and then he would look at them, and two or three wolves would fight, claw and bite, and kick each other with their mighty hind legs, until the weakest was driven off.Then the other wolves would start howling again, pointing their mouths at the round red moon.

But now the wolves bored him. He wears jeans and battered slick boots, and pins two badges on the breast pocket of his suede jacket: Smile and How's Your Pig.The night wind gently blew his collar. He didn't like the way things were going. There was something ominous in the wind, ominous like the flapping of bat wings in the dark attic of a deserted barn.The old woman was dead, and at first he thought it was all right.In any case, he was still afraid of the old woman.She died, he told Dana Jürgens she had died in a coma...but was it really?He wasn't so sure anymore. Finally, did she speak?If she did, what did she say?

What are they planning? He seems to have a third eye.It's like an erratic ability, something he already has but doesn't quite understand.He can send it out, to see...almost often.But sometimes the eye seems to be blind for no apparent reason.He could see the room where the old woman died, and saw them surrounding her... But then the vision faded away, and he was back in the desert again, wrapped in his bedding and looking up, but there was nothing but the stars in the sky Can't see either.A voice in his mind said: She is dead.They waited for her to speak, but she never did. But he no longer trusted the voice.

The spy thing is a little tricky. Judge, his head was blown off. The girl, the girl who escaped from him at the last second.She knew it, hell!She knows it! He gave the wolves a sudden angry look.About six wolves began to fight, and in the silent night, the sound from their throats was like fabric being torn. He knew all their secrets... except the third spy.Who is the third spy?He opened that eye and searched over and over, but could see nothing but the mysterious expressionless face of the moon. Who is the third spy? How could the girl escape from him?He was completely stunned, holding only her shirt in his hand.He knew she had a knife and it was just a child's trick, but he didn't expect her to jump out of the window suddenly.He didn't expect that she would end her life in such a cruel way, and she didn't hesitate.After a while she died.

In the night his mind stalked everyone like a weasel. These are just small, extremely breakable things on the outermost edge.He doesn't like it. Harold, for example, and Harold. He behaved brilliantly, like one of those wind-up toys with a key in the back.Go here, go there.Do this, do that.But the bomb killed only two of their men--all the planning, all the hard work, wasted because of the return of the dying old black woman.And then...after dealing with Harold...he nearly killed Nadina!To this day, whenever he thinks about it, he still feels a strong surge of anger.But the stupid woman just stood there with her mouth open, waiting for another shot, as if she'd rather be killed.If Nadina died, who would end it all?

If not his son, who else? The hare is roasted.He took it off the spit and put it on a plate. "Okay, all Marines, eat it!" He grinned broadly.Had he been a Marine?he thought so.Although strictly speaking only the kind on Parris Island.There was a kid there, a disabled kid named Boo Dinkwe.them…… What? Flagg frowned at his cutlery.Did they knock the cloth down with those padded sticks?Still twisting his neck?He seemed to remember something about gasoline.But what is it? In a fit of rage he nearly threw the freshly roasted hare into the fire.He should remember, hell! "Eat it, soldier," he said softly, but this time it only brought back a little memory.

He's a little lost.He could even see things from the 60's, 70's, 80's once, like a man can see two flights of stairs leading to a dark room.But now he can only remember clearly what happened after that flu.And what happened before is like a cloud of smoke, which sometimes clears a little, but only to see some puzzling things or memories (for example, Boo Dinkwe... If there was ever such a person), and then was covered again. The earliest thing he can accurately recall is walking south on U.S. 51 toward Kit Bradenton's hometown of Mountain City. born.Rebirth. If he had ever been a human being, he wasn't technically any more.He was like an onion, slowly peeled away one layer at a time, except that what was stripped from him was the pretense of humanity: organized reflection, memory, and perhaps free will...if such things ever existed if.

He started eating rabbit meat. He'd been pretty sure he'd retire quickly if the stuff started peeling off.but not now.This is his place, his time, and here he wants to stand.It didn't matter that he didn't find the third spy; it didn't matter that Harold lost control at the last moment and had the audacity to try to kill his bride, the mother of his son. Somewhere in the desert, that strange garbage bug is looking for the weapons that will destroy the troubled and annoying "Free State" forever.That eye failed to see the Trash Worm, in the sense that Flagg thought the Trash Worm was more a stranger than himself, a hound-like being who could sniff out smokeless fire with precision. gunpowder, napalm and dynamite.

In a month or so, the National Guard jets will be flying, with Stryker missiles hanging under their wings.Once he was sure the bride was pregnant, they flew east. He looked up at the moon in ecstasy and smiled. There is another possibility.He thought that eye would reveal him in time.He'd go there, maybe like a crow, maybe like a wolf, maybe like a worm—something like a praying mantis, maybe, like something that could crawl through that carefully sealed ventilation hood in the desert.He would jump, or crawl, through dark passages, and finally slide in through the air-conditioning grille or exhaust fan.

That place is underground, just over the state line, in California. There were beakers, rows and rows of beakers, each clearly labeled: super cholera, super anthrax, new and improved bubonic plague, all of which were capable of producing the kind of disease that caused the flu to kill so many people. Altered antigenic capacity.There are hundreds of them out there, and as they used to say in the Lifesaver ad: in flavors. How about a little in your water, Land of the Free? How about a nice mid-air explosion? Get some lovely Lobar Pneumonia for Christmas, or do you want a new and improved version of Swine Flu?

Randall Flagg, the black devil, with his little National Guard sled, throwing germs into every chimney? He'll wait, and eventually he'll know when the right time comes. Something will tell him. Things will get better.No need to retire anytime soon.He has the edge and will maintain that edge. Rabbits are eaten.After eating a stomach full of hot food, he felt himself again.He stood up, plate in hand, and threw the bone into the night.The pack of wolves rushed to the bone, scrambling for each other, growling, biting, and writhing together, their eyes rolling blankly in the moonlight. Flagg stood there, arms akimbo, laughing wildly at the moon. Nadina left Glendale early the next morning and headed toward Interstate 15 on her Harley scooter.Her snow-white hair hung loosely behind her head like a bride's veil. She felt sorry for the motorcycle, which had followed her faithfully for so long and was now dying.It was badly damaged by the long drives and desert heat, the rough climbs over the Rocky Mountains, and the careless upkeep.Now the engine rumbles overwhelmed.The speed pointer no longer pointed at 5×1000 obediently, but began to shake.It doesn't matter.If the motorbike dies before she gets there, she walks.No one is chasing her now.Harold was dead.And if she had to walk, he would know and send for her. Harold shot her!Harold wanted to kill her! No matter how hard she tries to avoid it, she always remembers it.Her mind was gnawing at it like a dog gnawing at a bone.That's not how it should be. On the first night after the bombing, when Harold finally agreed to let them go camping, she dreamed of Flagg.He told her he was going to keep Harold with her until they reached the Western Continental Slope near Utah.After this, he would die in a brief, painless accident.A puddle of oil.Over the fence, no fights, no mess, no hassle. But it wasn't short and painless, and Harold almost killed her.The bullet flew within an inch of her cheek and she couldn't move.She was petrified, wondering how he would do such a thing, how he would allow himself to do such a thing even if he wanted to. She tried to explain to herself that Flagg was trying to frighten her in this way, so that she would remember who she really belonged to.But it doesn't make sense!This is ridiculous!Even if there was some truth to it, there was a firm and certain voice in the back of her heart that said that this shooting incident was not expected by Flagg. She wanted to drive the voice away, she wanted to shut out the thought the way a sane person would shut out an annoying, menacing-eyed person.But she can't.The voice told her that it was a fluke that she was still alive now, that Harold's bullet could have easily hit her between the eyebrows, and that neither of these situations was arranged by Randall Flagg. She said the voice was lying.Flagg knows everything, he can see everything... No, only God can do that, said the voice cruelly, God, he is not God.It was a fluke that you survived, which means that all gambles are over.You owe him nothing.You can turn around and go back, if you want. Go back, what a joke.Where to go back? The voice had nothing to say about that question—she would be surprised if it did.If the foundation of the man in black was not firm, then she discovered this fact too late. She tried to turn her attention away from the voice to the beauty and desolation of the desert morning, but the voice was still there, so low and persistent: If he didn't know that Harold would turn against him and fight back at you, what else did he know?Will it be a complete miscalculation next time? But, oh my god, it was too late.It's days, weeks, maybe years too late.Why does the sound wait until it has no meaning anymore? The voice seemed to agree, and finally fell silent, and she had the morning alone.She was riding a bicycle, thinking nothing, staring at the road that was constantly receding in front of her.This road leads to Las Vegas.The way is to him. The motorcycle was turned off that afternoon.There was a harsh jingle from inside the car, and the engine stopped.She could smell a foul heat, like burning rubber, from the engine case.The speed of the car dropped from the 40 kilometers she had been driving at a constant speed to walking speed.She pushed the car onto the service lane and turned the starter a few times, knowing it wouldn't work.She ruined it.She destroyed a lot of things in the process of finding her husband.She is responsible for taking out the entire Free State Council and their invited guests at the final bombing meeting.Then there's Harold.And, by the way, don't forget about Franny Goldsmith's unborn child. It made her sick.She lay down on the edge of the guardrail and vomited out the little lunch she had eaten.She felt hot, dizzy, and sick, and she was the only living thing in this scorching desert.It's hot...very hot. She turned around and wiped her mouth.The Harley motorcycle fell to the ground like a dead animal.Nadina looked at it for a while, then started walking.She had passed Dry Lake, which meant she would sleep on the side of the road tonight if no one came to pick her up.With any luck, she'll be in Las Vegas tomorrow morning.Suddenly, she was sure that the man in black was going to let her go.By the time she gets to Las Vegas, she'll be thirsty and hungry, with no trace of her past in her.The woman who taught young children in a New England private school would disappear, nothing at all.Fortunately, that little voice that worried her so much would be part of the original Nadina who was going away.But in the end, that part goes away too. As she walked, time passed by little by little.Sweat rolled down her face.There was always a silvery glint where the pale sky and the highway meet.She unbuttoned her thin blouse and took it off, leaving only a white cotton bra on.sunburn?so what?Honestly, oh my god, I don't care. By dusk, a swath of skin along her protruding collarbone was nearly purple in the sun.The sudden chill of the night made her shiver, and she remembered that she had left her camping gear on the motorcycle. She looked around in a daze, and saw a few scattered cars, some of which had been buried to the hood by quicksand.The thought of spending the night in a car that looked like a grave made her sick—worse than heatstroke. My head is dizzy, she thought. It doesn't matter.She decided that she would rather walk all night than sleep in such a car.If this was still in the Midwest, she could find a barn, or a haystack, or a meadow, find a clean, soft spot.But here there are only roads, only yellow sand, and only the weathered land in the desert. She pushed her long hair away from her face, thinking she would rather die. Now that the sun was below the horizon, it was day and night, and the wind blew past her, bitterly cold.She looked around and suddenly felt very frightened. it's too cold. Buttes became black boulders, and dunes were ominous lying giants.Even the spikes of the cacti are like the skeletal fingers of the dead, protruding from their shallow graves beyond the sand. Overhead is the endless sky. The intermittent singing reached her ears, it was a Dylan song, and the singing was cold and not pleasant at all.To be hunted like a crocodile...to be destroyed... After this one was sung, there was another song, the song of the Brotherhood of the Eagles, and she felt a sudden fear, I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight... billions of stars are beside us... Suddenly she knew he was coming. She knew it before he opened his mouth to speak. "Nadina." His soft voice came from the darkness.The voice was extremely gentle, and finally the hidden fear disappeared. "Nadina, Nadina... How I love you, Nadina." She turned and there he was, sitting on the hood of an old Chevrolet (was that car here just now? She wasn't sure, but she didn't think it was), legs crossed, hands light Resting lightly on the lap of faded jeans.He looked at her with a gentle smile on his face.But there was no trace of tenderness in his eyes, which clearly showed that this person did not experience any tender emotion.She saw a kind of joy in his eyes that kept flickering, like a hanged man shaking his legs just after the braces of the gallows were removed. "Hello," she said, "here I come." "Yes. You finally came, just as promised." He smiled and stretched out his hand to her.She took his hands, feeling how hot they were.He radiates heat like a burning furnace.His smooth, unwrinkled hands stroked hers... and gripped them tightly like handcuffs. "Oh, Nadina," he whispered, bending down to kiss her.She turned her head a little, looked up at the cold stars, and his kiss did not fall on her lips but on her chin.He was not fooled.She could feel his mocking smile against her skin. He hates me, she thought. But disgust is just the surface of something else terrible—a long-simmering, long-buried desire, a pustule that grows long enough to eventually grow its head and is about to ooze stinky pus.His hand sliding down her back was hotter than the burns on her body.She turned her back to him, and suddenly her lower body swelled between her legs, becoming fuller, softer, and more sensitive.She felt the seam of her trousers rub against her lightly, making her want to scratch, to get rid of the itch, to get rid of it forever. "I want to ask you something," she said. "Ask, anything." "You say, 'As promised'. Who promised me to you? Why me? What should I call you? I don't even know that. I've known you all my life and I don't know yet What should I call you?" "Call me Richard. That's my real name. Just call me that." "Is that your real name? Richard?" she asked suspiciously.He chuckled on the back of her neck, and her skin crawled with disgust and desire. "Who promised me to you?" "Nadina," he said, "I forgot. Come." He slid out of the car, still holding her hand, and she almost pulled it away and ran away...but what was the use?He would run after her, grab her, and rape her. "The moon," he said, "the moon is full. I can't wait." He took her hand to the burnished and faded crotch of his jeans, where something horrific danced beneath the cold zipper. "No," she said softly, trying to take her hand away, remembering how far away it was from another moonlit night.That's the other side of the time rainbow. He pressed her hand tightly to his body. "Come into the desert and be my wife," he said. "No!" "It's too late now, dear." She went with him.In the silvery moonlight, there was a bed and a pile of blackened logs. He put her down. "Okay," he gasped, "now, okay." His fingers undid the belt buckle, then the trouser button, then the zipper. She started screaming at the sight of his body. The man in black grinned at her cry, his grinning mouth gleaming obscenely in the dark.The big bright moon shone coldly on the two of them. Nadina screamed and screamed and tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her back.So she clamped her legs tightly with all her strength, but when a hand was inserted, her legs were separated like running water, she thought: I look up...I look up at the moon...what am I I won't feel it, it'll be over soon... it'll be over soon... I won't feel anything... When his cold body slid towards her, she screamed again and struggled, but it was useless... He hit her violently, like an intruder, like a destroyer, and cold blood gushed from between her thighs Out, he entered her body, straight down to her womb.The moon was like a cold silvery light in her eyes, and when he came it was like molten iron, molten pig iron, molten brass; and she came, screaming, unbelievable Joy, horror, terror, through the gates of iron and brass into the desert of madness, chased and blown like a leaf by his growling laughter.She watched his face become more and more blurred, gradually becoming the face of a disheveled devil hanging down her face.The devil's eyes are like two shining yellow light bulbs, they are windows to hell that people never imagined, and there is a terrible humor in it.These eyes see a thousand crooked alleys of night-dark cities, and they stare, blink, and at last go into a trance. He came once...and again...and again, with seemingly endless strength.Cold, he is very cold.And older, older than humans, older than the earth.Earth.bright. coming.here we go again.Her last scream was carried away by the desert wind, into the deep night, where a thousand weapons were waiting for their new masters to claim them.The head of a disheveled devil with a drooping tongue deeply divided into two strands.Its breath of death breathed into her face.Now she is in crazy land.The iron gate was closed. moon……! The moon is about to set. He caught another hare with his bare hands.He grabbed the trembling little thing and broke its neck.He rekindled a fire where the fire had been, and roasted the rabbit, and the roast gave off a burst of aroma.Now there are no wolves here.They stayed away that night—as they should, after all, it was his wedding night, and sitting dazed and expressionless on the other side of the fire was his flushed bride. He bent down and lifted her hand from her lap, and when he let go, her hand froze at mouth level.He looked at her for a while and then put her hands back on his lap, her fingers wriggling slowly, like dying snakes.He poked her eyes with two fingers, and she didn't blink.She stared blankly, staring. He is really confused. What did he do to her? He can't remember. It doesn't matter.She is pregnant.What does it matter if she's a little nervous?She is the best nurser.She would conceive his son, give birth to him, and then she would have fulfilled her mission and could die.After all, that's what she's here for. The rabbit is ready to bake.He divided it in two, tore hers into baby-like pieces, and fed her one at a time, and a few unchewed pieces fell out of her mouth onto her lap, but She ate most of it.If she's still like this, she needs to find a nurse.Jenny Engstrom, maybe. "That's good, dear," he said softly. She stared blankly at the moon.Flagg finished his wedding feast smiling tenderly at her. Hard sex always makes him hungry. He woke up late that night, sitting up, confused and horrified... a fear that was as indescribable as an animal instinct - the fear of a carnivore when it feels that it is about to be captured. This is a dream?Or a phantom? Here they come. Terrified, he struggled to make sense of the thought, to put the sentence into context.But he couldn't do it.It hung there alone, like a nightmare. They approached. who?Who is approaching now? The night wind blew past him, as if it brought him a scent.Someone is coming, and... Someone left. While he was asleep, someone passed by his camp, heading east.Is it the invisible third spy?he does not know.This is the night of the full moon.That third spy got away?The thought made him panic. Yes, but who's coming? He looked at Nadina, who was asleep, curled up tightly, the same way his son would be in her belly in a few months. How many months? That feeling of something crumbling from the edge is back.He lay down again, thinking that he might not be able to sleep again tonight.But he did fall asleep. As he drove to Vegas the next morning, he smiled again, almost forgetting the night's fears.Nadina sat obediently beside him, like a rag doll with carefully planted seeds. He goes to Grande, where he learns what happened in his sleep.He saw a new wariness and suspicion in their eyes, and he felt fear touch him again like a moth's wing.