CHAPTER 60
She and Lucy watched the undramatic start of their quest from the steps of Larry's house. The four of them stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, no packs, no bedrolls, no special equipment... as per instructions. They had all changed into heavy walking shoes. " 'Bye, Larry," Lucy said. Her face was shiny pale. "Remember, Stuart," Fran said. "Remember what you swore." "Yes. I'll remember." Glen put his fingers into his mouth and whistled. Kojak, who had been investigating a sewer grating, came running. "Let's go then," Larry said. His face was as pale as Lucy's, his eyes unusually bright, almost glittery. "Before I lose my nerve." Stu blew a kiss through his closed fist, something he could not remember doing since the days when his mother saw him off on the school bus. Fran waved back. The tears were coming again, hot and burning, but she did not let them fall. They began. They simply walked away. They were halfway down the block now, and somewhere a bird sang. The midday sun was warm and undramatic. They reached the end of the block. Stu turned and waved again. Larry also waved. Fran and Lucy waved back. They crossed the street. They were gone. Lucy looked almost sick with loss and fear. "Dear God," she said. "Let's go in," Fran said. "I want tea." They went inside. Fran put the teapot on. They began to wait.
© Составление и оформление -el` Poison-, 2002.
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The four of them moved slowly southwest during the afternoon, not talking much. They were headed toward Golden, where they would camp this first night. They passed the burial sites, three of them now, and around four o'clock, when their shadows had begun to trail out long behind them and the heat had begun to sneak out of the day, they came to the township marker spotted beside the road at the southern edge of Boulder. For a moment Stu had a feeling that all of them were on the verge of turning together and going back. Ahead of them was darkness and death. Behind them was a little warmth, a little love. Glen took a bandanna out of his back pocket, whipped it into a blue paisley rope, and tied it around his head. " `Chapter Forty-Three, The Bald-Headed Sociologist Dons His Sweat-Band,' " he said hollowly. Kojak was up ahead, over the line into Golden, nosing his way happily through a splash of wildflowers. "Ah, man," Larry said, and his voice was almost a sob. "I feel like this is the end of everything." "Yeah," Ralph said. "It do feel like that." "Anybody want to take five?" Glen asked without much hope. "Come on," Stu said, smiling a little. "Do you dogfaces want to live forever?" They went on, leaving Boulder behind them. By nine that night they were camped in Golden, half a mile from where Route 6 begins its twisting, turning course along Clear Creek and into the stone heart of the Rockies. None of them slept well that first night. Already they felt far from home, and under the shadow of death.
BOOK III THE STAND SEPTEMBER 7, 1990—JANUARY 10, 1991
This land is your land this land is my land, from California to the New York island, from the redwood forests, to the Gulf stream waters, this land was made for you and me. Woody Guthrie
"Hey, Trash, what did old lady Semple say when you torched her pension check?" Carley Yates
When the night has come And the land is dark And the moon is the only light we'll see I won't be afraid Just as long as you stand by me. Ben E. King