Dreamcatcher: A Novel by Stephen King

Author:Stephen King [King, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Horror, Suspense, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Modern
ISBN: 074343627X
Amazon: B000FC0NQ4
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2001-03-20T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

GOING SOUTH

1

Mr. Gray ran the snowmobile down into a ravine which held a small frozen creek. He drove north along this for the remaining mile to I-95. Two or three hundred yards from the lights of the army vehicles (there were only a few now, moving slowly in the thickening snow), he stopped long enough to consult the part of Jonesy’s mind that he—it—could get at. There were files and files of stuff that wouldn’t fit into Jonesy’s little office stronghold, and Mr. Gray found what he was looking for easily enough. There was no switch to turn off the Arctic Cat’s headlight. Mr. Gray swung Jonesy’s legs off the snowmobile, looked for a rock, picked it up with Jonesy’s right hand, and smashed the headlight dark. Then he remounted and drove on. The Cat’s fuel was almost gone, but that was all right; the vehicle had served its purpose.

The pipe which carried the creek beneath the turnpike was big enough for the snowmobile, but not for the snowmobile and its rider. Mr. Gray dismounted again. Standing beside the snowmobile, he revved the throttle and sent the machine bumping and yawing into the pipe. It went no more than ten feet before stopping, but that was far enough to keep it from being seen from the air if the snow lightened, allowing low-level recon.

Mr. Gray set Jonesy to climbing up the turnpike embankment. He stopped just shy of the guardrails and lay down on his back. Here he was temporarily protected from the worst of the wind. The climb had released a last little cache of endorphins, and Jonesy felt his kidnapper sampling them, enjoying them the way Jonesy himself might have enjoyed a cocktail, or a hot drink after watching a football game on a brisk October afternoon.

He realized, with no surprise, that he hated Mr. Gray.

Then Mr. Gray as an entity—something that could actually be hated—was gone again, replaced by the cloud Jonesy had first experienced back in the cabin when the creature’s head had exploded. It was going out, as it had gone out in search of Emil Dawg. It had needed Brodsky because the information about how to get the snowmobile started hadn’t been in Jonesy’s files. Now it needed something else. A ride was the logical assumption.

And what was left here? What was left guarding the office where the last shred of Jonesy cowered—Jonesy who had been turned out of his own body like lint out of a pocket? The cloud, of course; the stuff Jonesy had breathed in. Stuff that should have killed him but had for some reason not done so.

The cloud couldn’t think, not the way Mr. Gray could. The man of the house (who was now Mr. Gray instead of Mr. Jones) had departed, leaving the place under the control of the thermostats, the refrigerator, the stove. And, in case of trouble, the smoke detector and the burglar alarm, which automatically dialed the police.

Still, with Mr. Gray gone, he might be able to get out of the office.

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