gns.thegraveyardvultures-第34部分

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。　Spode's　body　it　was；　on　which　some　horrific　super…natural　transplant　had　taken　place；　the　resurrected　features　of　William　Gardiner　festooned　on　to　Royston's　own　obesity；　a　blending　of　body　and　soul　that　had　somehow　gone　wrong　because　of　the　false　sacrifice。　And　Spode　knew；　knew　that　partial　success　was　indeed　miserable　failure　and　Sabat　would　pay　the　penalty　for　what　had　happened！
　　
　　Spode　was　invincible　to　mortal　attack；　Sabat　might　just　as　well　have　wasted　his　shells　on　that　skeleton　that　had　lain　there　earlier。　Slow　measured　steps；　a　wrestler　closing　in　on　an　inferior　opponent；　knowing　full　well　that　he　can　crush　the　life　out　of　him　but　preferring　to　savour　the　finale。
　　
　　Sabat　closed　his　eyes；　tried　to　pray　。　。　。　struggled　to　find　the　right　words；　remembered　just　one　line。　'Lord；　beat　down　Satan　quickly！'
　　
　　Spode　checked　but　only　momentarily；　as　though　another　bullet　had　glanced　off　him；　an　annoyance　but　nothing　serious。　Sabat　stepped　back　another　pace；　felt　the　roughness　of　the　wall　gouge　his　shoulder　blades。　He　closed　his　eyes。　This；　then　was　the　end。　Finis。　His　senses　swam；　the　paralysis　seemed　to　be　ing　back；　a　dull　creeping　numbness　preparing　him　for　death。　He　didn't　mind　dying；　it　was　what　happened　afterwards　that　worried　him。　Even　Quentin　was　silent；　his　brother's　soul　succumbing　to　the　presence　of　a　terrible　evil。
　　
　　Sabat　could　smell　this　thing　that　might　have　been　Spode；　a　lingering　stench　of　uncleansed　stables；　rank　foul　breath　ing　in　icy　blasts。　Something　touched　his　arm；　had　him　shuddering　and　turning　his　head；　yelling　'Get　it　over。　Kill　me；　finish　me！'
　　
　　Even　as　he　awaited　death　in　some　horribly　agonising　manner；　a　thud　jerked　him　out　of　his　resignation　to　the　end；　a　noise　such　as　Spode　had　made　when　he　hacked　mercilessly　at　the　body　he　believed　to　be　Sabat's；　a　tearing；　cutting　sound　like　a　knife　blade　being　forced　to　the　limit　of　its　sharpness；　then　brute　force　taking　over。　A　scream　that　no　human　vocal　chords　were　capable　of　making；　a　screeching　and　cursing　in　a　tongue　which　Sabat　did　not　understand。
　　
　　Sabat's　eyes　were　open。　This　could　not　be　happening；　it　was　some　cruel　figment　of　fantasy；　his　astral　torturing　him　during　that　brief　period　when　life　slipped　into　death；　a　taunting　hope　that　would　be　dashed　with　the　ing　of　oblivion。
　　
　　Spode　was　tottering；　floundering；　a　drowning　man　panicking。　Those　vile　features　were　unrecognisable　in　an　expression　of　unbelievable　agony；　lips　moving　soundlessly　now；　mute　curses；　falling。　He　hit　the　floor；　heaving　as　he　struggled　for　breath；　a　grotesque　fish　that　found　itself　grounded；　its　death　struggles　growing　weaker　by　the　second；　lying　there；　eyes　that　dimmed；　staring　hatefully　up　at　Sabat；　moving　on　to　。。。　Alison！
　　
　　The　West　Indian　girl　stood　there；　eyes　closed　as　though　she　could　not　bring　herself　to　look　upon　this　creature　who　had　once　been　her　master；　the　bloody　sacrificial　knife　slipping　slowly　from　her　fingers　and　clattering　on　the　stones。　Her　lips　were　moving；　Sabat　had　to　strain　his　ears　to　catch　the　words　uttered　in　Creole。　'Die；　fiend　of　a　false　god　for　this　is　still　Damballah's　day　and　I　am　his　disciple！'
　　
　　Spode；　or　whatever　it　was　that　controlled　that　terrible　body；　was　dead。　Or　rather；　Sabat　decided；　the　force　which　had　motivated　him　had　been　vanquished；　sent　back　whence　it　had　e；　a　defeated　entity　returned　to　the　Petro　gods。
　　
　　'I。。。　you　。。。〃　Sabat　could　no　more　easily　find　the　words　to　thank　Alison　than　when　he　had　sought　for　a　prayer　of　exorcism；　a　defence　against　psychic　attack；　a　few　moments　ago。
　　
　　'I　am　a　follower　of　Damballah。'　She　regarded　him　steadily　and　he　noted　a　deep　sadness　in　her　eyes。　'For　five　years　I　have　been　enslaved　by　this　fiend；　forced　to　pay　homage　to　the　Petro　gods　but　I　kept　faith　for　I　knew　that　one　day　the　Rada　gods　would　free　me。　I　knew　the　moment　you　arrived　at　the　vicarage　that　you　had　been　sent　for　this　purpose　even　if　you　did　not　know　it　yourself。　I　had　no　choice　other　than　to　give　you　that　drugged　coffee。　Had　I　refused　or　tried　to　trick　him；　my　fate　would　have　been　that　of　Miranda's。'
　　
　　Sabat　glanced　about　him。　A　scene　of　carnage；　not　a　single　groan　or　twitching　limb　among　the　strewn　bodies；　staring　eyes　reflecting　brains　that　had　been　blasted　into　nothingness；　himself　and　Alison　the　only　survivors。　It　was　that　war　in　the　arid　wastelands　again；　victory　today；　defeat　tomorrow。　That　was　how　it　would　go　on；　he　must　live　for　the　present。
　　
　　Gardiner's　skeleton　was　no　more；　a　heap　of　crushed　bones　as　though　the　foot　of　some　mighty　prehistoric　monster　had　stamped　on　it。　The　Evil　One　had　e　and　gone；　and　afterwards　the　Rada　gods　had　destroyed　the　malignant　force　with　a　cunning　psychic　counter…attack。
　　
　　'You　cannot　stay　here；'　Alison　said。　'Damballah's　day　is　drawing　to　a　close。　1　shall　be　powerless　then　and　possibly　Baron　Cimeterre　will　rule　this　place。　Go　now；　while　you　still　can！'
　　
　　'Not　without　you。'
　　
　　'I　cannot　e。　Please　do　not　try　to　make　me。'
　　
　　Sabat　made　as　if　to　argue；　shook　his　head　sadly。　Alas；　she　spoke　the　truth。　Damballah；　too；　sometimes　had　to　make　a　sacrifice　in　order　to　achieve　his　purpose。　It　was　useless　trying　to　dissuade　Alison　from　staying；　it　would　have　been　dangerous　for　both　of　them　had　he　removed　her　by　force。　For　surely　then　the　Rada　gods　would　have　exacted　their　vengeance　on　himself　just　as　they　had　on　Royston　Spode。
　　
　　'Please　go；　Sabat。'
　　
　　He　nodded；　thought　he　detected　a　mistiness　in　those　eyes。
　　
　　'All　right。'
　　
　　Yet　still　he　hesitated；　standing　there　scrutinising　her　but　he　felt　no　sense　of　arousement；　only　admiration　for　one　so　courageous；　one　so　beautiful。　He　was　already　mentally　adding　her　name　to　the　list　of　heroines　whom　mankind　had　known；　those　who　had　willingly　lain　down　their　lives　for　others。
　　
　　There　isn't　much　time　left；　Sabat。　Soon　it　will　be　midnight　and　Wednesday　will　have　gone；　and　then　everything　I　have　strived　for　will　have　been　in　vain。　And　we　will　both　die　just　the　same。'
　　
　　He　nodded；　did　not　trust　himself　to　speak。　There　was　nothing　more　to　be　said；　they　both　knew　that　this　was　merely　another　phase　of　that　unending　battle。　Tomorrow　it　would　begin　all　over　again。　He　turned；　began　to　walk　slowly　away；　and　did　not　look　back。
　　
　　Sabat　had　barely　got　fifty　yards；　had　almost　left　the　old　graveyard　and　its　wilderness　behind　when　he　felt　the　ground　beneath　him　start　to　shudder。　A　faint　tremor　at　first　like　the　passing　of　a　heavy　lorry　along　the　road；　escalating　into　a　vibration　that　every　nerve　in　his　body　picked　up；　an　electric　massager　on　full　volume。　The　ground　heaved；　he　clutched　at　a　sapling　to　steady　himself；　felt　its　roots　move；　the　slender　trunk　suddenly　at　an　angle。　He　clung　to　it；　still　stark　naked；　holding　the　empty　revolver　in　one　hand；　expecting　the　earth　to　open　up　at　any　second；　to　pitch　him　down　into　that　cavernous　dark　void　that　had　no　bottom；　drifting　in　the　black　beyond　forever；　the　hell　of　the　Petro　gods　where　Quentin　would　be　free　to　inflict　everlasting　torment　upon　him。
　　
　　He　closed　his　eyes；　did　not　even　pray。　Somewhere　below　he　felt　rather　than　heard　the　rumbling　of　an　avalanche；　stone　cascading　and　gathering　stone；　a　tide　of　rubble　that　buried　everything　in　its　path。　Screams；　maybe　it　was　his　imagination；　maybe　not。　And　he　smelled　dust　and　decay；　saw　in　his　mind　that　battlefield　where　warriors　writhed　their　final　agonies；　an　impenetrable　blackness　which　hid　the　waiting　vultures；　a　landscape　of　death　upon　which　a　blistering　sun　would　rise。　And　then　the　struggle　would　begin　all　over　again。
　　
　　Stillness。　It　was　sometime　before　he　realised　it；　aware　that　the　ground　upon　which　he　stood　had　not　caved　in；　a　silence　that　in　some　ways　was　even　more　terrifying。　He　listened；　could　not　even　hear　the　soughing　of　the　breeze　through　the　foliage。　And　in　the　eastern　sky　he　detected　a　grey　streak；　the　first　light　of　a　new　dawn。
　　
　　He　walked　on；　shivering；　aware　that　time　had　passed　unnoticed；　seconds　had　bee　hours　without　him　realising　it。　He　thought　about　going　back；　just　to　see；　to　satisfy　himself　that　that　square　black　hole　beneath　with　the　broken　stone　steps　leading　down　to　hell　were　no　more。　But　he　didn't；　because　he　knew　there　would　be　nothing　to　see；　only　soil　and　rubble；　for　the　dead　had　buried　their　dead。　Damballah's　disciple　had　had　her　finest　hour；　had　triumphed　while　there　was　still　time。　A　bargain　had　been　honoured　and　Sabat　had　lived　to　fight　again；　for　the　Petro　gods　would　not　forget　this　night　when　their　black　religion　from　a　far…off　island　was　destroyed　before　it　had　even　spawned　in　a　new　country。
　　
　　Daylight　came　quickly　as　though　eager　to　destroy　the　night　hours；　roll　them　back　into　oblivion。　Sabat　saw　the　outline　of　the　vicarage；　a　massive　unfriendly　structure；　frowning　its　disapproval　in　the　grey　light　as　though　it　watched　him　emerging　from　the　undergrowth　beneath　knitted　gabled　brows；　hating　him　for　what　he'd　done。　Sabat　felt　an　impulsive　urge　to　scream；　'your　fucking　master's　dead；　you're　just　an　ordinary　bloody　house　now'；　but　he　kept　silent。
　　
　　Then　he　saw　the　Daimler；　stared　at　it　in　disbelief　as　though　it　might　be　a　mirage