Stephen King - Desperation

For Carter Withey

ACKNOWLEDGEMNTS

Theyre in order to four people in particular: Rich Hasler, of the Magma Mining Corporation; William Winston, Episcopalian minister; Chuck Verrill, my long-time (and long-suffering, he might add) editor; Tabitha King, my wife and keenest critic. Now you know the rest of the drill, Constant Reader, so lets say it together, shall we? For whats right, thank them; for whats wrong, blame me.

S.K.

The landscape of his poetry was still the desert

Salman Rushdie

The Satanic Verses

HIGHWAY 50: IN THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF, THE HOUSE OF THE SCORPION

Oh! Oh, Jesus! Gross!

What, Mary, what?

Didnt you see it?

See what?

She looked at him, and in the harsh desert sunlight he saw that a lot of the color had gone out of her face, leaving just the marks of sunburn on her cheeks and across her brow, where not even a strong sunblock cream would entirely protect her. She was veiy fair and burned easily.

On that sign. That speed-limit sign.

What about it?

There was a dead cat on it, Peter! Nailed there or glued there or some damned thing. He hit the brake pedal. She grabbed his shoulder at once. Dont you even think about going back.

But

But what? Did you want to take a picture of it? No way, Jos. If I have to look at that again, Ill throw up.

Was it a white cat? He could see the back of a sign in the rearview mirrorthe speed-limit sign she was talking about, presumablybut that was all. And when theyd passed it, he had been looking off in the other direction, at some birds flying toward the nearest wedge of mountains. Strictly attending to the highway was not something one had to do every second out here; Nevada called its stretch of US 50 The Loneliest Highway in America, and in Peter Jacksons opinion, it lived up to its billing. Of course he was a New York boy, and he supposed he might be suffering a cumulative case of the creeps. Desert agoraphobia, Ballroom Syndrome, something like that.

No, it was a tiger-stripe, she said. What difference does it make?

I thought maybe Satanists in the desert, he said. This place is supposed to be filled with weirdos, isnt that what Marielle said?

Intense was the word she used, Mary said. Central Nevadas full of intense people. Quote-unquote. Gary said pretty much the same. But since we havent seen anybody since we crossed the California state line

Well, in Fallon

Pit-stops dont count, she said. Although even there, the people She gave him a funny, helpless look that he didnt see often in her face these days, although it had been common enough in the months following her miscarriage. Why are they here, Pete? I mean, I can understand Vegas and Reno even Winnemucca and Wendover

The people who come from Utah to gamble there call Wendover Bend Over, Peter said, grinning. Gary told me that.

She ignored him. But the rest of the state the people who are here, why do they come and why do they stay? I know I was born and raised in New York, so probably I cant understand, but

Youre sure that wasnt a white cat? Or a black one? He glanced back into the rearview, but at just under seventy miles an hour, the speed-limit sign had already faded into a mottled background of sand, mesquite, and dull brown foothills. There was finally another vehicle behind them, though; he could see a hot sunstar reflection pricking off its windshield. Maybe a mile back. Maybe two.

No, tiger-stripe, I told you. Answer my question. Who are the central Nevada taxpayers, and whats in it for them?

He shrugged. There arent many taxpayers out here. Fallons the biggest town on Highway 50, and thats mostly farming. It says in the guidebook that they dammed their lake and made irrigation possible. Cantaloupes is what they grow, mostly. And I think theres a military base nearby. Fallon was a Pony Express stop, did you know that?

Id leave, she said. Just pick up my cantaloupes and go.

He touched her left breast briefly with his right hand. Thats a nice set of cantaloupes, maam.

Thanks. Not just Fallon, either. Any state where you cant see a house or even a tree, in any direction, and they nail cats to speed-limit signs. Id leave.

Well, its a zone-of-perception thing, he said, speaking carefully. Sometimes he couldnt tell when Mary was serious and when she was just gassing, and this was one of those times. As someone who was raised in an urban environment, a place like the Great Basin is just outside your zone, thats all. Mine too, for that matter. The sky alone is enough to freak me out. Ever since we left this morning, Ive felt it up there, pressing down on me.

Me, too. Theres too goddam much of it.

Are you sorry we came this way? He glanced up into the rearview and saw the vehicle behind them was closer now. Not a truck, which was just about all theyd seen since leaving Fallon (and all headed the other way, west), but a car. Really burning up the road, too.

She thought about it, then shook her head. No. It was good to see Gary and Marielle, and Lake Tahoe

Beautiful, wasnt it?

Incredible. Even this Mary looked out the window. Its not without beauty, Im not saying that. And I suppose Ill remember it the rest of my life. But its

creepy, he finished for her. If youre from New York, at least.

Damned right, she said. Urban Zone of Perception. And even if wed taken I-80, its all desert.

Yep. Tumbling tumbleweeds. He looked into the mirror again, the lenses of the glasses he wore for driving glinting in the sun. The oncomer was a police-car, doing at least ninety. He squeezed over toward the shoulder until the righthand wheels began to rumble on the hardpan and spume up dust.

Pete? What are you doing?

Another look into the mirror. Big chrome grille, coming up fast and reflecting such a savage oblong of sun that he had to squint but he thought the car was white, which meant it wasnt the State Police.

Making myself small, Peter said. Wee sleekit cowrin beastie. Theres a cop behind us and hes in a hurry. Maybe hes got a line on

The police-car blasted by, making the Acura which belonged to Peters sister rock in its backwash. It was indeed white, and dusty from the doorhandles down. There was a decal on the side, but the car was gone before Pete caught more than a glimpse of it. DES-something. Destry, maybe. That was a good name for a Nevada town out here in the big lonely.

on the guy who nailed the cat to the speed-limit sign, Peter finished.

Whys he going so fast with his flashers off?

Whos there to run them for out here?

Well, she said, giving him that odd-funny look again, theres us.

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. She was right. The cop must have been seeing them for at least as long as theyd been seeing him, maybe longer, so why hadnt he flipped on his lights and flashers, just to be safe? Of course Peter had known enough to get over on his own, give the cop as much Of the road as he possibly could, but still

The police cars taillights suddenly came on. Peter hit his own brake without even thinking of it, although he had already slowed to sixty and the cruiser was far enough ahead so there was no chance of a collision. Then the cruiser swerved over into the westbound lane.

Whats he doing? Mary asked.

I dont know, exactly.

But of course he knew: he was slowing down. From his cut-em-off-at-the-pass eighty-five or ninety he had dropped to fifty. Frowning, not wanting to catch up and not knowing why, Peter slowed even more himself. The speedometer of Deirdres car dropped down toward forty.

Peter? Mary sounded alarmed. Peter, I dont like this.