Salem's Lot - Stephen King [205]
‘The old-timers say this is where it started,’ Ben said. ‘Back in 1951. The wind was blowing from the west. They think maybe a guy got careless with a cigarette. One little cigarette. It took off across the Marshes and no one could stop it.’
Malls from his pocket, looked at the emblem thoughtfully-in hoc signo vinces-and then tore the cellophane off. He lit one and shook out the match. The cigarette tasted surprisingly good, although he had not smoked in months.
‘They have their places,’ he said. ‘But they could lose them. A lot of them could be killed… or destroyed. That’s a better word. But not all of them. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Mark said.
‘They’re not very bright. If they lose their hiding places, they’ll hide badly the second time. A couple of people just looking in obvious places could do well. Maybe it could be finished in ‘salem’s Lot by the time the first snow flew. Maybe it would never be finished. No guarantee, one way or the other. But without… something… to drive them out, to upset them, there would be no chance at all.’
‘Yes.’
‘It would be ugly and dangerous.’
‘I know that.’
‘But they say fire purifies,’ Ben said reflectively. ‘Purification should count for something, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ Mark said again.
Ben stood up. ‘We ought to go back.’
He flicked the smoldering cigarette into a pile of dead brush and old brittle leaves. The white ribbon of smoke rose thinly against the green background of junipers for two or three feet, and then was pulled apart by the wind. Twenty feet away, downwind, was a large, jumbled deadfall.
They watched the smoke, transfixed, fascinated.
It thickened. A tongue of flame appeared. A small popping noise issued from the pile of dead brush as twigs caught.
‘Tonight they won’t be running sheep or visiting farms.’ Ben said softly. ‘Tonight they’ll be on the run. And tomorrow-’
‘You and me,’ Mark said, and closed his fist. His face was no longer pale; bright color glowed there. His eye flashed.
They went back to the road and drove away
In the small clearing overlooking the power lines, the fire in the brush began to burn more strongly, urged by the autumn wind that blew from the west.
The End
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
Part One: THE MARSTEN HOUSE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Part Two: THE EMPEROR OF ICE CREAM
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Part Three: THE DESERTED VILLAGE
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
EPILOGUE