The Waste Lands by Stephen King
That little s-shape at the end of the last notch is the secret, he thought. He stepped under the awning of Tom and Gerry's Artistic Deli and inserted the key in the lock. It turned easily. He opened the door and stepped through into a huge open field. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the traffic on Second Avenue hurrying by, and then the door slammed shut and fell over. There was nothing behind it. Nothing at all. He turned back to survey his new surroundings, and what he saw filled him with terror at first. The field was a deep scarlet, as if some titanic battle had been fought here and the ground had been drenched with so much blood that it could not all be absorbed.
Then he realized that it was not blood he was looking at, but roses.
That feeling of mingled joy and triumph surged through him again, swelling his heart until he felt it might burst within him. He raised his clenched fists high over his head in a gesture of victory . . . and then froze that way.
The field stretched on for miles, climbing a gentle slope of land, and standing at the horizon was the Dark Tower. It was a pillar of dumb stone rising so high into the sky that he could barely discern its tip. Its base, surrounded by red, shouting roses, was formidable, titanic with weight and size, yet the Tower became oddly graceful as it rose and tapered. The stone of which it had been made was not black, as he had imagined it would be, but soot-colored. Narrow, slitted windows marched about it in a rising spiral; below the windows ran an almost endless flight of stone stairs, circling up and up. The Tower was a dark gray exclamation point planted in the earth and rising above the field of blood-red roses. The sky arched above it was blue, but filled with puffy white clouds like sailing ships. They flowed above and around the top of the Dark Tower in an endless stream.
How gorgeous it is! Eddie marvelled. How gorgeous and strange! But his feeling of joy and triumph had departed; he was left with a sense of deep malaise and impending doom. He looked about him and realized with sudden horror that he was standing in the shadow of the Tower. No, not just standing in it; buried alive in it.
He cried out but his cry was lost in the golden blast of some tremendous horn. It came from the top of the Tower, and seemed to fill the world. As that note of warning held and drew out over the field where he stood, blackness welled from the windows which girdled the Tower. It overspilled them and spread across the sky in flaggy streams which came together and formed a growing blotch of darkness. It did not look like a cloud; it looked like a tumor hanging over the earth. The sky was blotted out. And, he saw, it was not a cloud or a tumor but a shape, some tenebrous, cyclopean shape racing toward the place where he stood. It would do no good to run from that beast coalescing in the sky above the field of roses; it would catch him, clutch him, and bear him away. Into the Dark Tower it would bear him, and the world of light would see him no more.
Rents formed in the darkness and terrible inhuman eyes, each easily the size of the bear Shardik which lay dead in the forest, peered down at him. They were red--red as roses, red as blood.
Jack Andolini's dead voice hammered in his ears: A thousand worlds, Eddie--ten thousand!--and that train rolls through every one. If you can get it started. And if you do get it started, your troubles are only beginning, because this device is a real bastard to shut down.
Jack's voice had become mechanical, chanting. A real bastard to shut down, Eddie boy, you better believe it, this bastard is--
"--SHUTTLING DOWN! SHUTDOWN WILL BE COMPLETE IN ONE HOUR AND SIX MINUTES!"
In his dream, Eddie threw his hands up to shield his eyes . . .
20
. . . AND WOKE, SITTING BOLT upright beside the dead campfire. He was looking at the world from between his own spread fingers. And still that voice rolled on and on, the voice of some heartless SWAT Squad commander bellowing through a bullhorn.
"THERE IS NO DANGER! REPEAT, THERE IS NO DANGER! FIVE SUBNUCLEAR CELLS ARE DORMANT, TWO SUBNUCLEAR CELLS ARE NOW IN SHUTDOWN PHASE, ONE SUBNUCLEAR CELL IS OPERATING AT TWO PER CENT CAPACITY. THESE CELLS ARE OF NO VALUE! REPEAT, THESE CELLS ARE OF NO VALUE! REPORT LOCATION TO NORTH CENTRAL POSITRONICS, LIMITED! CALL 1-900-44! THE CODE WORD FOR THIS DEVICE IS 'SHARDIK.' REWARD IS OFFERED! REPEAT, REWARD IS OFFERED!"
The voice fell silent. Eddie saw Roland standing at the edge of the clearing, holding Susannah in the crook of one arm. They were staring toward the sound of the voice, and as the recorded announcement began again, Eddie was finally able to shake off the chill remnants of his nightmare. He got up and joined Roland and Susannah, wondering how many centuries it had been since that announcement, programmed to broadcast only in the event of a total system breakdown, had been recorded.
"THIS DEVICE IS SHUTTING DOWN! SHUTDOWN WILL BE COMPLETE IN ONE HOUR AND FIVE MINUTES! THERE IS NO DANGER! REPEAT--"
Eddie touched Susannah's arm and she looked around. "How long has this been going on?"
"About fifteen minutes. You were dead to the w--" She broke off. "Eddie, you look terrible! Are you sick?"
"No. I just had a bad dream."
Roland was studying him in a way that made Eddie feel uncomfortable. "Sometimes there's truth in dreams, Eddie. What was yours?"
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't remember."
"You know, I doubt that."
Eddie shrugged and favored Roland with a thin smile. "Doubt away, then--be my guest. And how are you this morning, Roland?"
"The same," Roland said. His faded blue eyes still conned Eddie's face.
"Stop it," Susannah said. Her voice was brisk, but Eddie caught an undertone of nervousness. "Both of you. I got better things to do than watch you two dance around and kick each other's shins like a couple of little kids playin Two for Flinching. Specially this morning, with that dead bear trying to yell down the whole world."
The gunslinger nodded, but kept his eyes on Eddie. "All right . . . but are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me, Eddie?"
He thought about it then--really thought about telling. What he had seen in the fire, what he had seen in his dream. He decided against it. Perhaps it was only the memory of the rose in the fire, and the roses which had blanketed that dream-field in such fabulous profusion. He knew he could not tell these things as his eyes had seen them and his heart had felt them; he could only cheapen them. And, at least for the time being, he wanted to ponder these things alone.
But remember, he told himself again . . . except the voice in his mind didn't sound much like his own. It seemed deeper, older--the voice of a stranger. Remember the rose . . . and the shape of the key.
"I will," he murmured.
"You will what?" Roland asked.
"Tell," Eddie said. "If anything comes up that seems, you know, really important, I'll tell you. Both of you. Right now there isn't. So if we're going somewhere, Shane, old buddy, let's saddle up."
"Shane? Who is this Shane?"
"I'll tell you that some other time, too. Meantime, let's go."
They packed the gear they had brought with them from the old campsite and headed back, Susannah riding in her wheelchair again. Eddie had an idea she wouldn't be riding in it for long.
21
ONCE, BEFORE EDDIE HAD become too interested in the subject of heroin to be interested in much else, he and a couple of friends had driven over to New Jersey to see a couple of speed-metal groups--Anthrax and Megadeth--in concert at the Meadowlands. He believed that Anthrax had been slightly louder than the repeating announcement coming from the fallen bear, but he wasn't a hundred per cent sure. Roland stopped them while they were still half a mile from the clearing in the woods and tore six small scraps of cloth from his old shirt. They stuffed them in their ears and then went on. Even the cloth didn't do much to deaden the steady blast of sound.
"THIS DEVICE IS SHUTTING DOWN!" the bear blared as they stepped into the clearing again. It lay as it had lain, at the foot of the tree Eddie had climbed, a fallen Colossus with its legs apart and its knees in the air, like a furry female giant who had died trying to give birth. "SH
Yes, there is, Eddie thought, picking up the scattered hides which had not been shredded in either the bear's attack or its flailing death-throes. Plenty of danger. To my fucking ears. He picked up Roland's gunbelt and silently handed it over. The chunk of wood he had been working on lay nearby; he grabbed it and tucked it into the pocket in the back of Susannah's wheelchair as the gunslinger slowly buckled the wide leather belt around his waist and cinched the rawhide tiedown.
"--IN SHUTDOWN PHASE, ONE SUBNUCLEAR CELL OPERATING AT ONE PER CENT CAPACITY. THESE CELLS--"
Susannah followed Eddie, holding in her lap a carryall bag she had sewn herself. As Eddie handed her the hides, she stuffed them into the bag. When all of them were stored away, Roland tapped Eddie on the arm and handed him a shoulderpack. What it contained mostly was deermeat, heavily salted from a natural lick Roland had found about three miles up the little creek. The gunslinger had already donned a similar pack. His purse--restocked and once again bulging with all sorts of odds and ends--hung from his other shoulder.
A strange, home-made harness with a seat of stitched deerskin dangled from a nearby branch. Roland plucked it off, studied it for a moment, and then draped it over his back and knotted the straps below his chest. Susannah made a sour face at this, and Roland saw it. He did not try to speak--this close to the bear, he couldn't have made himself heard even by shouting at the top of his voice--but he shrugged sympathetically and spread his hands: You know we'll need it.
She shrugged back. I know . . . but that doesn't mean I like it.
The gunslinger pointed across the clearing. A pair of leaning, splintered spruce trees marked the place where Shardik, who had once been known as Mir in these parts, had entered the clearing.
Eddie leaned toward Susannah, made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, then raised his eyebrows interrogatively. Okay?
She nodded, then pressed the heels of her palms against her ears. Okay--but let's get out of here before I go deaf.
The three of them moved across the clearing, Eddie pushing Susannah, who held the bag of hides in her lap. The pocket in the back of her wheelchair was stuffed with other items; the piece of wood with the slingshot still mostly hidden inside it was only one of them.
From behind them the bear continued to roar out its final communication to the world, telling them shutdown would be complete in forty minutes. Eddie couldn't wait. The broken spruces leaned in toward each other, forming a rude gate, and Eddie thought: This is where the quest for Roland's Dark Tower really begins, at least for us.
He thought of his dream again--the spiraling windows issuing their unfurling flags of darkness, flags which spread over the field of roses like a stain--and as they passed beneath the leaning trees, a deep shudder gripped him.
22
THEY WERE ABLE TO use the wheelchair longer than Roland had expected. The firs of this forest were very old, and their spreading branches had created a deep carpet of needles which discouraged most undergrowth. Susannah's arms were strong--stronger than Eddie's, although Roland did not think that would be true much longer--and she wheeled herself along easily over the level, shady forest floor. When they came to one of the trees the bear had pushed over, Roland lifted her out of the chair and Eddie boosted it over the obstacle.
From behind them, only a little deadened by distance, the bear told them, at the top of its mechanical voice, that the capacity of its last operating nuclear subcell was now negligible.
"I hope you keep that damn harness lying empty over your shoulders all day!" Susannah shouted at the gunslinger.
Roland agreed, but less than fifteen minutes later the land began to slope downward and this old section of the forest began to be invaded with smaller, younger trees: birch, alder, and a few stunted maples scrabbling grimly in the soil for purchase. The carpet of needles thinned and the wheels of Susannah's chair began to catch in the low, tough bushes which grew in the alleys between the trees. Their thin branches boinged and rattled in the stainless steel spokes. Eddie threw his weight against the handles and they were able to go on for another quarter of a mile that way. Then the slope began to grow more steep, and the ground underfoot became mushy.
"Time for a pig-back, lady," Roland said.
"Let's try the chair a little longer, what do you say? Going might get easier--"
Roland shook his head. "If you try that hill, you'll . . . what did you call it, Eddie? . . . do a dugout?"
Eddie shook his head, grinning. "It's called doing a doughnut, Roland. A term from my misspent sidewalk-surfing days."
"Whatever you call it, it means landing on your head. Come on, Susannah. Up you come."
"I hate being a cripple," Susannah said crossly, but allowed Eddie to hoist her out of the chair and worked with him to seat herself firmly in the harness Roland wore on his back. Once she was in place, she touched the butt of Roland's pistol. "Y'all want this baby?" she asked Eddie.
He shook his head. "You're faster. And you know it, too."
She grunted and adjusted the belt, settling the gun-butt so it was easily accessible to her right hand. "I'm slowing you boys down and I know that . . . but if we ever make it to some good old two-lane blacktop, I'll leave the both of you kneelin in the blocks."
"I don't doubt it," Roland said . . . and then cocked his head. The woods had fallen silent.
"Br'er Bear has finally given up," Susannah said. "Praise God."
"I thought it still had seven minutes to go," Eddie said.
Roland adjusted the straps of the harness. "Its clock must have started running a little slow during the last five or six hundred years."
"You really think it was that old, Roland?"
Roland nodded. "At least. And now it's passed . . . the last of the Twelve Guardians, for all we know."
"Yeah, ask me if I give a shit," Eddie replied, and Susannah laughed.
"Are you comfortable?" Roland asked her.
"No. My butt hurts already, but go on. Just try not to drop me."
Roland nodded and started down the slope. Eddie followed, pushing the empty chair and trying not to bang it too badly on the rocks which had begun to jut out of the ground like big white knuckles. Now that the bear had finally shut up, he thought the forest seemed much too quiet--it almost made him feel like a character in one of those hokey old jungle movies about cannibals and giant apes.
23
THE BEAR'S BACKTRAIL WAS easy to find but tougher to follow. Five miles or so out of the clearing, it led them through a low, boggy area that was not quite a swamp. By the time the ground began to rise and firm up a little again, Roland's faded jeans were soaked to the knees and he was breathing in long, steady rasps. Still, he was in slightly better shape than Eddie, who had found wrestling Susannah's wheelchair through the muck and standing water hard going.
"Time to rest and eat something," Roland said.
"Oh boy, gimme eats," Eddie puffed. He helped Susannah out of the harness and set her down on the bole of a fallen tree with claw-marks slashed into its trunk in long diagonal grooves. Then he half-sat, half-collapsed next to her.
"You got my wheelchair pretty muddy, white boy," Susannah said. "It's all goan be in my repote."
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Next carwash we come to, I'll push you through myself. I'll even Turtle-wax the goddamn thing. Okay?"
She smiled. "You got a date, handsome."
Eddie had one of Roland's waterskins cinched around his waist. He tapped it. "Okay?"
"Yes," Roland said. "Not too much now; a little more for all of us before we set out again. That way no one takes a cramp."
"Roland, Eagle Scout of Oz," Eddie said, and giggled as he unslung the waterskin.
"What is this Oz?"
"A make-believe place in a movie," Susannah said.
"Oz was a lot more than that. My brother Henry used to read me the stories once in a while. I'll tell you one some night, Roland."
"T
"Oz isn't our world, though. Like Susannah said, it's a make-believe place--"
Roland handed them chunks of meat which had been wrapped in broad leaves of some sort. "The quickest way to learn about a new place is to know what it dreams of. I would hear of this Oz."
"Okay, that's a date, too. Suze can tell you the one about Dorothy and Toto and the Tin Woodman, and I'll tell you all the rest." He bit into his piece of meat and rolled his eyes approvingly. It had taken the flavor of the leaves in which it had been rolled, and was delicious. Eddie wolfed his ration, stomach gurgling busily all the while. Now that he was getting his breath back, he felt good--great, in fact. His body was growing a solid sheath of muscle, and every part of it felt at peace with every other part.
Don't worry, he thought. Everything will be arguing again by tonight. I think he's gonna push on until I'm ready to drop in my tracks.
Susannah ate more delicately, chasing every second or third bite with a little sip of water, turning the meat in her hands, eating from the outside in. "Finish what you started last night," she invited Roland. "You said you thought you understood these conflicting memories of yours."
Roland nodded. "Yes. I think both memories are true. One is a little truer than the other, but that does not negate the truth of that other."
"Makes no sense to me," Eddie said. "Either this boy Jake was at the way station or he wasn't, Roland."
"It is a paradox--something that is and isn't at the same time. Until it's resolved, I will continue divided. That's bad enough, but the basic split is widening. I can feel that happening. It is . . . unspeakable."
"What do you think caused it?" Susannah asked.
"I told you the boy was pushed in front of a car. Pushed. Now, who do we know who liked to push people in front of things?"
Understanding dawned in her face. "Jack Mort. Do you mean he was the one who pushed this boy into the street?"
"Yes."
"But you said the man in black did it," Eddie objected. "Your buddy Walter. You said that the boy saw him--a man who looked like a priest. Didn't the kid even hear him say he was? 'Let me through, I'm a priest,' something like that?"