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- Темная башня: Стрелок
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- Стр. 59/63
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The
door
ripped
off
its
hinges
and
fell
straight
in
,
making
a
flat
handclap
.
Dust
puffed
up
from
the
floor
.
Men
,
women
,
and
children
charged
him
.
Spittle
and
stove
-
wood
flew
.
He
shot
his
guns
empty
and
they
fell
like
nine
-
pins
.
He
retreated
,
shoving
over
a
flour
barrel
,
rolling
it
at
them
,
into
the
barbershop
,
throwing
a
pan
of
boiling
water
that
contained
two
nicked
straight
-
razors
.
They
came
on
,
screaming
with
frantic
incoherency
.
From
somewhere
,
Sylvia
Pittston
exhorted
them
,
her
voice
rising
and
falling
on
blind
inflections
.
He
pushed
shells
into
hot
chambers
,
smelling
the
smells
of
shave
and
tonsure
,
smelling
his
own
flesh
as
the
calluses
at
the
tips
of
his
fingers
singed
.
He
went
through
the
back
door
and
onto
the
porch
.
The
flat
scrubland
was
at
his
back
now
,
flatly
denying
the
town
that
crouched
against
its
huge
haunch
.
Three
men
hustled
around
the
corner
,
with
large
betrayer
grins
on
their
faces
.
They
saw
him
,
saw
him
seeing
them
,
and
the
grins
curdled
in
the
second
before
he
mowed
them
down
.
A
woman
had
followed
them
,
howling
.
She
was
large
and
fat
and
known
to
the
patrons
of
Sheb
’
s
as
Aunt
Mill
.
The
gunslinger
blew
her
backwards
and
she
landed
in
a
whorish
sprawl
,
her
skirt
kinked
up
between
her
thighs
.
He
went
down
the
steps
and
walked
backwards
into
the
desert
,
ten
paces
,
twenty
.
The
back
door
of
the
barber
shop
flew
open
and
they
boiled
out
He
caught
a
glimpse
of
Sylvia
Pittston
.
He
opened
up
.
They
fell
in
squats
,
they
fell
backwards
,
they
tumbled
over
the
railing
into
the
dust
.
They
cast
no
shadows
in
the
deathless
purple
light
of
the
day
.
He
realized
he
was
screaming
.
He
had
been
scream
-
ing
all
along
.
His
eyes
felt
like
cracked
ball
bearings
.
His
balls
had
drawn
up
against
his
belly
.
His
legs
were
wood
.
His
ears
were
iron
.
The
guns
were
empty
and
they
boiled
at
him
,
transmogrified
into
an
Eye
and
a
Hand
,
and
he
stood
,
scream
-
ing
and
reloading
,
his
mind
far
away
and
absent
,
letting
his
hands
do
their
reloading
trick
.
Could
he
hold
up
a
hand
,
tell
them
he
had
spent
twenty
-
five
years
learning
this
trick
and
others
,
tell
them
of
the
guns
and
the
blood
that
had
blessed
them
?
Not
with
his
mouth
.
But
his
hands
could
speak
their
own
tale
.
They
were
in
throwing
range
as
he
finished
reloading
,
and
a
stick
struck
him
on
the
forehead
and
brought
blood
in
abraded
drops
.
In
two
seconds
they
would
be
in
gripping
distance
.
In
the
forefront
he
saw
Kennerly
;
Kennerly
’
s
younger
daughter
,
perhaps
eleven
;
Soobie
;
two
male
bar
-
flies
;
a
female
barfly
named
Amy
Feldon
.
He
let
them
all
have
it
,
and
the
ones
behind
them
.
Their
bodies
thumped
like
scarecrows
.
Blood
and
brains
flew
in
streamers
.
They
halted
for
a
moment
,
startled
,
the
mob
face
shivering
into
individual
,
bewildered
faces
.
A
man
ran
in
a
large
,
screaming
circle
.
A
woman
with
blisters
on
her
hands
turned
her
head
up
and
cackled
feverishly
at
the
sky
.
The
man
whom
he
had
first
seen
sitting
gravely
on
the
steps
of
the
mercantile
store
made
a
sudden
and
amazing
load
in
his
pants
.
He
had
time
to
reload
one
gun
.
Then
it
was
Sylvia
Pittston
,
running
at
him
,
waving
a
wooden
cross
in
each
hand
.
"
DEVIL
!
DEVIL
!
DEVIL
!
CHILD
-
KILLER
!
MONSTER
!
DESTROY
HIM
,
BROTHERS
AND
SISTERS
!
DESTROY
THE
CHILD
-
KILLING
INTERLOPER
!
"
