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Grace Methodist Church would that Sunday elucidate on the topic 〃God Speaks to Each of Us Every Day〃…with a text from First Corinthians。 Her father had laughed over that so hard that tears had squirted from the corners of his eyes。 Well； I guess each of us hears someone talking； he had said at last； and you can bet your bottom dollar on one thing； sweetie： each of us…includ…ing this here Reverend Murdock…hears that voice say just exactly what he wants to hear。 It's so convenient that way。
What these people had apparently wanted to hear in the recorded drum…track was an invitation to mit ritual murder。 And now； when the drums began to throb through these hundreds or thousands of speak…ers…a hammering back…beat which was only the percussion to a Z。Z。 Top song called 〃Velcro Fly；〃 if Eddie was right…it became their signal to unlimber the hangropes and run a few folks up the nearest speaker…posts。
How many？ she wondered as Eddie rolled her along in her wheel…chair； its nicked and dented hard rubber tires crackling over broken glass and whispering through drifts of discarded paper。 How many have been killed over the years because some electronic circuit under the city got the hiccups？ Did it start because they recognized the essential alienness of the music； which came somehow…like us； and the airplane； and some of the cars along these streetsfrom another world？
She didn't know； but she knew she had e around to her father's cynical point of view on the subject of God and the chats He might or might not have with the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve。 These people had been looking for a reason to slaughter each other； that was all； and the drums had been as good a reason as any。
She found herself thinking of the hive they had found…the mis…shapen hive of white bees whose honey would have poisoned them if they had been foolish enough to eat of it。 Here； on this side of the Send； was another dying hive； more mutated white bees whose sting would be no less deadly for their confusion； loss； and perplexity。
And how many more will have to die before the tape finally breaks？
As if her thoughts had caused it to happen； the speakers suddenly began to transmit the relentless； syncopated heartbeat of the drums。 Eddie yelled in surprise。 Susannah screamed and clapped both hands to her ears…but before she did； she could faintly hear the rest of the music： the track or tracks which had been muted decades ago when someone （probably quite by accident） had bumped the balance control； knocking it all the way to one side and burying both the guitars and the vocal。
Eddie continued to push her along The Street of the Turtle and the Path of the Beam； trying to look in all directions at once and trying not to smell the odor of putrefaction。 Thank God for the wind； he thought。
He began to push the wheelchair faster； scanning the weedy gaps between the big white buildings for the graceful sweep of an overhead monorail track。 He wanted to get out of this endless aisle of the dead。 As he took yet another deep breath of that speciously sweet cinnamon smell； it seemed to him that he had never wanted anything so badly in his whole life。
19
JAKE'S DAZE WAS BROKEN abruptly when Gasher grabbed him by the collar and yanked with all the force of a cruel rider braking a galloping horse。 He stuck one leg out at the same time and Jake went crashing backward over it。 His head connected with the pavement and for a moment all the lights went out。 Gasher； no humanitarian； brought him around quickly by seizing Jake's lower lip and yanking it upward and outward。
Jake screamed and bolted to a sitting position； striking out blindly with his fists。 Gasher dodged the blows easily； hooked his other hand into Jake's armpit； and yanked him to his feet。 Jake stood there； rocking drunkenly back and forth。 He was beyond protest now； almost beyond understanding。 All he knew for sure was that every muscle in his body felt sprung and his wounded hand was howling like an animal caught in a trap。
Gasher apparently needed a breather； and this time he was slower getting his wind back。 He stood bent over with his hands planted on the knees of his green trousers； panting in fast little whistling breaths。 His yellow headscarf had slipped askew。 His good eye glittered like a trum…pery diamond。 The white silk eyepatch was now wrinkled； and curds of evil…looking yellow muck oozed onto his cheek from beneath it。
〃Take a look over your head； cully； and you'll see why I brung you up short。 Get an eyeful！〃
Jake tilted his head upward； and in the depths of his shock he was not at all surprised to see a marble fountain as big as a house…trailer dangling eighty feet above them。 He and Gasher were almost below it。 The fountain was held suspended by two rusty cables which were mostly hidden within huge； unsteady stacks of church pews。 Even in his less…than…acute state； Jake saw that these cables were more seriously frayed than the remaining hangers on the bridge had been。
〃See it？〃 Gasher asked； grinning。 He raised his left hand to his covered eye； scooped a mass of the pussy material from beneath it； and flicked it indifferently aside。 〃Beauty； ain't it？ Oh； the Tick…Tock Man's a trig cove； all right； and no mistake。 （Where's those goat…fucking drums？ They should have started by now…if Copperhead's forgot em； I'll ram a stick so far up his arse he'll taste bark。） Now look ahead of you； my delicious little squint。〃
Jake did； and Gasher immediately clouted him so hard that he stag…gered backward and almost fell。
〃Not across； idiot child！ Down！ See them two dark cobblestones？〃
After a moment； Jake did。 He nodded apathetically。
〃Yer don't wanter step on em； for that'd bring the whole works down on your head； cully； and anybody who wanted yer after that'd have to pick yer up with a blotter。 Understand？〃
Jake nodded again。
〃Good。〃 Gasher took a final deep breath and slapped Jake's shoulder。 〃Go on； then； whatcher waitin for？ Hup！〃
Jake stepped over the first of the discolored stones and saw it wasn't really a cobblestone at all but a metal plate which had been rounded to look like one。 The second was just ahead of it； cunningly placed so that if an unaware intruder happened to miss the first one； he or she would almost certainly step on the second。
Go ahead and do it； then； he thought。 Why not？ The gunslinger's never going to find you in this maze； so go ahead and bring it down。 It's got to be cleaner than what Gasher and his friends have got planned for you。 Quicker； too。
His dusty moccasin wavered in the air above the booby…trap。
Gasher hit him with a fist in the middle of the back； but not hard。 〃Thinkin about takin a ride on the handsome； are you； my little cull？〃 he asked。 The laughing cruelty in his voice had been replaced by simple curiosity。 If it was tinged with any other emotion； it wasn't fear but amusement。 〃Well； go ahead； if it's what yer mean to do； for I have my ticket already。 Only be quick about it； gods blast your eyes。〃
Jake's foot came down beyond the trigger of the booby…trap。 His decision to live a little longer was not based on any hope that Roland would find him； it was just that this was what Roland would do…go on until someone made him stop； and then a few yards farther still if he could。
If he did it now； he could take Gasher with him； but Gasher alone wasn't sufficient…one look was enough to make it clear that he was telling the truth when he said he was dying already。 If he went on； he might have a chance to take some of the Gasherman's friends； too…maybe even the one he called the Tick…Tock Man。
If I'm going to ride what he calls the handsome； Jake thought； I'd just as soon go with plenty of pany。
Roland would have understood。
20
JAKE WAS WRONG IN his assessment of the gunslinger's ability to follow their path through the maze； Jake's pack was only the most obvious bit of sign they left behind them； but Roland quickly realized he did not have to pause to look for sign。 He only had to follow Oy。
He paused at several intersecting passages nevertheless； wanting to make sure； and each time he did； Oy looked back and uttered his low； impatient bark that seemed to say； Hurry up！ Do you want to lose them？ After the signs he saw…a track； a thread from Jake's shirt； a scrap of bright yellow cloth from Gasher's scarf…had three times confirmed the bumbler's choices； Roland simply followed Oy。 He did not give up look…ing for sign； but he quit making stops to hunt for it。 Then the drums started up； and it was the drums…plus Gasher's nosiness about what Jake might be carrying…that saved Roland's life that afternoon。
He skidded to a halt in his dusty boots； and his gun was in his hand before he realized what the sound was。 When he did realize； he dropped the revolver back into its holster with an impatient grunt。 He was about to go on again when his eye happened first on Jake's pack 。 。 。 and then on a pair of faint； gleaming streaks in midair just to the left of it。 Roland narrowed his eyes and made out two thin wires which crisscrossed at knee level not three feet in front of him。 Oy； who was built low to the ground； had scurried neatly through the inverted V formed by the wires； but if not for the drums and spotting Jake's castoff pack； Roland would have run right into them。 As his eyes moved upward； tracing the not…quite…random piles of junk poised on either side of the passageway at this point； Roland's mouth tightened。 It had been a close call； and only ka had saved him。
Oy barked impatiently。
Roland dropped to his belly and crawled beneath the wires； moving slowly and carefully…he was bigger than either Jake or Gasher； and he realized a really big man wouldn't be able to get under here at all without triggering the carefully prepared avalanche。 The drums pumped and thumped in his ears。 I wonder if they've all gone mad； he thought。 If I had to listen to that every day； I think I would have。
He got to the far side of the wires； picked up the pack； and looked inside。 Jake's books and a few items of clothing were still in there； so were the treasures he had picked up along the way…a rock which gleamed with yellow flecks that looked like gold but weren't； an arrow…head； probably the leaving of the old forest folk； which Jake had found in a grove of trees the day after his drawing； some coins from his own world； his father's sunglasses； a few other things which only a boy not yet in his teens could really love and understand。 Things he would want back again 。。。 if； that was； Roland got to him before Gasher and his friends could change him； hurt him in ways that would cause him to lose interest in the innocent pursuits and curiosities of pre…adolescent boyhood。
Gasher's grinning face swam into Roland's mind like the face of a demon or a djinni from a bottle： the snaggle teeth； the vacant eyes； the mandrus crawling over the cheeks and spreading beneath the stubbly lines of the jaws。 If you hurt him 。。。 he thought； and then forced his mind away； because that line of thought was a blind alley。 If Gasher hurt the boy （Jake！ his mind insisted fiercely…Not just the boy but Jake！ Jake！）； Roland would kill him； yes。 But the act would mean nothing； for Gasher was a dead man already。
The gunslinger lengthened the straps of the pack； marvelling at the clever buckles which made this possible； slipped it onto his own back； and stood up again。 Oy turned to be off； but Roland called his name and the bumbler looked back。
〃To me； Oy。〃 Roland didn't know if the bumbler could understand （or if he would obey even if he did）； but it would be better…safer…if he stayed close。 Where there was one booby…trap； there were apt to be more。 Next time Oy might not be so lucky。
〃Ake！〃 Oy barked； not moving。 The bark was assertive； but Roland thought he saw more of the truth about how Oy felt in his eyes： they were dark with fear。
〃Yes； but it's dangerous；〃 Roland said。 〃To me； Oy。〃
Back the way they had e； there was a thud as something heavy fell； probably dislodged by the punishing vibration of the drums。 Roland could now see speaker…poles here and there； poking out of the wreckage like strange long…necked animals。
Oy trotte