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The moment stretched 。。。
Then he heard the footsteps ing； into the trailer and right down the hall。 He understood who the laughter was aimed at。 Understood that there was no hope。 The certain knowledge froze him in the middle of the floor； staring up at the flimsy door。 The only way out。 Or in 。。。
Then the door blew open like balsa wood and Boonie's universe pivoted on its swollen axis。 He fell back； creeching； as light flooded the room。 Peeling back the balming darkness。
Forcing him to see。
It was little Drew： back from the dead； and oh my how he'd grown。 A little bit taller。 An awful lot greener。 And more than twice as big around。 When he waddled in…scrawny legs straining against the tonnage…it was Drew's slick red gargantuan belly that attracted and held Boonie's gaze。
It had a vertical full…length abdominal mouth as its centerpiece。 The mouth was working。 Toothy jaws of splintered rib gnashed and worried the stripped…down skull of Otis； which danced in the makeshift maw like a football helmet in a slow…motion spin cycle。
Drew was dragging big wet graymeat hunks of his uncle behind him。 Bit by bit； he fed them in。 Absorbing their essence。
Merging them； too； with Overmind。
Boonie retreated as Drew advanced： a psychotic pushmepullyou with no strings of tissue attached。 Something about it must have looked funny as all hell； because Drew simply could not stop laughing。
Somehow； the humor eluded Boonie。
Until he saw himself in the mirror。
〃Ehn；〃 he said； too stunned to speak； even if his face； throat； and lungs had been capable。 〃Eh…hen。〃 Goggling at the new Boonie view。
〃Eh…HEH hen…hen…hen。〃 Actually chuckling a little； marveling at the misshapen contours； the massive tumorous topography his features had bee。 At least a dozen mottled golfballs of pus jutted out from his greasy post…Elvis plexion。
But it wasn't until his tumors stared back that the full humor of his situation struck him。 Dozens of tiny eyelids fluttered awake； stared with infantile alertness at the brave new world before them。 Boonie's vision went from three to fifty…three dimensions in a hallucinogenic instant。 The fact that Drew refused to stop giggling only tossed phosphorus onto the fire。
〃Eh…hen hon hum hen hee…ee…ee；〃 Boonie persisted； astonished。 Mounting。 〃Eh…hurn hen HEE HEE HEE 。。。 ！〃
Once he got started； it was impossible to stop。
And； my； how time flies when you're having fun。
Twenty…Eight
At a quarter to two； Micki was still waiting in the Labor Hall lounge set aside for that purpose。 There was an antsy young workingman plunked down on the Naugahyde sectional across from her； staring anxiously up at the low…rezz whuffling on the TV screen。
Evidently； she noted； not all men were up to their part in the birthing experience。 From the look on his face； he'd much rather have been home； watching the game 。。。
Don't be a bitch； Bob…Ramtha chided。 You know he's probably scared to death。
〃So what。〃 Voice barely above a whisper。 〃Who isn't。〃
Exactly。 And look what a sister of mercy it's made of you。
She started to counter； restrained herself。 Partly because the young poppa…to…be was furtively scoping her out for brain damage； but mostly because Bobba； damn his absence of hide； was right again。 And it wasn't just for Gwen and her beautiful baby。
Micki Bridges was terrified of hospitals。
〃Ouch。〃 She turned away from the guy； cupped one hand loose over her mouth。 〃I'm not dealing with this very well； am I？〃
Nope。
〃I'm sorry。〃
Okay。 Now stop it。
She cringed。 〃Easier said than done。〃
As a child； her fear had been sheerly instinctive。 The hollow； echoing corridors。 The sterile； unnatural smells。 The chilly aura of suffering and death that no amount of antiseptic could possibly dispel。 Even then； she'd been unable to screen out its reek from her perception。
But if she needed reasons beyond that； the years had most assuredly provided them。 Watching her father's five…year losing battle with leukemia。 Watching her mother's relatively merciful （by parison） three…day flirtation with hope； before succumbing to stroke。
And then； for the coup de grace； her own little dark descent into the bowels of the medical biz。 The endless tests。 The surgery。 The drugsdrugsdrugs。 The lonely nights spent spitting up and crying； as her hair fell out from the chemo and her skin scorched red from the radiation。 The merciless assault on her body and spirit； till she wasn't sure which side of the coin was worse： the treatment or the disease。
And then Bob…Ramtha had e； filling the chasm that her agony had eroded within her； returning the faith that she'd dropped in her terror。 Most of all； urging her to listen to her body。
Don't resist understanding； he said now。 It'sthe best friend you have。 Your cancer's at the heart of your fear。 Go talk with it。 That's my advice。
〃You gonna talk me down？〃
Of course。
〃And hold my hand？〃
You bet。
〃Okay。〃 The word was a whisper。
She closed her eyes。
Breathing first； he said； and she immediately applied the technique： slow； deep； and thorough breaths； massaging oxygen into tension…constricted tissue。
Identify the points of stress； he continued。 Don't proceed until you've worked them through。 She felt herself nod； though her body was still。 Felt herself from the inside。
In full body awareness。
First； the head： exploring the streamers of agitation draped across her brow； strung taut from temple to temple and around the backs of her eyes。 She could visualize the musculature embracing the skull； pinpoint in minutiae the fault lines of distress。 Some of them were shifting； less than temporal： neurotic phantom twinges； playing mischievous； humorless pranks。
But then there were other； more persuasive pains： sometimes encroaching； sometimes receding； but ever…persistent and consistent enough to convince her of their genuine existence。 Like the dull Chiclet…sized whum of pain in her temple； for example。 She'd never figured out what it meant； but she'd felt it enough to believe in it。
That's right； he told her。 Listen to your body。 It will lie and confuse you as much as it can； but its job is to tell you the truth。 If you probe each response； without backing away； you will find yourself there。
At the essence。
Spreading out over and in through the body； reaching through feet and hands。 Reading the knots in her shoulders and back； like exotic coral reef formations。 Isolating not only the stress points； but also the vast expanses of hard…won healthiness within her。
Quietly； methodically； Micki circled in。
On the source of both her life 。。。
。。。 and her pain 。。。
a vision deep at the womancore root of her being a fertile fecund tropical rainforest of spirit lush with diversity poly… and pantheistic multifaceted vision of a pagan wonderland in which all things might grow reinforcing encouraging enabling life abiding all things except there was a problem and it was the seed
Micki breathed deeply； unconsciously pausing。 She always did at this point； her awareness teetering as if at the tip of the continental shelf。 She was up at the invisible line of demarcation that marked the darker side of her soul。
It was time to go over the edge。
and it was the seed that lay dormant inside her dormant but waiting buried but never forgotten no way to forget the black undying gem nestled in her belly like a watermelon seed a hard flat cutting wedge held at bay by therapy and sheerest force of will driving it back refusing it purchase pressing its essence in self…defense no possible promise with the killing thing that knows no bounds no possible deal with the one life form that knows not how to coexist corrupting health debasing shape overwhelming and devouring the garden no deal with the cancer that poisons the well no path but resistance containment benign transmutation eternal vigilance unshakeable love affirmation of life plete and mitted to healing no other choice but death and worse no other choice at all
The double doors whammed open； slapping Micki out of her trance。 She looked up； stunned； at the entourage。
As they hustled the blue…faced woman in。
She was on a gurney； moving fast； and the orderly that pushed it looked utterly wired。 He had the kind of face that looked like it didn't wire easy； and that just made it worse。
But not as bad as the man beside them： the wet…faced； dead…eyed； blubbering man that kept pace with the gurney。 He was； Micki guessed； the woman's husband； and he looked like he'd just been served up a plate of his own intestines。
Because the woman on the gurney was death…rattling foam； glazed eyes sightless in her cyanotic face。 She twitched once； twice as she passed before Micki。 Involuntary spasms。
And her belly was huge。
〃Oh； God；〃 Micki whispered as they rumbled past； near…colliding with Melissa at the nurse's station。 〃Oh； God；〃 as a pair of nurses…now wired as well…led the charge to the nearest room。 〃Please don't let Gwen hear about this。〃
As the door slammed shut behind them。
The woman's name was Pat Holtzaple。