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ut。 Nor THE Boy； either。
The drone was closer now。 The car was ing up the hill； but 。。。 was it a car？ Or a giant bee or wasp e to batten on him； to sting him； to make his pain even worse？
Better wait and see。
Cujo slunk under the porch； where he had often spent hot summer days in the past。 It was drifted sleep with the decaying autumn leaves of other years； leaves which released a smell he had thought incredibly sweet and pleasant in those same other years。 Now the smell seemed immense and cloying； suffocating and well…nigh unbearable。 He growled at the smell and began to slobber foam again。 If a dog could kill a scent； Cujo would have killed this one。
The drone was very close now。 And then a car was turning into the driveway。 A car with blue sides and a white roof and lights on the top。
'Me one thing George Bannerman had been least prepared to me when he turned into Joe Camber's dooryard was the Pinto belonging to the missing woman。 He was not a stupid man； and while he would have been impatient with Andy Masen's point…to…point kind of logic （he had dealt with the horror of Frank Dodd and understood that sometimes there was no logic）；he arrived at his own mostly solid conclusions in much the same way； if on a more subconscious level。 And he agreed with Masen's belief that it was highly unlikely the Trenton woman and her son would be here。 But the car was here； anyway。
Bannerman grabbed for the mike hung under his dashboard and then decided to check the car first。 From this angle； directly behind the Pinto； it was impossible to see if anyone was in there or not。 The backs of the bucket seats were a bit too high； and both Tad and Donna had slumped down in their sleep。
Bannerman got out of the cruiser and slammed the door behind him。 Before he had gotten two steps； he saw the entire driver's side window was a buckled mass of shatter…shot cracks。 His heart began to beat harder； and his hand went to the butt of his 。38 Police Special。
Cujo stared out at THE MAN from the blue car with rising hate。 It was this MAN who had caused all his pain； he felt sure of it。 THE MAN had caused the pain in his joints and the high； rotten singing in his head； it was THE MAN's fault that the drift of old leaves here beneath the porch now smelled putrescent； it was THE MAN's fault that he could not look at water without whining and shrinking away and wanting to kill it in spite of his great thirst。
A growl began somewhere deep in his heavy chest as his legs coded beneath him。 He could smell THE MAN his oil of sweat and excitement； the heavy meat set against his bones。 The growl deepened； then rose to a great and shattering cry of fury。 He sprang out from beneath the porch and charged at this awful MAN who had caused his pain。
During that first crucial moment； Bannerman didn't even hear Cujo's low； rising growl。 He had approached the Pinto closely enough to see a mass of hair lying against the driver's side window。 His first thought was that the woman must have been shot to death； but where was the bullet hole？ The glass looked as if it had been bludgeoned； not shot。
Then he saw the head move。 Not much … only slightly … but it had moved。 The woman was alive。 He stepped forward 。 。 and that was when Cujo's roar； followed by a volley of snarling barks came。 His first thought。
（Rusty？） was of his Irish setter； but he'd had Rusty put down four years ago； not long after the Frank Dodd thing。 And Rusty had never sounded like this； and for a second crucial moment； Bannerman was frozen in his tracks with a terribly； atavistic horror
He turned then； pulling his gun； and caught just a blurred glimpse of a dog … an incredibly big dog … launching itself into the air at him。 It struck him chest…high； driving him against the Pinto's hatchback。 He grunted。 His right hand was driven up and his wrist struck the chrome guttering of the hatchback hard。 His gun went flying。 It whirled over the top of the car； butt…for…barrel and butt…for…barrel； to land in the high weeds on the other side of the driveway。
The dog was biting him； and as Bannerman saw the first flowers of blood open on the front of his light blue shirt； he suddenly understood everything。 They'd e here； their car had seized up 。。。 and the dog had been here。 The dog hadn't been in Masen's neat little point…to…point analysis。
Bannerman grappled with it； trying to get his hands under the dog's muzzle and bring it up and out of his belly。 There was a sudden deep and numbing pain down there。 His shirt was in tatters down there。 Blood was pouring over his pants in a freshet。 He lurched forward and the dog drove him back with frightening force； drove him back against the Pinto with a thud that rocked the little car on its springs。
He found himself trying to remember if he and his wife had made love last night。
Crazy thing to be thinking。 Crazy
The dog bored in again。 Bannerman tried to dodge away but the dog anticipated him； it was grinning at him； and suddenly there was more pain that he had ever felt in his life。 It galvanized him。 Screaming； he got both hands under the dog's muzzle again and yanked it up。 For a moment； staring into those dark； crazed eyes； a swoony kind of horror came over him and he thought： Hello； Frank。 It's you； isn't it？ Was bell too hot for you？
Then Cujo was snapping at his fingers； tearing them； laying them open。 Bannerman forgot about Frank Dodd。 He forgot about everything but trying to save his life。 He tried to get his knee up； between him and the dog； and found he couldn't。 When he tried to raise his knee； the pain in his lower belly flared to a sheeting agony。
What's he done to me down there？ Oh my God； what's he done？ Vicky； Vicky
Then the driver's side door of the Pinto opened。 It was the woman。 He had looked at the family portrait Steve Kemp had stepped on and had seen a pretty； neatly coiffed woman； the sort you look at twice on the street； the second look being mildly speculative。 You saw a woman like that and you thought that her husband was lucky to have her in the kip。
This woman was a ruin。 The dog had been at her as well。 Her belly was streaked with dried blood。 One leg of her jeans had been chewed away； and there was a sopping bandage just over her knee。 But her face was the worst； it was like a hideous baked apple。 Her forehead had blistered and peeled。 Her lips were cracked and suppurating。 Her eyes were sunken in deep purple pouches of flesh。
The dog left Bannerman in a flash and advanced on the woman； stiff…legged and growling。 She retreated into the car and slammed the door。
（cruiser now got to call in got to call this in）
He turned and ran back to the cruiser。 The dog chased him but he outran it。 He slammed the door； grabbed the mike； and called for help； Code 3； officer needs assistance。 Help came。 The dog was shot。 They were all saved。
All of this happened in just three seconds； and only in George Bannerman's mind。 As he turned to go back to his police cruiser； his legs gave out and spilled him into the driveway。
（Oh Vicky what's be done to me down there？）
The world was all dazzling sun。 It was hard to see。 Bannerman scrambled； clawed at the gravel； and finally made it to his knees。 He looked down。 at himself and saw a thick gray rope of intestine hanging out of his tattered shirt。 His pants were soaked with blood to both knees。
Enough。 The dog had done enough to him down there。
Hold your guts in； Bannerman。 If you're stepping out； you're stepping out。 But not until you get to that fucking mike and call this in。 Hold your guts in and get on your big Pat feet
（the kid jesus her kid is her kid in there？）
That made him think of his own daughter； Katrina； who would be going into the seventh grade this year。 She was getting breasts now。 Being quite the little lady。 Piano lessons。 Wanted a horse。 There had been a day when； if she had crossed from the school to the library alone； Dodd would have had her instead of Mary Kate Hendrasen。 When
（move your ass）
Bannerman got to his feet。 Everything was sunshine and brightness and all his insides seemed to want to slip out of the hole the dog had torn in him。 The car。 The police radio。 Behind him； the dog was distracted； he was throwing himself crazily against the Pinto's buckled driver's side door again and again； barking and snarling。
Bannerman staggered toward the cruiser。 His face was as white as pie dough。 His lips were blue gray。 It was the biggest dog he had ever seen； and it had gutted him。 Gutted him； for Christ's sake； and why was everything so hot and bright？
His intestines were slipping through his fingers。
He reached the car door。 He could hear the radio under the dash； crackling out its message。 Should have called in first。 That's procedure。 You never argue with procedure； but if I'd believed that； I never would have called Smith in the Dodd case。 Vicky； Katrina； I'm sorry
The boy。 He had to get help for the boy。
He almost fell and grabbed the edge of the door for support。
And then he heard the dog ing for him and he began to scream again。 He tried to hurry。 If he could only get the door shut 。。。 oh； God； if only he could close the door before the dog got to him again 。。。 oh； God 。。。
（oh GOD）
Tad was screaming again； screaming and clawing at his face； whipping his head from sid