The Dark Tower

As they neared an intersection from whichpassages and tiled corridors rayed off in all directions, he felt her shiftagainst him, sitting up. “There!” she shouted. “That pile of rubble! We walkedaround that! We walked around that, Roland, I remember!”

Part of the ceiling had fallen into themiddle of the intersection, creating a jumble of broken tiles, smashed glass,snags of wire, and plain old dirt. Along the edge of it were tracks.

“Down there!” she cried. “Straight ahead!Ted said, ‘I think this is the one they called Main Street’ and Dinky said hethought so, too. Dani Rostov said that a long time ago, around the time theCrimson King did whatever it was that darkened Thunderclap, a whole bunch ofpeople used that way to get out. Only they left some of their thoughts behind.I asked her what feeling that was like and she said it was a little like seeingdirty soap-scum on the sides of the tub after you let out the water. ‘Notnice,’ she said. Fred marked it and then we went all the way back up to theinfirmary. I don’t want to brag and queer the deal, but I think we’re go

And they were, at least for the time being.Eighty paces beyond the pile of rubble they came upon an arched opening. Beyondit, flickering white balls of radiance hung down from the ceiling, leading offat a downward-sloping angle. On the wall, in four chalkstrokes that had alreadystarted to run because of the moisture seeping through the tiles, was the lastmessage left for them by the liberated Breakers:

They rested here for awhile, eatinghandfuls of raisins from a vacuum-sealed can. Even Oy nibbled a few, althoughit was clear from the way he did it that he didn’t care for them much. Whenthey’d all eaten their fill and Roland had once more stored the can in theleather sack he’d found along the way, he asked her: “Are you ready to go on?”

“Yes. Right away, I think, before I losemy—my God, Roland, what was that?”

From behind them, probably from one of thepassages leading away from the rubble-choked intersection, had come a lowthudding sound. It had a liquid quality to it, as if a giant in water-filledrubber boots had just taken a single step.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Susa

Could have been.

“You know,” she said, “I think it might bea good idea if we vacated this area just about as fast as we can.”

“I think you’re right,” he said, resting onone knee and the splayed tips of his fingers, like a ru

Nine

They had been moving at that near-jog forabout fifteen minutes when they came upon a skeleton dressed in the remains ofa rotting military uniform. There was still a flap of scalp on its head andtuft of listless black hair sprouting from it. The jaw gri

“What I thought,” she said.

“And what was that?” he asked, moving onagain.

“The guy was an Elk. My father had the samedamn ring.”

“An elk? I don’t understand.”

“It’s a fraternal order. A kind ofgood-ole-boy ka-tet. But what in the hell would an Elk be doing down here? AShriner, now, that I could understand.” And she laughed, a trifle wildly.

The hanging bulbs were filled with somebrilliant gas that pulsed with a rhythmic but not quite constant beat. Susa

“Chances are good we’re go

“I know,” Roland said. He was starting tosound the teensiest bit out of breath.

The air was still dank, and a chill wasgradually replacing the heat. There were posters on the walls, most rotted farbeyond the point of readability. On a dry stretch of wall she saw one thatdepicted a man who had just lost an arena battle to a tiger. The big cat wasyanking a bloody snarl of intestines from the screaming man’s belly while thecrowd went nuts. There was one line of copy in half a dozen differentlanguages. English was second from the top. VISIT CIRCUS MAXIMUS! YOU WILLCHEER! it said.

“Christ, Roland,” Susa

Roland did not reply, although he knew theanswer: they were folken who had run mad.

Ten

At hundred-yard intervals, little flightsof stairs—the longest was only ten risers from top to bottom—tookthem gradually deeper into the bowels of the earth. After they’d gone what Susa

“I don’t like to sound paranoid, Roland,but I think we are being followed.”

“I know we are.”

“You want me to throw a shot at it? Or aplate? That whistling can be pretty spooky.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It may not know what we are. If you shoot…it will.”

It took her a moment to realize what he wasreally saying: he wasn’t sure bullets—or an Oriza—would stopwhatever was back there. Or, worse, perhaps he was sure.