that fuzzy； mildev；7ystuff on the floor； but you could see the hardwood。 On the Navajo rug； however； it had already grown so thick that it was hard to make out the pattern。 No doubt whatever it was did better in the heat； but still； the rate of growth was scary。
Henry started to step in； then thought better of it。 He backed two or three paces away from the doorway instead and only stood there in the snow； very aware of his bleeding nose and the holes in his gums where there had been teeth when he woke up this morning。 If that mossy stuff was producing some sort of airborne virus； like Ebola or Hanta； he was probably cooked already； and anything he did would amount to no more than locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen。 But there was no sense taking unnecessary risks； was there？
He turned and walked around Hole in the Wall to the Gulch side； still walking in the packed tread of the departed Arctic Cat to keep from sinking into the new snow。
2
The door to the shed was open； too。 And Henry could see Jonesy； yes； clear as day； Jonesy pausing in the doorway before going in to get the snowmobile； Jonesy holding to the side of the doorway with a casual hand； Jonesy listening to 。 。 。 to the what？
To the nothing。 No crows cawing； no jays scolding； no woodpeckers pecking； no squirrels scuttering。 There was only the wind and an occasional padded plop as a clot of snow slid off a pine or spruce and hit the new snow beneath。 The local wildlife was gone； had moved on like goofy animals in a Gary Larson cartoon。
He stood where he was for a moment； calling up his memory of the shed's interior。 Pete would have done better … Pete would have stood here with his eyes closed and his forefinger ticking back and forth； then told you where everything was； right down to the smallest jar of screws … but in this case Henry thought he could do without Pete's special skill。 He'd been out here just yesterday； looking for something to help him open a kitchen cabinet door that was swelled shut。 He had seen then what he wanted now。
Henry inhaled and exhaled rapidly several times； hyperventilating his lungs clean； then pressed his gloved hand tight over his mouth and nose and stepped in。 He stood still for a moment； waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim。 He didn't want to be surprised by anything if he could help it。
When he could see well again； Henry stepped across the empty place where the snowmobile had been。 There was nothing on the floor now but an overlaid pattern of oil stains； but there were more patches of that reddish…gold crud growing on the green tarp which had covered the Cat and was now cast aside in the er。
The worktable was a mess … a jar of nails and one of screws overturned so that what had been kept carefully separate was now mixed together； an old pipe…holder that had belonged to Lamar Clarendon knocked to the floor and broken； all the drawers built into the table's thickness yanked open and left that way。 One of them； Beaver or Jonesy； had gone through this place like a whirlwind； looking for something。
It was Jonesy。
Yeah。 Henry might never know what it was； but it had been Jonesy； he knew that； and it had clearly been almighty important to him or to both of them。 Henry wondered if Jonesy had found it。 He would probably never know that； either。 Meanwhile； what he wanted was clearly visible in the far er of the room； hung on a nail above a pile of paint…cans and sprayguns。
Still holding his hand over his mouth and nose； breath held； Henry crossed the interior of the shed。 There were at least four of the little nose…and…mouth painters' masks hanging from elastics which had lost most of their snap。 He took them all and turned in time to see something move behind the door。 He kept himself from gasping； but his heartbeat jumped； and all at once the double lungful of air that had gotten him this far seemed too hot and heavy。 Nothing there； either； it had just been his imagination。 Then he saw that yeah； there was something。 Light came in through the open door； a little more came in through the single dirty window over the table； and Henry had literally jumped at his own shadow。
He left the shed in four big steps； the painters' masks swinging from his right hand。 He held onto his lungfill of decayed air until he'd made four more steps along the packed track of the snowmobile； then let it out in an explosive rush。 He bent over； hands planted on his thighs above his knees； small black dots flocking before his eyes and then dissolving。
From the east came a distant crackle of gunfire。 Not rifles； it was too loud and fast for that。 Those were automatic weapons。 In Henry's mind there came a vision as clear as the memory of milk running down his father's chin or Barry Newman fleeing his office with rockets on his heels。 He saw the deer and the coons and the chucks and the feral dogs and the rabbits being cut down in their dozens and their hundreds as they tried to escape what was now pretty clearly a plague zone； he could see the snow turning red with their innocent （but possibly contaminated） blood。 This vision hurt him in a way he had not expected； piercing through to a place that wasn't dead but only dozing。 It was the place that had resonated so strongly to Duddits's weeping； setting up a harmonic tone that made you feel as if your head were going to explode。
Henry straightened up； saw fresh blood on the palm of his left glove； and cried 'Ah； shit！' at the sky in a voice that was both furious and amused。 He had covered his mouth and nose； he had gotten the masks and was planning on wearing at least two when he went inside Hole in the Wall； but he had pletely forgotten the gash in his thigh； the one he'd gotten when the Scout rolled over。 If there had been a contaminant out there in the shed； something given off by the fungus； the chances were excellent that it was in him now。 Not that the precautions he had taken were any such of a much。 Henry imagined a sign； big red letters reading BIOHAZARD AREA！ PLEASE HOLD BREATH AND COVER ANY SCRATCHES YOU MAY HAVE WITH YOUR HAND！
He grunted laughter and started back toward the cabin。 Well； good God； Maude； it wasn't as if he had planned to live forever； anyway…
Off to the east； the gunfire crackled on and on。
3
Once again standing outside Hole in the Wall's open door； Henry felt in his back pocket for a handkerchief without much hope of finding one 。 。 。 and didn't。 Two of the unadvertised attractions of spending time in the woods were urinating where you wanted and just leaning over and giving a honk when your nose felt in need of a blow。 There was something primally satisfying about letting the piss and the snot fly 。 。 。 to men； at least。 When you thought about it； it was sort of a blue…eyed wonder that women could love the best of them； let alone the rest of them。
He took off his coat； the shirt under it； and the thermal undershirt beneath that。 The final layer was a faded Boston Red Sox tee…shirt with GARCIAPARRA 5 on the back。 Henry took this off； spun it into a bandage； and wrapped it around the blood…caked tear in the left leg of his jeans； thinking again that he was locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen。 Still； you filled in the blanks； didn't you？ Yes； you filled in the blanks and you printed neatly and legibly。 These were the concepts upon which life ran。 Even when life was running out； it seemed。
He put the rest of his outerwear back on over his goosepimply top half； then donned two of the teardrop…shaped painters' masks。 He considered fixing two of the others over his ears； imagined those narrow bands of elastic crisscrossing the back of his head like the straps of a shoulder holster； and burst out laughing。 What else？ Use the last mask to cover one eye？
'If it gets me； it gets me；' he said； at the same time reminding himself that it wouldn't hurt to be careful； a little dose of careful never hurt a man； old Lamar used to say。
Inside Hole in the Wall； the fungus （or mildew； or whatever it was） had gone forward appreciably even during the short time Henry had been in the shed。 The Navajo rug was now covered side to side； with not even the slightest pattern showing through。 There were patches on the couch； the counter between the kitchen and the dining area； and on the seats of two of the three stools which stood on the living…room side of the counter。 A crooked capillary of red…gold fuzz ran up one leg of the dining…room table； as if following the line of a spill； and Henry was reminded of how ants will congregate on even the thinnest track of spilled sugar。 Perhaps the most distressing thing of all was the red…gold fuzz of cobweb hanging high over the Navajo rug。 Henry looked at it fixedly for several seconds before realizing what it really was： Lamar Clarendon's dreamcatcher。 Henry didn't think he would ever know exactly what had happened here； but of one thing he was sure： the dreamcatcher had snared a real nightmare this time。
You aren't really going any farther in here； are you？ Now that you've seen how fast it grows？ Jonesy looked all right when he went by； but he wasn't all right； and you know it。 You felt it。 So 。 。 。 you aren't really going on； are