In a way, Eddie already was; both of them were. Cold-sores had developed at the corners of Eddie's mouth, and there was scaly patches on his skin. The gunslinger could feel his teeth loosening up in their sockets, and the flesh between his toes had begun to crack open and bleed, as had that between his remaining fingers. They were eating, but they were eating the same thing, day in and day out. They could go on that way for a time, but in the end they would die as surely as if they had starved.
What we have is Shipmate's Disease on dry land, Roland thought. Simple as that. How funny. We need fruit. We need greens.
Eddie nodded toward the Lady. "She's going to go right on making it tough."
"Unless the other one inside her comes back."
"That would be nice, but we can't count on it," Eddie said. He took a piece of blackened claw and began to scrawl aimless patterns in the dirt. "Any idea how far the next door might be?"
Roland shook his head.
"I only ask because if the distance between Number Two and Number Three is the same as the distance between Number One and Number Two, we could be in deep shit."
"We're in deep shit right now."
"Neck deep," Eddie agreed moodily. "I just keep wondering how long I can tread water."
Roland clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of affection so rare it made Eddie blink.
"There's one thing that Lady doesn't know," he said.
"Oh? What's that?"
"We Honk Mahfahs can tread water a long time."
Eddie laughed at that, laughed hard, smothering his laughter against his arm so he wouldn't wake Detta up. He'd had enough of her for one day, please and thank you.
The gunslinger looked at him, smiling. "I'm going to turn in," he said. "Be—"
"—on my guard. Yeah. I will."
13
Screaming was next.
Eddie fell asleep the moment his head touched the bunched bundle of his shirt, and it seemed only five minutes later when Detta began screaming.
He was awake at once, ready for anything, some King Lobster arisen from the deep to take revenge for its slain children or a horror down from the hills. It seemed he was awake at once, anyway, but the gunslinger was already on his feet, a gun in his left hand.
When she saw they were both awake, Detta promptly quit screaming.
"Jes thought I'd see if you boys on yo toes," she said. "Might be woofs. Looks likely enough country for 'em. Wanted to make sho if I saw me a woof creepin up, I could get you on yo feet in time." But there was no fear in her eyes; they glinted with mean amusement.
"Christ," Eddie said groggily. The moon was up but barely risen; they had been asleep less than two hours.
The gunslinger holstered his gun.
"Don't do it again," he said to the Lady in the wheelchair.
"What you goan do if I do? Rape me?"
"If we were going to rape you, you would be one well-raped woman by now," the gunslinger said evenly. "Don't do it again."
He lay down again, pulling his blanket over him.
Christ, dear Christ, Eddie thought, what a mess this is, what a fucking … and that was as far as the thought went before trailing off into exhausted sleep again and then she was splintering the air with fresh shrieks, shrieking like a firebell, and Eddie was up again, his body flaming with adrenaline, hands clenched, and then she was laughing, her voice hoarse and raspy.
Eddie glanced up and saw the moon had advanced less than ten degrees since she had awakened them the first time.
She means to keep on doing it, he thought wearily. She means to stay awake and watch us, and when she's sure we're getting down into deep sleep, that place where you recharge, she's going to open her mouth and start bellowing again. She'll do it and do it and do it until she doesn't have any voice left to bellow with.
Her laughter stopped abruptly. Roland was advancing on her, a dark shape in the moonlight.
"You jes stay away from me, graymeat," Detta said, but there was a quiver of nerves in her voice. "You ain't goan do nothing to me."
Roland stood before her and for a moment Eddie was sure, completely sure, that the gunslinger had reached the end of his patience and would simply swat her like a fly. Instead, astoundingly, he dropped to one knee before her like a suitor about to propose marriage.
"Listen," he said, and Eddie could scarcely credit the silky quality of Roland's voice. He could see much the same deep surprise on Detta's face, only there fear was joined to it. "Listen to me, Odetta."
"Who you callin O-Detta? Dat ain my name."
"Shut up, bitch," the gunslinger said in a growl, and then, reverting to that same silken voice: "If you hear me, and if you can control her at all—"
"Why you talkin at me dat way? Why you talkin like you was talkin to somebody else? You quit dat honky jive! You jes quit it now, you hear me?"
"—keep her shut up. I can gag her, but I don't want to do that. A hard gag is a dangerous business. People choke."
"YOU QUIT IT YOU HONKY BULLSHIT VOODOO MAHFAH!"
"Odetta." His voice was a whisper, like the onset of rain.
She fell silent, staring at him with huge eyes. Eddie had never in his life seen such hate and fear combined in human eyes.
"I don't think this bitch would care if she did die on a hard gag. She wants to die, but maybe even more, she wants you to die. But you haven't died, not so far, and I don't think Detta is brand-new in your life. She feels too at home in you, so maybe you can hear what I'm saying, and maybe you can keep some control over her even if you can't come out yet.
"Don't let her wake us up a third time, Odetta.
"I don't want to gag her.
"But if I have to, I will."
He got up, left without looking back, rolled himself into his blanket again, and promptly fell asleep.
She was still staring at him, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.
"Honky voodoo bullshit," she whispered.
Eddie lay down, but this time it was a long time before sleep came to claim him, in spite of his deep tiredness. He would come to the brink, anticipate her screams, and snap back.
Three hours or so later, with the moon now going the other way, he finally dropped off.
Detta did no more screaming that night, either because Roland had frightened her, or because she wanted to conserve her voice for future alarums and excursions, or—possibly, just possibly—because Odetta had heard and had exercised the control the gunslinger had asked of her.
Eddie slept at last but awoke sodden and unrefreshed. He looked toward the chair, hoping against hope that it would be Odetta, please God let it be Odetta this morning—
"Mawnin, whitebread," Detta said, and grinned her sharklike grin at him. "Thought you was goan sleep till noon . You cain't be doin nuthin like dat, kin you? We got to bus us some miles here, ain't dat d'fac of d'matter? Sho! An I think you the one goan have to do most of de bustin, cause dat other fella, one with de voodoo eyes, he lookin mo peaky all de time, I declare he do! Yes! I doan think he goan be eatin anythin much longer, not even dat fancy smoked meat you whitebread boys keep fo when you done joikin on each other one's little bitty white candles. So let's go, whitebread! Detta doan want to be d'one keepin you."
Her lids and her voice both dropped a little; her eyes peeked at him slyly from their corners.
"Not f'um startin out, leastways."
Dis goan be a day you 'member, whitebread, those sly eyes promised. Dis goan be a day you 'member for a long, long time.