Chapter VII:KA-SHUME
ONE
A feeling both blue and strange crept among the gunslingers after Brautigan and his friends left, but at first no one spoke of it. Each of them thought that melancholy belonged to him or her alone. Roland, who might have been expected to know the feeling for what it was (ka-shume, Cort would have called it), ascribed it instead to worries about the following day and even more to the debilitating atmosphere of Thunderclap, where day was dim and night was as dark as blindness.
Certainly there was enough to keep them busy after the departure of Brautigan, Earnshaw, and Sheemie Ruiz, that friend of Roland's childhood. (Both Susannah and Eddie had attempted to talk to the gunslinger about Sheemie, and Roland had shaken them off. Jake, strong in the touch, hadn't even tried. Roland wasn't ready to talk about those old days again, at least not yet.)
There was a path leading down and around the flank of Steek-Tete, and they found the cave of which the old man had told them behind a cunning camouflage of rocks and desert-dusty bushes. This cave was much bigger than the one above, with gas lanterns hung from spikes that had been driven into the rock walls. Jake and Eddie lit two of these on each side, and the four of them examined the cave's contents in silence.
The first thing Roland noticed was the sleeping-bags: a quartet lined up against the left-hand wall, each considerately placed on an inflated air mattress. The tags on the bags read PROPERTY OF U.S. ARMY. Beside the last of these, a fifth air mattress had been covered with a layer of bath towels. They were expecting four people and one animal, the gunslinger thought. Precognition, or have they been watching us somehow? And does it matter?
There was a plastic-swaddled object sitting on a barrel marked DANGER! MUNITIONS! Eddie removed the protective plastic and revealed a machine with reels on it. One of the reels was loaded. Roland could make nothing of the single word on the front of the speaking machine and asked Susannah what it was.
"Wollensak," she said. "A German company. When it comes to these things, they make the best."
"Not no mo', sugarbee," Eddie said. "In my when we like to say 'sony! No baloney!' They make a tape-player you can clip right to your belt. It's called a Walkman. I bet this dinosaur weighs twenty pounds. More, with the batteries."
Susannah was examining the unmarked tape boxes that had been stacked beside the Wollensak. There were three of them. "I can't wait to hear what's on these," she said.
"After the daylight goes, maybe," Roland said. "For now, let's see what else we've got here."
"Roland?" Jake asked.
The gunslinger turned toward him. There was something about the boy's face that almost always softened Roland's own.
Looking at Jake did not make the gunslinger handsome, but seemed to give his features a quality they didn't ordinarily have. Susannah thought it was the look of love. And, perhaps, some thin hope for the future.
"What is it, Jake?"
"I know we're going to fight-"
"'Join us next week for Return to the O.K. Corral, starring Van Heflin and Lee Van Cleef,'" Eddie murmured, walking toward the back of the cave. There a much larger object had been covered with what looked like a quilted mover's pad.
"-but when?" Jake continued. "Will it be tomorrow?"
"Perhaps," Roland replied. "I think the day after's more likely."
"I have a terrible feeling," Jake said. "It's not being afraid, exactly-"
"Do you think they're going to beat us, hon?" Susannah asked. She put a hand on Jake's neck and looked into his face.
She had come to respect his feelings. She sometimes wondered how much of what he was now had to do with the creature he'd faced to get here: the thing in the house on Dutch Hill. No robot there, no rusty old clockwork toy. The doorkeeper had been a genuine leftover of the Prim. "You smell a whuppin in the wind? That it?"
"I don't think so," Jake said. "I don't know what it is. I've only felt something like it once, and that was just before..."
"Just before what?" Susannah asked, but before Jake had a chance to reply, Eddie broke in. Roland was glad. Just before I fell. That was how Jake had meant to finish. Just before Rolandlet me fall.
"Holy shit! Come here, you guys! You gotta see this!"
Eddie had pulled away the mover's pad and revealed a motorized vehicle that looked like a cross between an ATV and a gigantic tricycle. The tires were wide balloon jobs with deep zigzag treads. The controls were all on the handlebars.
And there was a playing card propped on the rudimentary dashboard. Roland knew what it was even before Eddie plucked it up between two fingers and turned it over. The card showed a woman with a shawl over her head at a spinning wheel. It was the Eady of Shadows.
"Looks like our pal Ted left you a ride, sugarbee," Eddie said.
Susannah had hurried over at her rapid crawl. Now she lifted her arms. "Boost me up! Boost me, Eddie!"
He did, and when she was in the saddle, holding handlebars instead of reins, the vehicle looked made for her. Susannah thumbed a red button and the engine thrummed to life, so low you could barely hear it. Electricity, not gasoline, Eddie was quite sure. Like a golf-cart, but probably a lot faster.
Susannah turned toward them, smiling radiantly. She patted the three-wheeler's dark brown nacelle. "Call me Missus Centaur!
I been lookin for this my whole life and never even knew."
None of them noticed the stricken expression on Roland's face. He bent over to pick up the card Eddie had dropped so no one would.
Yes, it was her, all right-the Lady of the Shadows. Under her shawl she seemed to be smiling craftily and sobbing, both at the same time. On the last occasion he'd seen that card, it had been in the hand of the man who sometimes went by the name of Walter, sometimes that of Flagg.
You have no idea how close you stand to the Tower now, he had said. Worlds turn about your head.
And now he recognized the feeling that had crept among them for what it almost certainly was: not worry or weariness but ka-shume. There was no real translation for that rue-laden term, but it meant to sense an approaching break in one's ka-tet.
Walter o' Dim, his old nemesis, was dead. Roland had known it as soon as he saw the face of the Lady of Shadows.
Soon one of his own would die as well, probably in the coming batde to break the power of the Devar-Toi. And once again the scales which had temporarily tilted in their favor would balance.
It never once crossed Roland's mind that the one to die might be him.
TWO
There were three brand names on what Eddie immediately dubbed "Suzie's Cruisin Trike." One was Honda; one was Takuro (as in that wildly popular pre-superflu import, the Takuro Spirit); the third was North Central Positronics. And a fourth, as well: U.S. ARMY, as in PROPERTY OF.
Susannah was reluctant to get off it, but finally she did.
God knew there was plenty more to see; the cave was a treasure trove. Its narrowing throat was filled with food supplies (mosdy freeze-dried stuff that probably wouldn't taste as good as Nigel's chow but would at least nourish them), bottled water, canned drinks (plenty of Coke and Nozz-A-La but nothing alcoholic), and the promised propane stove. There were also crates of weaponry. Some of die crates were marked U.S. ARMY, but by no means all.
Now their most basic abilities came out: the true thread, Cort might have called it. Those talents and intuitions that could have remained sleeping for most of their lives, only stirring long enough to get them into occasional trouble, if Roland had not deliberately wakened them... cosseted them... and then filed their teeth to deadly points.
Hardly a word was spoken among them as Roland produced a wide prying tool from his purse and levered away the tops of the crates. Susannah had forgotten about the Cruisin Trike she had been waiting for all her life; Eddie forgot to make jokes; Roland forgot about his sense of foreboding. They became absorbed in the weaponry that had been left for them, and there was no piece of it they did not understand either at once or after a bit of study.
There was a crate of AR-15 rifles, the barrels packed in grease, the firing mechanisms fragrant with banana oil. Eddie noted the added selector switches, and looked in the crate next to the 15's. Inside, covered with plastic and also packed in grease, were metal drums. They looked like the ones you saw on tommy-guns in gangster epics like White Heat, only these were bigger. Eddie lifted one of the 15's, turned it over, and found exactly what he expected: a conversion clip that would allow these drums to be attached to the guns, turning them into rapid-fire rice-cutters. How many shots per drum? A hundred?
A hundred and twenty-five? Enough to mow down a whole company of men, that was sure.
There was a box of what looked like rocket shells with the letters STS stenciled on each. In a rack beside them, propped against the cave wall, were half a dozen handheld launchers.
Roland pointed at the atom-symbol on them and shook his head. He did not want them shooting off weapons that would release potentially lethal radiation no matter how powerful they might be. He was willing to kill the Breakers if that was what it took to stop their meddling with the Beam, but only as a last resort.
Flanking a metal tray filled with gas-masks (to Jake they looked gruesome, like the severed heads of strange bugs) were two crates of handguns: snub-nosed machine-pistols with the word COYOTE embossed on the butts and heavy automatics called Cobra Stars. Jake was attracted to both weapons (in truth his heart was attracted to all the weapons), but he took one of the Stars because it looked a little bit like the gun he had lost.