She staggered to a lamppost instead and hung onto it like a drunk, head down, panting. A soft, tentative arm went around her waist. 'Leigh . . . honey, are you all right?' She turned her head slightly and saw his miserable, scared face. She burst into tears.
The hitchhiker approached them carefully, wiping his bloody mouth on the sleeve of his jacket.
'Thank you,' Leigh said between harsh, swift breaths.
The pain was ebbing a trifle now, and the hard, cold wind was soothing on her hot face. 'I was choking. I think . . . think I would have died if you hadn't . . .'
Too much. The black dots again, all sounds fading into an eerie wind-tunnel again. She put her head down and waited for it to pass.
'It's the Heimlich Manoeuvre,' the hitchhiker said. 'They make you learn it when you go to work in the cafeteria. At school. Make you practise on a rubber dummy. Daisy Mae, they call her. And you do it, but you don't have any idea if it'll - you know - work on a real person or not.' His voice was shaky, jumping in pitch from low to high and back to low again like the voice of a kid entering puberty. His voice seemed to want to laugh or cry - something - and even in the uncertain light and heavily falling snow, Leigh could see how pallid his face was. 'I never thought I'd actually have to use it. Works pretty good. Did you see that fucking piece of meat fly?' The hitchhiker wiped his mouth and looking blankly at the thin froth of blood on the palm of his hand.
'I'm sorry I hit you,' Arnie said. He sounded close to tears. 'I was just . . . I was . . .'
'Sure, man, I know.' He clapped Arnie on the shoulder. 'No harm, no foul. Girl, are you all right?'
'Yes,' Leigh said. Her breath was coming evenly now. Her heart was slowing down. Only her legs were bad; they were so much helpless rubber. My God, she thought. I could be dead now. If we hadn't picked that guy up, and we almost didn't -
It occurred to her that she was lucky to be alive. This clich泄 struck her forcibly with a stupid, undeniable power that made her feel faint. She began to cry harder. When Arnie led her back toward the car, she came with him, her head on his shoulder.
'Well,' the hitchhiker said uncertainly, 'I'll be off.'
'Wait,' Leigh said. 'What's your name? You saved my life, I'd like to know your name.'
'Barry Gottfried,' the hitchhiker said. 'At your service.' Again he swept off an imaginary hat.
'Leigh Cabot,' she said. 'This is Arnie Cunningham. Thank you again.'
'For sure,' Arnie added, but Leigh heard no real thanks in his voice - only that shakiness. He handed her into the car and suddenly the smell assaulted her, attacked her: nothing mild this time, much more than just a whiff underneath. It was the smell of rot and decomposition, high and noxious. She felt a mad fright invade her brain and she thought: It is the smell of her fury -
The world slipped sideways in front of her. She leaned out of the car and threw up.
Then everything there was went grey for a little while.
Are you sure you're all right?' Arnie asked her for what seemed to be the hundredth time. It would also have to be for one of the last, Leigh realized with some relief. She felt very, very tired. There was a dull, throbbing pain in her chest and another one at her temples.
'I'm fine now.'
'Good. Good.'
He moved irresolutely, as if wanting to go but not sure it would be right yet; perhaps not until he had asked his seemingly eternal question at least once more. They were standing in front of the Cabot house. Oblongs of yellow light spilled from the windows and lay smoothly on the fresh and unmarked snow. Christine stood at the curb, idling, showing parking lights.
'You scared me when you fainted like that,' Arnie said.
'I didn't faint . . . I only got fogged in for a few minutes.'
'Well, you scared me. I love you, you know.'
She looked at him gravel . 'Do you?'
'Of course I do! Leigh, you know I do!'
She drew in a deep breath. She was tired, but it had to be said, and said right now. Because if she didn't say it now, what had happened would seem