No, he’s not sick, not yet, but if he goes too long without rest, gets tired enough, he’ll get sick.
In a way, Eddie already was; both of them were. Cold-sores had developed at the corners of Eddie’s mouth, and there were 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.