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e had arrived。
Harry shifted down from second to low （I think he only made it all the way into top gear once during the whole trip）。 The engine lugged； sending a shudder through the whole truck； as if it； too； dreaded what now lay directly ahead of us。
Harry swung into Moores's gravelled driveway and parked the grumbling truck behind the warden's sensible black Buick。 Ahead and slightly to our right was a neat…as…a…pin house in the style which I believe is called Cape Cod。 That sort of house should have looked out of place in our ridge country； perhaps； but it didn't。 The moon had e up； its grin a little fatter this morning； and by its light I could see that the yard； always so beautifully kept； now looked uncared for。 It was just leaves； mostly； that hadn't been raked away。 Under normal circumstances that would have been Melly's job； but Melly hadn't been up to any leaf…raking this fall； and she would never see the leaves fall again。 That was the truth of the matter； and I had been mad to think this vacant…eyed idiot could change it。
Maybe it still wasn't too late to save ourselves； though。 I made as if to get up； the blanket I'd been wearing slipping off my shoulders。 I would lean over； tap on the driver's…side window； tell Harry to get the hell out before …
John Coffey grabbed my forearm in one of his hamhock fists； pulling me back down as effortlessly as I might have done to a toddler。 〃Look； boss；〃 he said； pointing。 〃Someone's up。〃
I followed the direction of his finger and felt a sinking … not just of the belly； but of the heart。 There was a spark of light in one of the back windows。 The room where Melinda now spent her days and nights； most likely； she would be no more capable of using the stairs than she would of going out to rake the leaves which had fallen during the recent storm。
They'd heard the truck； of course … Harry Terwilliger's goddam Farmall； its engine bellowing and farting down the length of an exhaust pipe unencumbered by anything so frivolous as a muffler。 Hell； the Mooreses probably weren't sleeping that well these nights； anyway。
A light closer to the front of the house went on （the kitchen）； then the living…room overhead； then the one in the front hall； then the one over the stoop。 I watched these forward…marching lights the way a man standing against a cement wall and smoking his last cigarette might watch the lockstep approach of the firing squad。 Yet I did not entirely acknowledge to myself even then that it was too late until the uneven chop of the Farmall's engine faded into silence； and the doors creaked； and the gravel crunched as Harry and Brutal got out。
John was up； pulling me with him。 In the dim light； his face looked lively and eager。 Why not？ I remember thinking。 Why shouldn't he look eager？ He's a fool。
Brutal and Harry were standing shoulder to shoulder at the foot of the truck； like kids in a thunderstorm； and I saw that both of them looked as scared； confused； and uneasy as I felt。 That made me feel even worse。
John got down。 For him it was more of a step than a jump。 I followed； stiff…legged and miserable。 I would have sprawled on the cold gravel if he hadn't caught me by the arm。
〃This is a mistake；〃 Brutal said in a hissy little voice。 His eyes were very wide and very frightened。 〃Christ Almighty； Paul； what were we thinking？〃
〃Too late now；〃 I said。 I pushed one of Coffey's hips； and he went obediently enough to stand beside Harry。 Then I grabbed Brutal's elbow like this was a date we were on and got the two of us walking toward the stoop where that light was now burning。 〃Let me do the talking。 Understand？〃
〃Yeah；〃 Brutal said。 〃Right now that's just about the only thing I do understand。〃
I looked back over my shoulder。 〃Harry； stay by the truck with him until I call for you。 I don't want Moores to see him until I'm ready。〃 Except I was never going to be ready。 I knew that now。
Brutal and I had just reached the foot of the steps when the front door was hauled open hard enough to flap the brass knocker against its plate。 There stood Hal Moores in blue pajama pants and a strapstyle tee…shirt； his iron…gray hair standing up in tufts and twists。 He was a man who had made a thousand enemies over the course of his career； and he knew it。 Clasped in his right hand； the abnormally long barrel not quite pointing at the floor； was the pistol which had always been mounted over the mantel。 It was the sort of gun known as a Ned Buntline Special； it had been his grandfather's； and right then （I saw this with a further sinking in my gut） it was fully cocked。
〃Who the hell goes there at two…thirty in the goddam morning？〃 he asked。 I heard no fear at all in his voice。 And …for the time being； at least … his shakes had stopped。 The hand holding the gun was as steady as a stone。 〃Answer me； or … 〃 The barrel of the gun began to rise。
〃Stop it； Warden！〃 Brutal raised his hands； palms out； toward the man with the gun。 I have never heard his voice sound the way it did then； it was as if the shakes turned out of Moores's hands had somehow found their way into Brutus Howell's throat。 〃It's us！ It's Paul and me and 。 。 。 it's us！〃
He took the first step up； so that the light over the stoop could fall fully on his face； I joined him。 Hal Moores looked back and forth between us； his angry determination giving way to bewilderment。 〃What are you doing here？〃 he asked。 〃Not only is it the shank of the morning； you boys have the duty。 I know you do； I've got the roster pinned up in my workshop。 So what in the name of 。。。 oh； Jesus。 It's not a lockdown； is it？ Or a riot？〃 He looked between us； and his gaze sharpened。 〃Who else is down by that truck？〃
Let me do the talking。 So I had instructed Brutal； but now the time to talk was here and I couldn't even open my mouth。 On my way into work that afternoon I had carefully planned out what I was going to say when we got here； and had thought that it didn't sound too crazy。 Not normal … nothing about it was normal … but maybe close enough to normal to get us through the door and give us a chance。 Give John a chance。 But now all my carefully rehearsed words were lost in a roaring confusion。 Thoughts and images … Del burning； the mouse dying； Toot jerking in Old Sparky's lap and screaming that he was a done tom turkey … whirled inside my head like sand caught in a dust…devil。 I believe there is good in the world； all of it flowing in one way or another from a loving God。 But I believe there's another force as well； one every bit as real as the God I have prayed to my whole life； and that it works consciously to bring all our decent impulses to ruin。 Not Satan； I don't mean Satan （although I believe he is real； too）； but a kind of demon of discord； a prankish and stupid thing that laughs with glee when an old man sets himself on fire trying to light his pipe or when a much…loved baby puts its first Christmas toy in its mouth and chokes to death on it。 I've had a lot of years to think on this； all the way from Cold Mountain to Georgia Pines； and I believe that force was actively at work among us on that morning； swirling everywhere like a fog； trying to keep John Coffey away from Melinda Moores。
〃Warden 。。。 Hal 。。。 I 。。。〃 Nothing I tried made any sense。
He raised the pistol again； pointing it between Brutal and me； not listening。 His bloodshot eyes had gotten very wide。 And here came Harry Terwilliger； being more or less pulled along by our big boy； who was wearing his wide and daffily charming smile。
〃Coffey；〃 Moores breathed。 〃John Coffey。〃 He pulled in breath and yelled in a voice that was reedy but strong： 〃Halt！ Halt right there； or I shoot！〃
From somewhere behind him； a weak and wavery female voice called： 〃Hal？ What are you doing out there？ Who are you talking to； you fucking cocksucker？〃
He turned in that direction for just a moment； his face confused and despairing。 Just a moment； as I say； but it should have been long enough for me to snatch the long…barrelled gun out of his hand。 Except I couldn't lift my own hands。 They might have had weights tied to them。 My head seemed full of static； like a radio trying to broadcast during an electrical storm。 The only emotions I remember feeling were fright