"Ahern, Jerry - Survivalist 003 - The Quest" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ahern Jerry)

She laughed, and poured him another glass. He looked at it for a while, not drinking it. She sat beside him and took her own glass. The ice was nearly melted.

"What do you want to know, Uncle?"

"I want to know the name of the man Vladmir had in Samuel Chambers's inner circle, the traitor to the new President. I want the man's name, his title or official duties, and how he may be contacted. I want this all now." And Varakov tossed down the vodka.

Natalia watched his hands. She wondered what they were truly capable of.

Chapter 24.

Sarah Rourke sat on the steps of the front porch, listening to the kitchen sounds Mary made, watching the reddish orb of sun in the low, thin clouds at the end of what was a peaceful universe for her, or perhaps, she thought, an island, an island of normalcy in the fear and hatred and terror of the world since the war.

She stood up, her feet in borrowed shoes, smoothed the borrowed dress against her as she walked into the house through the screen door and through the perfectly normal living room or parlor, past the long dining-room table, already set, and through the narrow hall past the pantry into the kitchen. She liked older houses, despite the sometimes awkward room arrangements.

Mary, Millie's aunt, was standing by the kitchen sink, rinsing vegetables.

"Can I help with dinner, Mary?" Sarah asked.

"No need, Sarah, but you can if you like. I need those potatoes peeled, knife over in the top drawer, and there's an apron on the hook other side of the door."

"Okay," Sarah said, finding the apron and tying it around her waist. She found the knife and sat at the small table and opened the cloth sack of potatoes. "What do I put the peelings in?"

Mary turned around from the sink, the water still running. She didn't say anything for a minute, then, "I'd say open a newspaper. We used to open an old newspaper. But there ain't none. We used to use a grocery sack. Old Mr. Harland ran the grocery, but he died of a heart attack when they busted into the grocery, drove their trucks and motorcycles right through the glass windows they did, killed some of the clerks who were trying to help old Mr. Harland." Mary rubbed her hands on the front of her apron, turned around absently, and shut off the water.

Sarah watched the woman, watched as Mary stared through the window above the sink and into the garden and beyond. Sarah could see the purplish night far off in the distance. She heard a sniffing sound, saw Mary bend down and touch the apron to her face, then heard the water turn back on. Mary was talking, but not looking at Sarah.

"I don't know, Sarah, where to put them peels from them potatoes. I don't know."

Chapter 25.

Rourke watched in the shadows. It was a commando raid, he guessed, something against a Soviet installation in the city or somewhere near. He had left the bike for two of Reed's men to guard as well as Reed's other equipment.

Then with Reed and the other two surviving team members, Rourke had started walking through the woods and paralleled the road for about a mile, seeing no sign of traffic as they made their way toward the old drive-in theater. Rourke knew the man and woman who'd owned it years before, and now as he turned off the road and skirted behind it, avoiding the access drive, he wondered if somehow the couple had managed to make it through the holocaust.

He felt someone tapping on his shoulder and heard a whisper, Reed's voice. "Why are we taking the long way around, Rourke?"

Rourke stopped, the CAR-15 slung from his right shoulder, his fist wrapped on the pistol grip, the safety lever on and his thumb near it. "I trust the motives of the Resistance people, but there could always be a ringer in with them, working for the Soviets."

"Goddamn Russians," Reed muttered.

Rourke looked at him, able to discern the outline of his face in the darkness, saying, his voice low, "Yeah, well, maybe goddamn Communists, but not goddamn Russians, they're people just like we are, led by their government, doing what they're told."

"You were sweet on that Russian broad a little, weren't you? Chambers said she, "

Rourke jabbed the muzzle of the CAR-15 forward, hard in the darkness, a moan and a rush of air issuing from Reed's lips as he doubled over. Bending beside him, the muzzle of the rifle alongside the hunched-over man's face, Rourke rasped, "You keep out of my personal affairs, Reed, hear that? And not that it's any of your business, because it damned well isn't, if it weren't for that 'Russian broad' your President would have been locked away by the Communist occupation forces by now and you and all your people would have been croaked in a neutron blast. It doesn't matter how I feel about her, she did us all a good turn and got her own tail in a sling probably doin' it. And I wouldn't be here doin' this foolishness to begin with if I weren't trying to find my wife and kids. You grow up a little, and maybe you're gonna realize that any normal man meets a lot of 'broads' like you call 'em, a lot 6f women he can like, maybe he could love under different circumstances. But it's only juvenile delinquents and morons who figure fidelity's a one-way street. I figure if my wife counts me as alive, wherever she is, she's being faithful to me, and I don't just owe her the same, I want to give her the same. Now, " and Rourke bent low, his lips almost touching Reed's ear, his voice rasping and hard, "you think you got all that, Reed? Or you wanna go out back there a few hundred yards into the brush and get the shit kicked out of you?"

Even in the dark, Rourke could see the hard set around Reed's eyes. "You give sermons, too, huh? Mr. Good Guy, Mr. Hero, what's some dinky-assed nuclear war to you, huh?"

Rourke let out a slow, low breath, saying half through his teeth, "You and the guys like you who stayed with the system are the ones who fucked it all up. Had to play your little games, do your little dances, keep the world spinning around and figure when it stopped it was like a roulette wheel, you win, fine, you lose, there's always another game. Well, you look at the sunsets, you feel the temperatures against your skin, you measure the rainfall, you count the dead bodies, sucker. Some Communist gave an attack order, some guy over here gave an attack order and it's just real great to push some goddamn anonymous button. You go out and kill a couple hundred million people some night when you can smell their sweat, smell it when they die and their bowels loosen up and their sphincters relax, and you can see the eyes go glassy. You do it that way next time, and see how well you like playin'."