"Axler, James - Deathlands 050 - Pandora's Reboubt - Nick Pollotta" - читать интересную книгу автора (Axler James)

"Shit, yeah! We got a hole in our transmission!" J.B. shouted. "We've lost all of our gear oil!"
"We catch some shrapnel from the Hummer?" Dean asked through the hole.
His father answered. "No. Apparently, the coldhearts didn't tighten the draining bolt good enough.
"J.B., check the fill plug to make sure it's okay."
"Doing it," the Armorer answered.
Ryan's face came into view. "Dean, Jak, search for that bastard bolt in our wake;" he said. "Mebbe it only came off recently. Should be just behind a big puddle of smelly reddish oil."
"Be right back, Dad," Dean said. The two youths took their weapons and headed off on foot. In the harsh sunlight, Jak blinked harshly and removed an old pair of taped-together sunglasses from a pocket of his camous. Sliding them onto his pale face, the albino blinked red eyes for a moment, then followed after Dean, easily catching up to the hurrying boy.
"How bad is our situation?" Doc asked, who had been sharpening his blade with a whetstone. The sword whispered a sigh as he slid it into its ebony sheath, then locked it into place with a click and a twist. There was no way for an outsider to know it was anything but a walking cane.
"Pretty bad," Krysty replied, her hair coiling and uncoiling nervously. "The gears will burn out in minutes without any lubricant."
"So Leviathan is effectively dead?"
Mildred got out of her seat and started to rummage in a box full of cartons. "Maybe not. We have some spare oil here," she said, lifting a can. "No, this is motor oil. Brake fluid, antifreeze, antijellying. What's that?"
"For diesels," Krysty said. Kneeling by the pile of supplies, she started shifting boxes. "When it gets too cold, the fuel makes a sort of jelly and won't ignite anymore."
"The hell you say"
Laying his cane across an empty seat, Doc joined them in the task. "More oil, and more again. Do diesels consume a lot of oil?"
"Always," Krysty said, shoving aside an ammo box and a backpack of food. The only boxes left on the floor were clearly fuel and tools. "No transmission fluid here."
"None here, either," Mildred stated, rocking back on her heels. Then she motioned at the wall lockers. "Anybody check in there?"
"Some blankets, a few tools, rope, not much more," Doc answered. "We lost a lot in the Hummer."
"That's trouble," Ryan said from the doorway. He rested a boot on the corrugated floor. "We fixed the leak part. J.B. used a bolt from the knuckle of the dead wheel. Took some effort, but it fit the hole."
"Won't ever come out again," J.B. stated, standing behind the man and using a rag to wipe his hands clean. "But it's in there."
"Is there any substitute we can use?" Krysty asked, lifting a plastic container of hydraulic brake fluid. "Mebbe mix a couple or distill them into something usable?"
"No," Mildred replied. "Not without a full laboratory."
"Yeah," Ryan countered. "We can use regular engine oil."
"But..."
"Yeah, sure," J.B. said, brightening. "That'll do, long as we keep the tranny in low gear, and don't go very fast. That should minimize the frothing."
"Frothing?"
"But we won't be able to shift gears," Ryan added, scratching his unshaven chin. "First, mebbe second, will be it."
"Ryan," Mildred stated, "there's bound to be plenty of transmission fluid in the redoubt. Think we can sneak past the Ranger?"
"Even if we did," Ryan replied, "we'd never make it that far. What do you guess, J.B., ten, mebbe fifteen miles?"
"At most."
Jak and Dean returned, hands empty.
"Zip" the albino teen reported.
"The oil trail was only scattered drops for as far as we could track," Dean added apologetically. "We must have been losing it for a while. Stretched out of sight."
"Shitfire, and we can't go back. The Ranger might be flanking us, and if we're caught walking out in the open..." J.B. made a slicing sound and drew his thumbnail across his throat.
Climbing out of the tank, Krysty raised a pair of binocs to her face and stared into the distance. "I say we go due east," she said. "Those aren't mountains out there, they're skyscrapers. I've been studying them since I woke."
Resting the Mossberg on his shoulder, Dean said, "That Doesn't mean they have any garages or repair shops not looted."
"Don't need them," Ryan said, extending a brass sailor's telescope to its full-length and lifting it to his good eye. The thing didn't have half the magnifying power of binocs, but it didn't give him a headache, either. "Any building that tall must have elevators."
"So?"
"The Trader used to drain the hydraulic fluid from the lifters in the basement to use in his tranny and gunswivels."
"How far away do you think?" Doc asked, trying to gauge the distance with his thumb. "Fifteen miles?"
"I'd guess thirty," Ryan replied, compacting the telescope. "Well beyond our estimated maximum."
"So we better prep our packs to go on foot," Krysty said. "Just in case.
"Right."
J.B. started to collect cans of 10W40 motor oil in his arms. "Doc, still got the Swiss army knife?"
Doc displayed his newest possession.
"Need the can opener," the Armorer stated, accepting the multiblade. "Mine's kind of bent. Be right back."
"Want help?" Jak asked, stuffing his long hair into his collar as a prelude to work. He had seen more than enough fools have their heads pulled into working engines because of long hair or loose clothing to know better.
"No," J.B. told him. "This is the easy part. Putting it in."
Jak released his hair. "Okay."
J.B. went out of sight and muffled cursing wafted up from the floor.
Yawning mightily, Ryan rubbed his eye and cracked the vertebrae in his neck. "Somebody else can drive for a while," he announced. "I'm too bastard tired to see straight. And any more of that damn MRE coffee and I'll start pissing black. Got to get some sleep."