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

"And you should see the control panel," Dean added.
"Later. Everybody in the tank!"
"Once inside, we're trapped," Mildred reminded, kneeling in the open hatchway. "And if there's no fuel in the gas tank, we die long and slow."
Ryan glared, his mouth a rigid line. "Five minutes and counting. Dean by me, shoot anything that moves!"
The boy climbed down to take a position beside his father.
"Move people!" Jak shouted, racing to the worktable. Grabbing an armload of tools, he sprinted to the tank and tossed them inside. Doc shrugged off his backpack of supplies and started ferrying over fuel cans two at a time. Mildred grabbed the packs and hauled them into the tank, making room for the next load. "These things are full of something!" the elderly man announced. "Sure hope it is fuel."
"Me, too!"
"What are hellhounds, anyway?" J.B. demanded, dragging over a massive a toolbox. "Muties?"
"Bio weps," Jak replied, hefting a box full of oil cans.
"Escaped after skydark, eh?"
"Guess."
"Nasty buggers."
Wrapping a chain around the rear stanchion of the tank, Krysty asked, "Any weak points beside the eyes and ears?"
Opening a bulky canvas bag, Jak saw it was full of engine belts and radiator hoses. Mighty useful. He slung it over his shoulder. "Sure. Can't swim."
"Great," J.B. muttered, helping Doc with more gas canisters. The coldhearts had to have raided every fuel tank in the place to get this much gas. There was nearly a hundred gallons. "Can't swim. Just great."
"We're running out of room in here!" Mildred called.
"I'm on it," Krysty shouted as she laid out the chain to the towbar of a jeep and looped it around. She then cinched the locking clamp tight. She stood back. "There. We can drag this along behind. Throw in anything you want."
As the others rushed to obey, something moved in the shadows and Dean cut loose with his Browning Hi-Power, the bullets ricocheting off a steel support.
"Chill! Stop wasting rounds on shadows. We're being stalked," Ryan said, pulling out his silenced 9 mm blaster. "These things are smart. Too bastard smart for my liking. Wait until you actually see something."
"Okay, Dad," Dean said, slamming a fresh clip into the blaster while studying the darkness underneath a Hummer.
Over by the fuel pumps, a steel drum noisily toppled over. Nobody reacted. Then a loud creak sounded from the rafters. Spinning in a gunfighter's crouch, Doc drew and fired his LeMat, the .44 Magnum slug blasting the overhead light into sparking rubbish. Darkness swallowed them, and immediately things began to move m the cluttered ring of military craft around them.
"Shield your eyes!" Mildred shouted from the front of the tank, and lights erupted all over the Leviathan, catching two of the hellhounds standing brazenly in the open. Ryan and Dean both cut loose, but only succeeded in driving the beasts away.
"Last load!" Ryan barked, dropping the Steyr's clip and sliding in a fresh magazine. "Double time!"
Wasting no time in recriminations, everybody climbed inside, dragging packs of supplies and goods. The thick door was pulled closed with a solid, reassuring clang, and Jak drove home the locking bolt.
"Dark night, I hate leaving supplies," J.B. panted, collapsing into a seat.
"Once the dogs are dead, we can loot the place down to the nails in the walls," Ryan told him, his good eye focused out an ob slit. "But first things first. We kill the hounds."
"Anything moving?" Doc asked.
"Not yet."
"Lights on or off?" Mildred asked from the driver's console.
Wearily, Ryan sat down, the cushioned seat feeling sinfully soft. "On for now. Let's catch our breath."
"Take five," Krysty said, dropping her backpack of supplies.
The recessed ceiling lights were bright but not harsh, and Ryan found the inside of the tank surprisingly plush. The coldhearts had to have liked their comfort. There was combat seating for eight in the back, with lockers lining the two walls. Next was a gunnery seat for the left and right Remington .50-calibers, and ammo dumps, nicely full. In the middle was a field surgery unit that Mildred was already examining. Beyond that was a standardized gun rack with a locking bar holding a couple of longblasters in place. Next was a line of general storage lockers with the pile of tools and fuel cans from the garage. He was surprised at how much loot his people had been able to grab in the short period of time allotted. Near the front were more seats, these facing forward instead of inward, then the cockpit with driver's seat and gunner's chair. Ryan walked closer, pausing to note the water tank seemed to be almost full and pleased that the ceiling was high enough he didn't have to bend or stoop. The dashboard was covered with electronic instruments, only half of which he could identify: radar, nightscopes, infrared and a powerful radio. In spite of the luxurious interior, Ryan reminded himself that this was no pleasure craft, but a combat vehicle, a troop carrier with blasters. Nothing more.
"Can we fuel from inside?" Dean asked from the rear of the tank.
"Yes. There's a feeder pipe over by the flamethrower."
"The what?"
"But there's no lay," Mildred continued, loosening her sleeves and rolling them up. "Could get messy if we're in here for any length of time."
"No kitchen either," Krysty remarked, taking stock of their most recent acquisition. "But at least we can eat these food packs without coking them."
Moving to the front, Krysty took the gunnery chair and examined the controls. "There are twice as many nuke batteries as needed." She tapped a gauge with a fingernail. "And fully charged."
"We ever get some insulated wiring," Mildred said, "we can connect the spare batteries to the door handles to dissuade invaders."
"Dissuade?" Jak repeated, arching a snowy eyebrow.
"Fry," Doc explained.
"We also have three motors," Ryan stated, studying the complex collection of gauges, indicators and lights. "But we only need two to run this behemoth."
"A spare motor? There's a fine notion."
A thump sounded from outside. "Company!" Ryan told them, grabbing his blaster. The friends jumped to the gunports, but the dark shapes were already disappearing into the jumble of vehicles.
"Odd they didn't hit the door or a window," Krysty said, watching them go.
"Maybe they weren't trying to get in," Mildred suggested.
J.B. frowned. "They were doing something else."
"Everybody check for damage," Ryan snapped, looking out the front windshield. "Fine over here."
"No damage."
"Hell's bells," Mildred cried, struggling to see out the starboard blasterport. "There's a tire missing!"