"BAILEY-AnencephalicFields" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bailey Dale)spun like a high-strung cat and leveled the shotgun right at me. Maybe I didn't
really sense her finger tightening about the trigger, but I sure thought I did, and for a single frozen heartbeat I couldn't see a thing but the enormous barrel of that shotgun, hateful and deadly as a borehole to hell. Then she kind of nodded. "Kemp," she said, and all the air went out of me in a woosh. "What's going on?" I said. "Who's--" Already she'd swung the shotgun away from me. "Shut up, Kemp," she said, and someone else added, conversationally, "Yes, lad, do shut the hell up, would you?" I glanced into the yard and that's when I got my first look at Shamus Smee. He looked like nothing more than a drowned sewer rat, thin faced and delicate boned, with a three-day beard running to gray, and furtive eyes the color of lead. He wore combat boots and a sweat-stained camo jumper, and his corded hands hung at his thighs, flexing with nervous tension. He projected a sense of contained energy, like a coiled steel spring, and when he spoke again, his clipped northern accent sounded wheedling and hostile: "Now then, you were saying--" Mama said. "Less you have i.d." Said slut--a waif-like twenty-something with a close-cropped head of dirty blonde and a torso-hugging mood shirt--gasped. "Shamus--" she began, the T-shirt flaring an angry red, but Smee interrupted. "Shut up, Lush. True is true. Back to the car with you." "Shamus--" "Back to the car with you, I said!" He turned on her and something electric passed between them. I could feel it, sizzling in the August heat. The blonde edged toward the humvee, parked carelessly fifteen meters from the house. Its doors stood open, internal alarms bleating like a sickly cow. Smee stood his ground. "As I was telling you," Smee said, "BioGene has--" "Nobody informed me that you were coming." "I have come to relieve you. And frankly, I couldn't give two shits whether you were informed." |
|
|