"Bischoff, David - Night World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bischoff David)

A doubt flickered, then burst into flame. Had the man run for his life? Had he left Oliver and his people to fend for themselves? His attention was brought back to the dragon by its reaction to his last statement: "Your beliefs lie, and shall be changed as soon as I rule this world!" Advancing, it loomed near, hooked Oliver's coat with a claw, lifting him upward. The sharp, dirt-stained claw, Oliver could see now, was steel. It skewered the top of his coat jaggedly, and the frock coat's seams slowly ripped beneath Oliver's weight. The metal claw against his bare skin was as cold as death. "Why do you anger me, petty one?" The dragon's noxious breath seemed composed of equal parts gasoline and decomposed meat fumes. Oliver was so close, he could detect bits of meaty gristle wedged between the monster's pointed, yellowed teeth. Suddenly, the creature tossed him contemptuously. away, tearing the coat to rags. Oliver bumped so hard on his rear, the momentum somersaulted him over into a disheveled, stunned scatter of arms and legs amidst the cushioning grass. "I think you are stalling me. This I will not tolerate. You will die for your impudence."

The dragon's head loomed closer hideously. The mouth gaped, yawning incredibly wide. Oliver braced himself for a fiery death.

Suddenly a tremendous explosion hurled Oliver head over heels. He barely clung to consciousness as the force propelled him along the ground. Rocking to a stop, he gazed up, and was startled by what he saw.

Now scorched brown, the dragon's jaw dripped a thick red ichor. From its nostrils smoke and random flames billowed. The voice within sputtered and screamed in anger. Obviously it had no further use of the jaw, a ruined twisted mess.

What had happened? Oliver climbed shakily to his feet. However, poised to run for his life, he noted movement to his right.

Turning back, he faced Satan's dragon once more, and screamed hoarsely, the taste of fear bitter in his mouth. "Here he comes!" He pointed to his left, to divert the creature's attention. "Here comes Geoffrey Turner, Satan!"

Even though its fire-breathing faculties were destroyed, the remainder of the beast still seemed to be operable. Following Oliver's gesture, the dragon's neck turned and therefore it did not immediately notice what Oliver had seen.

Turner's van, horseless, whisked rapidly toward the beast. Geoffrey Turner had kept his word. Expectation tingled in Oliver.

The big wheeled box was on course to ram the dragon, but the axles rattled as it neared, attracting the beast's attention. The dragon swung its bloody head around and adjusted its stance to brace for the collision, able to spread its wings to flap away.

But too late.

The heavy vehicle barreled into the beast's left wing, snapping it. The crack echoed about the walls and buildings like the voice of a giant whip. The broken wing crumpled and the van plowed directly into the dragon's side. With a sickening crunch, the thing toppled.

The dragon loosed a horrendous roar, a mixture of anger and agony. Its thick tail lashed violently against Turner's van and the mighty claws gashed long rents in the wood veneer. Van and dragon skidded a full ten yards before sliding to a halt.

The van's wheels began to rotate backward, but the van did not move. Turner was trying to back up, and again smash into the dragon. But the beast held the van fast, claws dug deep into the wood, tail curled around the chassis.

"All right, men!" erupted a cry from behind him. "Fire at will!" Oliver turned. Some thirty armed Fernwold soldiers raised their rifles. Giving orders was his father.

The ancient rifles cracked and popped, splattering bullets into the dragon. Some bullets bounced off its scales, but others ripped through the unarmored portions of the dragon's body. Gouts of blood spurted.

An eye exploded into crystalline powder. Blood leaked profusely from the cavity.

Careful not to place himself in the line of fire, Oliver hustled back.

"Father," he cried. "Turner's in that van!"

Tears streamed down the man's ashen face. He reloaded his rifle. The scent of spent gun powder charged the air. "He can fend for himself. I just want that beast destroyed," before it harms others."

Oliver could see there would be no discussion of tactics with his father. The man was in a towering rage. If the dragon was not killed soon, it might well crush the van, and Turner, thus succeeding in its mission. A soldier, not in uniform, had just reloaded his rifle. Oliver pounced upon him, tore it away, and dashed toward the deadlocked machines. The soldier's cries drew Viscount Dolan's attention. He yelled to his son, but to no avail.

Oliver knew that to still the beast, the bullet had to be fired at close range. He remembered Turner had destroyed the werewolf by upsetting its internal mechanisms. If he could do the same with a properly placed bullet, then there was hope for the man, and the van.

Moving to the blind side of the maddened beast, he scanned the length of its body. He had observed a patch of unprotected surfaces, there, exposed just below the wing.

Nearing as close as he dared, Oliver aimed at the blinking lights dimly visible through the beast's translucent covering.

And squeezed off the bullet.

Metal and glass smashed with hollow tinkles and violent explosions. Sparks flew through the opening and a hint of noisome smoke, small clouds of it, biUowed from the machinery. A flame flickered, and another, like red tongues from a mouth.