"c192" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burt Andrew - Noontide Night)

6:00 A.M., Thursday, February 3, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

After her shift ended, Desiree wearily threaded through checkpoints and clogged intersections to the police station. What fake name had Morgan given them? Dunwoody. Deborah Dunwoody. It was only an hour's wait, but on the hard bench it felt like she was already a Nation of the Strong prisoner again. She dared not relinquish her hard-won seat, however, as it would be instantly filled like a parking space at Christmas. Lines, lines, and lines. It was a wonder any work was getting done at all with everyone waiting in lines for the police, for food, for water, medicine... Finally she was ushered though the bustling squad room to Sergeant Latham's desk. There were more police at desks than last time, and fewer boisterous civilians, but it still had far to go to return to balanced. Latham had even darker circles under his eyes. Desiree reminded him who she was, the woman whose baby was trapped in the hospital. She made her pitch. She'd be willing to do the legwork to supply the Strong with fuel; become a sort of deputy. She even volunteered to help them with other tasks. Her job at PS&B, or even at HHF Architectural wasn't as important as this. "'Preciate the offer, ma'am. But like we told them," he said with a nod of his head, as if nodding toward terrorists over his shoulder, "we 'aven't got the fuel to give." Desiree gave him a coy look. "There isn't any you can requisition? The radio says the government's taking all the petrol. The police are still part of the government, aren't you?" "Oh yes ma'am, no worries there." "So you have the fuel." "Well, I can't as rightly say, ma'am." "Are you still providing them food?" "No, ma'am, we've stopped that." "But they're selling off their pharmacy to buy food, right?" "I 'spect so, ma'am." "So your policy isn't working. I think you should let me bring them food and fuel." He gave an official smile. "Oh, on the contrary, ma'am. We'd cut the flow of food and fuel to them if we had the manpower. We'll establish a blockade on them as soon as the power's up. Should be just a few weeks now, ma'am. We'll get your li'l nipper out of there." "Aren't you afraid of casualties? Won't they shoot hostages if you starve them out? Even if they don't, patients will die for lack of food! And what happens when they run out of fuel? The doctors won't be able to operate, or—" "Oh, we don't 'spect they're doing too much operatin' as it is. Now if you don't mind, ma'am, there's an awful lot of other people waitin'." "What if I warn them. The Strong. Then your plan won't work." Latham shrugged. "They know, I s'pose. Wouldn't much matter. They thinks the weak should up and die anyway." He rose to escort her out. "Good day, ma'am. And don't worry, we'll take care of things." Yeah, Desiree thought, like you prepared for The Chaos. She left the police station, having acquired there only additional frustration. Doors seemed to close before her as she walked down the hallway of opportunity. Only one door remained. Axton. He greeted her with that damn cherubic smile she so detested. Other than that, he looked beat to hell. His had several days' sandy stubble, his eyes were sunken, his skin pallid. "'After many days thou shalt be visited,'", he quoted. Desiree almost turned and left. How could she make a deal with this weasel? But she forced a smile. She knew there would be sacrifices for her children. She sat and explained her need for diesel fuel, a blue jumpsuit like Matty wore, an ID badge—in Matty's name—and possibly food later on. "And in exchange, I get...?" He asked, licking cracked lips. "I can get you penicillin,..." She wanted to recite a list of their pharmaceuticals, but had no idea what they had, or even might have. "That sort of stuff." "That's not what I want." Axton shook his head, still with the sinister smile. "I've seen how you look at me. You know what I need." Desiree put her hand over her mouth. Perhaps she hadn't been wrong about why he wore what she jokingly called "krotch-tite" jeans. "You want sex?" His face puckered like he'd sucked on a lemon. "Ugh! That's disgusting! You just had a baby." He stared at her. "I've overheard your husband telling people what you think of me. You know what I want. I wasn't visiting the hospital the morning you were there to get penicillin." He stared at her, as if waiting for the light to blink on above her head. "I want the good stuff. Demerol, morphine, dilaudid, vicodin, ketamine. Valium's ok. And any Keflex or catapress. He wrote out a list. "You mean the time you asked Morgan about that stupid font problem?" The light went on. "So you are a drug—" she wanted to say 'druggie', but thought better of it. "—addict. You were just covering why you were really at the hospital. God, that's pathetic. Buying drugs from corrupt nurses. Or are they doctors? Or do you just steal it?" She thought they closely tracked those things, but clearly he had some angle. He shrugged. "Then we have an agreement. I'll front you the fake ID and clothes. Come by this evening to pick them up. Your husband somehow managed to escape our last deal. This time it's payment in advance. When you come back with a couple ampules of demerol, morphine or the other stuff, I'll explain how to get the fuel. Oh, tabs are great too if they don't have ampules." Desiree hadn't said yes, but somehow it had become a done deal. As she drove on to work at HHF she told herself she could simply not show up. All day long, as she half-heartedly sketched some interiors for a Bank of New Zealand building, she rationalized her actions. What did she care about Axton? He was a druggie. The hospital—well, the Nation of the Strong was selling off the pharmacy anyway. "Desperate times...," she thought to herself many times that day. And then she was pulling up to Axton's office. He had come through with his end of the bargain. "'And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle,'" he quoted, "'that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where she is nourished for a time.'"

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Chapter 19.2

6:00 A.M., Thursday, February 3, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

After her shift ended, Desiree wearily threaded through checkpoints and clogged intersections to the police station. What fake name had Morgan given them? Dunwoody. Deborah Dunwoody. It was only an hour's wait, but on the hard bench it felt like she was already a Nation of the Strong prisoner again. She dared not relinquish her hard-won seat, however, as it would be instantly filled like a parking space at Christmas. Lines, lines, and lines. It was a wonder any work was getting done at all with everyone waiting in lines for the police, for food, for water, medicine... Finally she was ushered though the bustling squad room to Sergeant Latham's desk. There were more police at desks than last time, and fewer boisterous civilians, but it still had far to go to return to balanced. Latham had even darker circles under his eyes. Desiree reminded him who she was, the woman whose baby was trapped in the hospital. She made her pitch. She'd be willing to do the legwork to supply the Strong with fuel; become a sort of deputy. She even volunteered to help them with other tasks. Her job at PS&B, or even at HHF Architectural wasn't as important as this. "'Preciate the offer, ma'am. But like we told them," he said with a nod of his head, as if nodding toward terrorists over his shoulder, "we 'aven't got the fuel to give." Desiree gave him a coy look. "There isn't any you can requisition? The radio says the government's taking all the petrol. The police are still part of the government, aren't you?" "Oh yes ma'am, no worries there." "So you have the fuel." "Well, I can't as rightly say, ma'am." "Are you still providing them food?" "No, ma'am, we've stopped that." "But they're selling off their pharmacy to buy food, right?" "I 'spect so, ma'am." "So your policy isn't working. I think you should let me bring them food and fuel." He gave an official smile. "Oh, on the contrary, ma'am. We'd cut the flow of food and fuel to them if we had the manpower. We'll establish a blockade on them as soon as the power's up. Should be just a few weeks now, ma'am. We'll get your li'l nipper out of there." "Aren't you afraid of casualties? Won't they shoot hostages if you starve them out? Even if they don't, patients will die for lack of food! And what happens when they run out of fuel? The doctors won't be able to operate, or—" "Oh, we don't 'spect they're doing too much operatin' as it is. Now if you don't mind, ma'am, there's an awful lot of other people waitin'." "What if I warn them. The Strong. Then your plan won't work." Latham shrugged. "They know, I s'pose. Wouldn't much matter. They thinks the weak should up and die anyway." He rose to escort her out. "Good day, ma'am. And don't worry, we'll take care of things." Yeah, Desiree thought, like you prepared for The Chaos. She left the police station, having acquired there only additional frustration. Doors seemed to close before her as she walked down the hallway of opportunity. Only one door remained. Axton. He greeted her with that damn cherubic smile she so detested. Other than that, he looked beat to hell. His had several days' sandy stubble, his eyes were sunken, his skin pallid. "'After many days thou shalt be visited,'", he quoted. Desiree almost turned and left. How could she make a deal with this weasel? But she forced a smile. She knew there would be sacrifices for her children. She sat and explained her need for diesel fuel, a blue jumpsuit like Matty wore, an ID badge—in Matty's name—and possibly food later on. "And in exchange, I get...?" He asked, licking cracked lips. "I can get you penicillin,..." She wanted to recite a list of their pharmaceuticals, but had no idea what they had, or even might have. "That sort of stuff." "That's not what I want." Axton shook his head, still with the sinister smile. "I've seen how you look at me. You know what I need." Desiree put her hand over her mouth. Perhaps she hadn't been wrong about why he wore what she jokingly called "krotch-tite" jeans. "You want sex?" His face puckered like he'd sucked on a lemon. "Ugh! That's disgusting! You just had a baby." He stared at her. "I've overheard your husband telling people what you think of me. You know what I want. I wasn't visiting the hospital the morning you were there to get penicillin." He stared at her, as if waiting for the light to blink on above her head. "I want the good stuff. Demerol, morphine, dilaudid, vicodin, ketamine. Valium's ok. And any Keflex or catapress. He wrote out a list. "You mean the time you asked Morgan about that stupid font problem?" The light went on. "So you are a drug—" she wanted to say 'druggie', but thought better of it. "—addict. You were just covering why you were really at the hospital. God, that's pathetic. Buying drugs from corrupt nurses. Or are they doctors? Or do you just steal it?" She thought they closely tracked those things, but clearly he had some angle. He shrugged. "Then we have an agreement. I'll front you the fake ID and clothes. Come by this evening to pick them up. Your husband somehow managed to escape our last deal. This time it's payment in advance. When you come back with a couple ampules of demerol, morphine or the other stuff, I'll explain how to get the fuel. Oh, tabs are great too if they don't have ampules." Desiree hadn't said yes, but somehow it had become a done deal. As she drove on to work at HHF she told herself she could simply not show up. All day long, as she half-heartedly sketched some interiors for a Bank of New Zealand building, she rationalized her actions. What did she care about Axton? He was a druggie. The hospital—well, the Nation of the Strong was selling off the pharmacy anyway. "Desperate times...," she thought to herself many times that day. And then she was pulling up to Axton's office. He had come through with his end of the bargain. "'And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle,'" he quoted, "'that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where she is nourished for a time.'"


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