"c272" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burt Andrew - Noontide Night)

6:59 A.M., Friday, February 25, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

Desiree sat on the floor, silently crying. This wasn't fair! She couldn't leave Jeremy. Maybe she could find a phone, and tell the police what she knew. Maybe she could even help as an insider, a mole. But she knew if she tried the phone she'd find it dead. The Strong had cut the phones ages ago. There must be a way to get information out without leaving. Notes in a bottle. Notes in paper airplanes. Something! Yet her mind was racing too fast to complete a coherent thought. The lives of the many... but Jeremy... specters of future guilt assailed her either way her mind turned. But what good could she really do here? The police, they'd said, would blockade the hospital until the supplies ran out. Inside here she'd only be another mouth to feed, possibly with poisoned food. She couldn't really protect Jeremy, since his best defense was to go unnoticed, not to have his mother drawing attention to him by saying "don't hurt my baby." What if the Strong made an example out of Jeremy, or her, because she'd drawn attention to herself? But the guilt of leaving, when all those hostages couldn't! Of abandoning her son! But she could help. Her knowledge could speed up the resolution. Save lives. It was a no win situation. She spent precious minutes convincing herself that if she left, it was not out of personal fear, and that she was not lowering Jeremy's chances of survival. She was raising them. She stood and boldly walked to the door. The testosterone twins who normally frisked her didn't even notice as she passed by. They were watching the police, rifles held at the ready. The guard at the door was likewise occupied, and let out a "hey!" too late, as Desiree was already out the door. She prayed none of the goons would shoot her, but walked with purpose, as if she'd been told to go out there. As she walked down the sidewalk, the police scurried into sudden activity. Oh shit! They were donning gas masks! They couldn't gas the building! There were patients here with respiratory problems. Jeremy! She waived her arms. "No, don't gas the building!" she shouted, but her voice sounded small and lost in the breeze. The police were in such a hurry to get their gas masks on. It seemed imminent that they would grab tear gas rifles. She started to run. Suddenly, still fumbling on his gas mask, a policeman raised a bullhorn. "STAY BACK! RETURN TO THE BUILDING IMMEDIATELY! THIS AREA HAS BEEN QUARANTINED FOR AN EPIDEMIC!"

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Chapter 27.2

6:59 A.M., Friday, February 25, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

Desiree sat on the floor, silently crying. This wasn't fair! She couldn't leave Jeremy. Maybe she could find a phone, and tell the police what she knew. Maybe she could even help as an insider, a mole. But she knew if she tried the phone she'd find it dead. The Strong had cut the phones ages ago. There must be a way to get information out without leaving. Notes in a bottle. Notes in paper airplanes. Something! Yet her mind was racing too fast to complete a coherent thought. The lives of the many... but Jeremy... specters of future guilt assailed her either way her mind turned. But what good could she really do here? The police, they'd said, would blockade the hospital until the supplies ran out. Inside here she'd only be another mouth to feed, possibly with poisoned food. She couldn't really protect Jeremy, since his best defense was to go unnoticed, not to have his mother drawing attention to him by saying "don't hurt my baby." What if the Strong made an example out of Jeremy, or her, because she'd drawn attention to herself? But the guilt of leaving, when all those hostages couldn't! Of abandoning her son! But she could help. Her knowledge could speed up the resolution. Save lives. It was a no win situation. She spent precious minutes convincing herself that if she left, it was not out of personal fear, and that she was not lowering Jeremy's chances of survival. She was raising them. She stood and boldly walked to the door. The testosterone twins who normally frisked her didn't even notice as she passed by. They were watching the police, rifles held at the ready. The guard at the door was likewise occupied, and let out a "hey!" too late, as Desiree was already out the door. She prayed none of the goons would shoot her, but walked with purpose, as if she'd been told to go out there. As she walked down the sidewalk, the police scurried into sudden activity. Oh shit! They were donning gas masks! They couldn't gas the building! There were patients here with respiratory problems. Jeremy! She waived her arms. "No, don't gas the building!" she shouted, but her voice sounded small and lost in the breeze. The police were in such a hurry to get their gas masks on. It seemed imminent that they would grab tear gas rifles. She started to run. Suddenly, still fumbling on his gas mask, a policeman raised a bullhorn. "STAY BACK! RETURN TO THE BUILDING IMMEDIATELY! THIS AREA HAS BEEN QUARANTINED FOR AN EPIDEMIC!"


back | next home