"c92" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burt Andrew - Noontide Night)

5:00 P.M., Monday, January 3, 2000
Agate, Colorado

Nate edged the speedometer up to a hundred. One bonus of the cops being tied up with Bigger Matters was that nobody seemed to worry about speed trapping. A Mercedes whizzed past him at what must have been a hundred fifty. There might be nowhere to commute to, but at least getting there was fast. The parking lot of Amber's complex had a thin layer of frost where the shadows never relented during the day; and a thin layer of human detritus. People had cleared out of here fast, was Nate's first observation. Wet papers were strewn, bits of clothes flapped limply in the mild breeze, cardboard boxes lay at all angles. A small pile of broken flower-patterned dishes lay half swept up in a parking spot, as if shoved with toes just enough to prevent flattening a tire. Only three older cars and a dirty pickup remained in the lot; perhaps ones that wouldn't start, or junkers that hadn't run for months anyway. Several of the doors to apartments on all three floors were cocked in various degrees of open. No lights shone. Puddles stood where pipes had burst before the water had been shut off. Nate warily approached the stairs and clanged up to the second floor. The echoes reverberated eerily around the courtyard. The place was dead. Nate suddenly felt like Charlton Heston playing the last man on earth, Robert Neville, the Omega Man. "'There are no... phones... ringing!'" he shouted. "'My God! It's almost dark. They'll be waking up soon.'" He chuckled. Nate poked his head into the first dark mouth of a doorway. He instantly realized why everyone had fled and jerked his head back. It stank like raw sewage. "Pheeee-uuuu." He waved at his nose. Once acquired, he couldn't seem to rid his nose of the stench. Reinforcements wafted from each open doorway. He clumped down to Amber's apartment. Though the door had appeared closed from afar, up close he could see it had been kicked in and was now open a crack. He nudged it open with his foot and held his nose. The stink penetrated anyway, curling up from his mouth as he breathed through his leather gloves. He wished he'd brought his flashlight, but even without it, it was clear someone had ransacked the place. The refrigerator door stood open, food tossed about. Nate noticed the fridge light was on, so the building still had power. The beds were stripped of sheets and blankets. The TV was smashed. CDs littered the floor. Coats slumped outward from the small coat closet as if someone had investigated and rejected each of the women's coats as too small. Nate noticed that an old windbreaker he'd left here wasn't among the pile. His eyes accidentally strayed into the bathroom. He quickly squeezed them shut and felt bile rising. The toilet had presumably backed up during a prodigious flush. Nate rushed outside for air. He stood at the railing for many seconds hyperventilating, then calming himself. Charlton Heston never mentioned how awful it must have smelt. Nate hadn't seen any note indicating where Amber's roommates had gone, or even evidence that Amber had ever returned. On his way down the stairs he tried to remember where she'd said her parents lived. Was it Pittsburgh or Philadelphia? He always got those confused. And wasn't her mother remarried, with a different last name? As he took the last stair he saw the light flick on. It was in the apartment to his right. Two barrel-chested biker-wannabe's and a scrawny teenager with a mean, gaunt face stepped out. The taller of the two biker types had a twisted smile on his face. The shorter, a shotgun resting on his arm. Nate remembered the albino mutant's chilling taunt from the movie... "'Nevvvvvvv-illllle'," he said under his breath. "Whatcha got for us, punk?" Shotgun asked. Nate wished he had Charlton Heston's machine gun. As it was, he only had ten shots off his Glock. And it was holstered. He wasn't sure he wanted to try a quick draw. On the other hand, what choice did he have? He whipped out the Glock and fired two shots as he bolted for his Hyundai. He heard the deep explosion of the shotgun in his bones. He felt his still tender hamstring twinging as he ran, limped, scrambled for the car. When he reached the car he fired back again at the trio who'd spread out in their pursuit. They ducked, but kept coming. Nate fumbled the key into the lock (why, on God's green Earth had he locked it in a deserted parking lot!?), fired again at Shotgun, got the door open, and gingerly hopped in. He gunned it, praying it would work. Shotgun had just racked another round as Nate tore off. Nate heard the shot and the simultaneous 'tink' of the shot hitting his car. He squealed around the parking lot as fast as the Hyundai could, and hopped a curb onto the street before the maniac could reload again. As he sped down I-70 home, he finally noticed his calf was bleeding profusely.

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Chapter 9.2

5:00 P.M., Monday, January 3, 2000
Agate, Colorado

Nate edged the speedometer up to a hundred. One bonus of the cops being tied up with Bigger Matters was that nobody seemed to worry about speed trapping. A Mercedes whizzed past him at what must have been a hundred fifty. There might be nowhere to commute to, but at least getting there was fast. The parking lot of Amber's complex had a thin layer of frost where the shadows never relented during the day; and a thin layer of human detritus. People had cleared out of here fast, was Nate's first observation. Wet papers were strewn, bits of clothes flapped limply in the mild breeze, cardboard boxes lay at all angles. A small pile of broken flower-patterned dishes lay half swept up in a parking spot, as if shoved with toes just enough to prevent flattening a tire. Only three older cars and a dirty pickup remained in the lot; perhaps ones that wouldn't start, or junkers that hadn't run for months anyway. Several of the doors to apartments on all three floors were cocked in various degrees of open. No lights shone. Puddles stood where pipes had burst before the water had been shut off. Nate warily approached the stairs and clanged up to the second floor. The echoes reverberated eerily around the courtyard. The place was dead. Nate suddenly felt like Charlton Heston playing the last man on earth, Robert Neville, the Omega Man. "'There are no... phones... ringing!'" he shouted. "'My God! It's almost dark. They'll be waking up soon.'" He chuckled. Nate poked his head into the first dark mouth of a doorway. He instantly realized why everyone had fled and jerked his head back. It stank like raw sewage. "Pheeee-uuuu." He waved at his nose. Once acquired, he couldn't seem to rid his nose of the stench. Reinforcements wafted from each open doorway. He clumped down to Amber's apartment. Though the door had appeared closed from afar, up close he could see it had been kicked in and was now open a crack. He nudged it open with his foot and held his nose. The stink penetrated anyway, curling up from his mouth as he breathed through his leather gloves. He wished he'd brought his flashlight, but even without it, it was clear someone had ransacked the place. The refrigerator door stood open, food tossed about. Nate noticed the fridge light was on, so the building still had power. The beds were stripped of sheets and blankets. The TV was smashed. CDs littered the floor. Coats slumped outward from the small coat closet as if someone had investigated and rejected each of the women's coats as too small. Nate noticed that an old windbreaker he'd left here wasn't among the pile. His eyes accidentally strayed into the bathroom. He quickly squeezed them shut and felt bile rising. The toilet had presumably backed up during a prodigious flush. Nate rushed outside for air. He stood at the railing for many seconds hyperventilating, then calming himself. Charlton Heston never mentioned how awful it must have smelt. Nate hadn't seen any note indicating where Amber's roommates had gone, or even evidence that Amber had ever returned. On his way down the stairs he tried to remember where she'd said her parents lived. Was it Pittsburgh or Philadelphia? He always got those confused. And wasn't her mother remarried, with a different last name? As he took the last stair he saw the light flick on. It was in the apartment to his right. Two barrel-chested biker-wannabe's and a scrawny teenager with a mean, gaunt face stepped out. The taller of the two biker types had a twisted smile on his face. The shorter, a shotgun resting on his arm. Nate remembered the albino mutant's chilling taunt from the movie... "'Nevvvvvvv-illllle'," he said under his breath. "Whatcha got for us, punk?" Shotgun asked. Nate wished he had Charlton Heston's machine gun. As it was, he only had ten shots off his Glock. And it was holstered. He wasn't sure he wanted to try a quick draw. On the other hand, what choice did he have? He whipped out the Glock and fired two shots as he bolted for his Hyundai. He heard the deep explosion of the shotgun in his bones. He felt his still tender hamstring twinging as he ran, limped, scrambled for the car. When he reached the car he fired back again at the trio who'd spread out in their pursuit. They ducked, but kept coming. Nate fumbled the key into the lock (why, on God's green Earth had he locked it in a deserted parking lot!?), fired again at Shotgun, got the door open, and gingerly hopped in. He gunned it, praying it would work. Shotgun had just racked another round as Nate tore off. Nate heard the shot and the simultaneous 'tink' of the shot hitting his car. He squealed around the parking lot as fast as the Hyundai could, and hopped a curb onto the street before the maniac could reload again. As he sped down I-70 home, he finally noticed his calf was bleeding profusely.


back | next home