"L. Warren Douglas - Simply Human" - читать интересную книгу автора (Douglas L Warren)

"Very well then, I will," she said with a determined nod. "Now get off my clothes."

Benadek was still grinning when she jerked her knee up to his chin, and barely changed his expression
when he came to rest flat on his back. He tasted blood. She spun full circle, her hard, bare foot catching
him first alongside his head, stunning him, then again in his ribs, knocking the wind from him. He made it
to his hands and knees before her deadly foot landed across his buttocks and sent him sprawling again.

"Now will you go away, you disgusting child?"

Speechless, humiliated, Benadek stumbled toward camp. He heard her say "Oh, damn! Now I'm all
dirty again," and heard the splash as she dove back into the water.




PROLOGUE
The Dry Hills, Earth
Sweat-soaked, caked with bitter salt-dust, the wizened brown man peered out from the dead rocks at a
scene straight from his guiltiest childhood vision of Hell.

Snarling hounds as big as ponies milled about the narrow defile, slashing at each other and their masters
with finger-sized teeth. Their sparse, coarse hair left dirty gray skin exposed, and failed to hide fresh,
gaping wounds. The whole pack had gone mad.

Horny claws left raking tracks in the soft sandstone. The hellhounds shook their massive heads, blinked
saucer-sized ocher eyes and twitched their long, ratlike noses as the old man's powdery fire-dust seared
their nasal membranes. They howled like canine banshees. They ran in circles and backed across their
own tracks as if desperately avoiding swarms of invisible bees.

Unable to identify the source of their excruciating pain, they fell upon each other blindly; great fangs tore
patchy fur, grimy skin, and dark red flesh. Gobbets of blood-flecked foam dangled from their jaws and
flew through the air as they twisted and spun madly about, oblivious to their hideous wounds and to their
hidden quarry.

The old man allowed himself an almost-silent chuckle that was drowned in the howls and snarls of his
erstwhile pursuers. He held up a tiny leather bag, gave its drawstring a decisive tug, and tucked it away in
his sorcerer's robe. His eyes returned to the bloody carnage beyond.

The dogs' masters, huge men with identical shocks of white-blond, curly hair, waded among the beasts
swinging short clubs and heavy chains, their black leather jerkins and trousers impervious to teeth and
claws. Sweat thickened with alkaline dust glistened on their almost-identical faces. The hidden man noted
with satisfaction that they were reeling with heat and fatigue. A baleful red sun, desert-hot even late in the
day, beat down from a dust-laden sky, casting crimson shadows over a rust and ocher and black
landscape unrelieved by a single growing thing.

The oldster was not pleased they had holstered handgunsтАФlasers, judging by the powerpacks slung
over their buttocks. Forcing his ancient knees to be steady, he rose to his feet and began the arduous
climb to the safety of the heights above the ravine.