"Gardner Dozois & Michael Swanwick - Ancestral Voices" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dozois Gardner)

where it was, until the hunger rose up like a wall and forced it out.
 Moving as swiftlyтАФas noiselesslyтАФas shifting shadows, it scavenged the
barn, a whirlwind of silent wrath, in search of the fire-of-life all living creatures
carried within. Up in the rafters it took a clutch of bats, engulfing them before they
could stir from their upside-down perches, and felt better for it, unsatisfied, but no
longer so ravenous. Again and again, it scoured the barn, knowing that there should
be more prey, and bewildered by its absence.
Frequently it passed by yellow cardboard boxes with grain spilling out from
them and of course could not recognize them as bait stations filled with rat poison.
But it quickly came to realize that the nourishment it must have would of necessity
have to be found outside.
Cautiously, it edged out into the farmyard, slipping easily under the barn door.
AndтАФfire! fear! pain! horror!тАФfound its spatial sense overwhelmed by land
that stretched far and away, featureless and with no place to hide, no sheltering
masses or deep crannies into which to duck, nothing but rolling, exposed emptiness
for hundreds of times its own length. Off to one side was the farmhouse, surrounded
by evergreen shrubbery and a few ancient oaks, but it hardly spared that a glimpse in
its panicked retreat back into the barn.
Terrified, cold, and hungry, it returned to the half-open drawer to huddle
shivering like a wounded animal, its mind looping furiously over and over again and
still not easing out the jagged static terror. It waited, because it had to, waited for
something to change, for food to come to it, or else for the hunger and need to grow
so great that it would be forced out into the openness and emptiness where it
currently dared not go.


Mrs. Kingsley was tucking Jennifer into bed when the childтАЩs father came up
the drive. She carefully bundled the little girl in, first between a pair of flannel sheets,
then under a thin electric blanket, and finallyтАФto top it all offтАФpulling a
double-wedding band quilt over all. The quilt was one her mother had made, in point
of fact, and Alma Kingsley hoped to live long enough to pass it on to her
granddaughter, when the child came of marrying age.
тАЬItтАЩs snowing outside,тАЭ Jennifer said as her grandmother smoothed down the
quilt. And then, in that flat, absolutely sincere way children have of presenting their
fantasies, she said, тАЬAnd I saw a Monster from my window.тАЭ
It was then, in a kind of ironic counterpoint, that the El Dorado purred up the
long drive. Jennifer sat up immediately. тАЬIs that Daddy, Gamma?тАЭ
Mrs. Kingsley smoothed the child down on the pillow, then turned to look out
the window. A few small, bitter flakes of snow were falling from the black sky. They
fell fast, a precursor of more to come. The El Dorado pulled off the drive, which
was unnecessary, and onto the houseтАЩs front yard, which was worse. It was winter
and the grass was dead, but, still, that kind of treatment hurt a lawn.
тАЬYes, itтАЩs your father,тАЭ she said. The carтАЩs front door opened and the man
himself spilled drunkenly out. тАЬNo, donтАЩt get up. I am certain that your father would
rather find you tucked angelically into bed than running about cater-wauling like a
wild heathen Indian. Parents are peculiar in that respect.тАЭ
Jenny giggled appreciatively, if somewhat sleepily. Outside, the El DoradoтАЩs
other front door swung open.
Alma Kingsley slipped out of the room, snapping off the light. тАЬIтАЩll leave the
door open a crack,тАЭ she said. тАЬNow you just lie there with your eyes closed, so