"Gardner Dozois - Morning Child" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dozois Gardner)

Their camp was set well back from the road, on top of a bluff, just above a small river. There had been
a restaurant here once, and a corner of the building still stood, two walls and part of the roof, needing
only the tarpaulin stretched across the open end to make it into a reasonably snug shelter. TheyтАЩd have to
find something better by winter, of course, but this was good enough for July, reasonably well hidden and
close to a supply of water.

Rolling, wooded hills were around them to the north and east. To the south, across the river, the hills
dwindled away into flatland, and the world opened up into a vista that stretched to the horizon.

They grabbed a quick lunch and then set to work, chopping wood, hauling in the nets that Williams had
set across the river to catch fish, carrying water, for cooking, up the steep slope to camp. Williams let
John do most of the heavy work. John sang and whistled happily while he worked, and once, on his way
back from carrying some firewood to the shelter, he laughed, grabbed Williams under the arms, boosted
him into the air, and danced him around in a little circle before setting him back down on his feet again.

тАЬFeeling your oats, eh?тАЭ Williams said with mock sever-ity, looking up into the sweaty face that smiled
down at him.

тАЬSomebody has to do the work around here,тАЭ John said cheerfully, and they both laughed. тАЬI canтАЩt wait
to get back to my outfit,тАЭ John said eagerly. тАЬI feel much better now. I feel terrific. Are we going to stay
out here much longer?тАЭ His eyes pleaded with Williams. тАЬWe can go back soon, canтАЩt we?тАЭ

тАЬYeah.тАЭWilliams lied, тАЬwe can go back real soon.тАЭ

But already John was tiring. By dusk his footsteps were beginning to drag, and his breathing was
becoming heavy and labored. He paused in the middle of what he was doing, put down the
woodchopping ax, and stood silently for a moment, staring blankly at nothing.

His face was suddenly intent and withdrawn, and his eyes were dull. He swayed unsteadily and wiped
the back of his hand across his forehead. Williams got him to sit down on a stump near the improvised
fireplace. He sat there silently, staring at the ground in abstraction while Williams bustled around, lighting
a fire, cleaning and filleting the fish, cutting up dandelion roots and chicory crowns, boiling water. The sun
was down now, and fireflies began to float above the river, winking like fairy lanterns through the velvet
darkness.

Williams did his best to interest John in supper, hoping that heтАЩd eat something while he still had some of
his teeth, but John would eat little. After a few moments he put his tin plate down and sat staring dully to
the south, out over the darkened lands beyond the river, just barely visible in the dim light of a crescent
moon. His face was preoccupied and glum and be-ginning to get jowly. His hairline had retreated in a
wide arc from his forehead, creating a large bald spot. He worked his mouth indecisively several times
and at last said, тАЬHave I beenтАж ill?тАЭ

тАЬYes, John,тАЭ Williams said gently. тАЬYou have been ill.тАЭ

тАЬI canтАЩtтАж I canтАЩt remember,тАЭ John complained. His voice was cracked and husky, querulous.
тАЬEverythingтАЩs so confused. I canтАЩt keep things straight.тАЭ

Somewhere on the invisible horizon, perhaps a hundred miles away, a pillar of fire leapt up from the
edge of the world.