"Thomas A. Easton - Unto the Last Generation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

them into wings. His dark hair was pulled back into a short braid. The
youngest
of the three, he seemed barely out of adolescence. The plumpness of his
cheeks,
however, was not that of youth, not babyfat. His companions were also
fleshier
than the householder had been, a sign that people like them ate better than
their more sedentary prey.
"He probably got her same way we did," said Ron.
"You want her again?"
"Maybe later."
"Before we leave."
"Before then, Hussey. This rain ain't goin' to quit right away."
The bedroom door slammed against the wall. The third member of their party
appeared, his forehead and scalp beaded with sweat. His beard was cropped
short,
like grizzled fur. "Like fuckin' a corpse," he muttered.
"Hey, she's warm," said Ron.
"Warmer than your hand, Kiwi. And about as boney."
Kiwi glared at Hussey. "Not for long, you fuckin' kid. Smartass."
No one said a word. The only sounds were the rain on the house's roof and
sides
and the sobs of the woman in the bedroom.
CHAPTER 2
"Is anybody else up yet?"
The plaintive voice seemed to come from beyond the bent and twisted apple
tree
that dominated the knoll and framed beneath one arching limb the red, red
setting sun. A breeze drifted it across the blackberries and cat-claw
brambles
that sprawled down the slope beside the narrow path. From somewhere it coaxed
chaotic chords of organ and violin and accordion.
If someone with a nose had been on hand, he might have noticed that the
breeze
carried the scent of new growth and thin soil with just a touch of something
sour, as if the world itself were spoiling.
"Saw squirrel."
That one rasped and growled and drew the ear toward a pair of masonry pillars
that still supported a corroded wrought-iron gate, its leaves leaning this
way,
that way, dripping ornate letters from their gothic peaks. A few letters were
missing entirely. Those that remained on one of the gate's leaves spelled
out:
"E_ernal _ife." Those that remained on the other said: "Bultin Bo_rd Cet_ry."
To
either side of the pillars stretched a low stone wall. A number of stones had
fallen free of their mortar.
A narrow path passed between the decrepit gates. In its center, green and
blue
flies swarmed around a small pile of dung.