"Tom Easton - Mood Wendigo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

glad he hadn't collapsed while we had work to do. It would have been a shame to leave all that gear on
top of Pork Hill.

Our town's Chief of Police was a heavy-bellied man whose moon face wore a thin mustache. He was
young, about thirty, and as competent as we needed. Most of his energies were spent on rounding up
drunks and vandals, occasional burglars, and the odd con man. He could do the work because the town
was small and the crime rate low, but he could never hope to improve his lot. He would grow old in the
job, the gut would sag, the cheeks jowl and the eyes go piggish. The tattoos on his forearms would fade,
and somewhere along the line we would have to get rid of him. I wouldn't miss him; no one would. His
sense of social class was far too keen.
When we entered his office, he rose and said, "G'morning, Mayor! I thought you were going wendigo
hunting yesterday?"

"We did," I said shortly.

"Ah!" He grinned jovially, as if we shared some secret. "Stealing a march on your great white huntress,
hey?"

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked. I was irritated by his tone, impatient with what had to be nothing but
nonsense. But his next words set me back. "Lydia Seltzer. She didn't go with you."

It didn't sound like a question, but what else could it be? "Of course she did. That's why I'm here now.
She disappeared last night. She and Keith Hutchison."

The Chief plopped his bulk back into his swivel chair. He looked startled. "But..." Then he paused,
looking at Ronny as if for the first time. "What's the matter with him?"

"Shock and exhaustion," I said. "We were up all night, searching for them. Maybe one of your men
would get him over to the hospital and tell his parents where he is."

"Of course, Mayor." He pushed a button on his desk intercom. Then he said, "Maybe you'll tell me what
happened when..." A patrolman entered, was given his instructions, and left with Ronny. The Chief turned
back to me. "Now," he said.

I gave him the story. He nodded when I was done. "The shock I can understand," he said. "But why
didn't you get here hours ago?"

"I didn't think it wise to go stumbling through the woods in the dark. Besides, I hoped we might find
something in the morning."

"Not that it really makes a difference. A search party wouldn't do any good."

"Why not? They could still be there someplace! Maybe they fell in a hole we didn't see, or got lost in the
woods."

"No." He shook his head and rose again. "C'mon. I'll show you."

He led me back to the small cell block. When we entered the narrow corridor, lined with steel bars, I
could hear a noise, a jabbering sound, wordless, random. Or almost random. As he steered me toward
the noise, I began to pick out shreds that might hold meaning: "fetal train," "stars and stars," "hopper