"Evans,.Linda.-.Sleipnir" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

stop our fatal slideЧ"get yourЧhands aroundЧmy kneesЧ"

My feet jerked hard. I gave an involuntary yell as I slid backward
clear up to my chest. My legs dangled in empty space. Even
without looking, I could sense how long a way it was to the bottom.
Bjornssen screamed and cursed and hung on by my bootlaces.

Then he was gone.

The light faded swiftly below me. His screams echoed, dropped
rapidly away until I couldn't hear him anymore.

For long moments I hung absolutely motionless, halfway to falling
to my own death. Then, in the process of scraping myself painfully
forward, gasping and flailing until most of me was on solid rock
again, it occurred to me I hadn't even seen a hole big enough for a
man to fall into.

I scooted backward until my back touched solid rock, and wished
there'd been a way to back up even farther. That hole hadn't been
there. It couldn't have been there. I listened for a moment to my
heart pound in my ears. I thought about letting go of the rock floor
to strike the sparker on my helmet; but my lizard brain wouldn't let
my hand relax its deathlike grip. Okay, I thought, I'll just sit here and
think for a couple of minutes. My thoughts weren't pretty.

I'd seen men die before. Had killed a few, myself. But this . . . I felt
sick all over, like I'd tricked a puppy into the jaws of a killer wolf.
Dammit, I hadn't liked the man much; but he had been a good
spelunker, a loyal guide, and a decent enough human being. He
certainly hadn't deserved to die, especially when he didn't have the
faintest idea what I'd dragged him into.

I was hunting Odin by my own choice. My own pride, combined
with the recognition that I needed to hire spelunking expertise, had
contributed to Klaus' murder as certainly as though I'd shoved him
down the chimney myself. Guilt ate up whatever comfort could be
found in the knowledge that I'd always done better when hunting
alone in the dark.

I swore bitterly and breathed deeply for a moment; then listened to
my pulse rate gradually slow down and fade from the foreground of
my awareness.

Klaus Bjornssen had doubtless gone to his death convinced I was
the biggest asshole this side of hell. I snorted. If I were right, he
was there right now, probably still calling me every name he could
think of, to every poor, dead soul who'd listen. I hoped it made him
feel better.