"David Gerrold - Chtorr 3 - A Rage for Revenge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerrold David)

-SOLOMON SHORT

I came out of the dome at a run--
--and nearly skidded into a worm, a small one. Bright red. There's no such thing as a small worm! This
one was three meters long, only waist high-
Something tripped me-my gun went flying-I skidded flat on the ground-
Somebody was firing a machine gun, right over my head! I covered my head with my hands and lay as
flat as I could, but the worm still hadn't come down on top of me.
But then, maybe it hadn't been attacking. Every worm I'd ever seen had raised itself up high before
attacking. I had a theory about that, but I'd never tested it.
Suddenly, there was silence. And I was still alive.
Maybe an upright stance was a challenge to a worm, the last opportunity to back down. Maybe because
human beings stood upright, the worms saw us as always challenging, always on the brink of attack.
Maybe that's why the worms almost always attacked human beings on sight. Maybe that's why I was still
alive.
I lay there face down on the ground, afraid to look up. What was the worm doing?
I heard it move. Toward me. I felt something brush against my hands. Fur? It tingled. I could hear it
breathing. Its breaths were long and slow and deep. I could feel the heat. It smelled . . . spicy?
Something was tapping me lightly along the back. Its antennae. No-its fingers, its claws.
I was laying there flat, my face tightly scrunched, waiting for death-and still completely curious about
what the creature was doing. I wanted to look.
If I lifted my head, would it kill me?
I was still trying to summon up enough courage to look when something trilled at it and it backed away.
A human voice said, "Get up." Huh?
"Get up!" it repeated. I lifted my head.
There were six of them. Four men. Two women. And the worm. The worm was blood-colored; it had
pink and orange stripes rippling slowly down its dark red flanks.
They were grouped in a rough semi-circle before me. They were all carrying weapons. All but one of the
men were bearded. One was a huge monster of a human being. One of the women was pregnant. The
other was thin and dark and looked familiar.
I didn't see McCain. Or the little girl.
The leader of the group looked mid-thirtyish, but he could have been older. He was the one without the
beard. He wore hornrimmed glasses and he had long sandy hair with just a hint of gray at the temples. He
wore an oversized white sweater, khaki pants, and heavy boots. He looked like a college professor on
vacation-except for the machine gun he had slung over one shoulder. He would have looked friendly-if it
hadn't been for the worm beside him.
He gave it a hand signal. "Stay." He nodded to me. "Get up. Orrie won't hurt you."
Orrie?
I started to get up slowly. I got as far as my hands and knees when the thin woman said, "That's far
enough."
I stopped.
I couldn't take my eyes off the worm. Had they tamed it? How? That was supposed to be impossible.
The man with the sandy hair nodded to the giant. "Search him." The giant lumbered over to me like
Frankenstein's monster. He was 600 pounds of animated meat. He stepped behind me, hooked his
hands into my armpits and yanked me to my feet. He started pulling things off me.
He unholstered my sidearm and tossed it aside.
He lifted my pant leg and pulled the knife out oтВм my boot. He pulled the pack off my back. And my utility
belt. He patted my waist and my pockets. He emptied them and tossed the contents to one side. I
thought about the pack. If I could reach my watch-I probably wouldn't survive, but I'd take most of them
with me.