"Charles L. Grant - Raven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Charles L)

She agreed.
They kissed.
Julia opened another bottle.
Benny Goodman.
Neil wandered around to the end of the bar, stared down at the trapdoor, at the inset black ring. What the hell. Do it
now, get it over with, you'll thank me in the morning. He flicked a switch on the wall beside the rest-room en-trance,
then reached down for the ring. The door came up easily, revealing a short flight of stone steps and a stone floor
below.
Julia leaned over the bar. "What are we out of?"
"Life," he said, starting down.
"Very funny. God, I'll he glad when your birthday's gone."
"Me, too," he called up, feeling the cold climb his legs as if he were stepping into lake water. Added, "I'm getting the
damn snow blower before it's too late."
 He couldn't hear her reply, if there was one; he couldn't hear anything down here but the thud and blast of big-band
music, especially the bass, feet on the floor above, the wind finding masonry cracks to whisper through, to whis-tle.
Four naked bulbs on four of the squared posts that held the building at bay. On the left was the furnace, fat tentacle
pipes reaching across the beams, vanishing into the ceiling; beyond it, the floor canted upward toward the front,
following the slope of the ground. As he moved through the huge room, he automatically checked the lock of the old
wood door that led out to the lawn. Sidestepped stacks of liquor cartons, soda and food crates, and found what he
wanted in the far corner. He sneezed, and swore at the dust; he dragged the machine to the door, knelt beside it,
opened the gas tank and peered in. He couldn't see any-thing and took a dipstick from its place on the handle.
"Son of a bitch."
It was empty.
All goddamn winter he'd used it maybe four or five times, and not once had he thought to check the level of the
gas-and-oil mixture.
"Damn."
"My ex-husband used to kick things when they didn't work."
He jumped, lost his balance, fell against the wall and swore when his skull smacked the stone. Firelight. Star-light. A
cool hand on his head as he winced and someone whispering, and laughing.
"Sorry."
Mandy stepped away when he waved that he was all right, that he'd live.
"I didn't mean to scare you again."
"You didn't." His voice was hoarse. He glared at the blower and pulled his foot back to kick it. "1 scared my-self."
"Okay."
Gingerly he probed around the spot of the impact, and decided he would live. But he didn't want to know how bad
the headache would be. Then he looked around for the snow shovels and remembered with a groan that he'd left them
at the house the last time he used them.
He didn't want to go outside.
Mandy sneezed, rubbed her nose vigorously, gathered the cardigan over her chest. "What about that?" She
nod-ded toward the furnace.
At first, he didn't know what she meant, then saw the dust-covered generator squatting in a gap between the
furnace and the outside wall, set to switch on automatically should the electricity fail. An I don't get it, what are you
talking about look until he also saw the two cans of fuel beside it. "Sorry, wrong stuff," he said glumly. "That's just
gas."
"Oh." Another sneeze. "You live down here or what?"
"No," he snapped, and instantly chided himself for it. "I have a place over by the creek. This is just where I get
really stupid now and then."
"I see."
He looked from her to the stairs. "What?"
"Mr. HavvickтАФthe boy who owns the dairy thing?тАФhe sent me down. He thinks there's going to be trouble."