"Richard Harding - Outrider 02 - Fire And Ice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harding Richard)

riding when the late dawn broke. The snow had redoubled in intensity and the
pearly light of morning did little to improve visibility. Bonner felt fatigue
cutting into his bones. Both he and Starling were worn out from the cold and
the lack of food. The lightening sky suddenly made Bonner realize just how
long he had been riding. He had no idea how much ground he had covered, but he
felt as if he was welded to his steering column as he negotiated each twist
and turn in the road without a thought. They were riding now on pure guts,
instinct, and muscle. To break the hypnotic spell of the road, Bonner slowed
down. He wanted to continue, to put as much ground as he could between himself
and the snowmen, but he knew that they had to stop soon. Unless he and
Starling had a dose of hot food and at least a walk around to start their
circulation again, they ran the risk of succumbing to fatigue and
frostbite. He brought his machine to a halt, the snow crackling under his
tires. Starling coasted up next to him. "Man," said Starling, "we gotta
stop." His front was a mass of ice crystals and he crackled a little when he
moved. "Yeah. Drain a little gas and start a fire." Bonner pulled a few cans
of stew from under the seat. "Throw these on." The only sound was the wind
and that pleased Bonner. Maybe the squadsmen had given up on them. The Mean
Brothers were covered in snow, asleep, leaning against one another. The sudden
cessation of the car's motion woke them and they climbed out of their resting
places, stretched stiffly, and fluffed the snow out of their hairy chests and
off their massive arms. They wandered a few feet down the road they had
already traveled. "Don't stray, Meanies," shouted Starling. He had kicked
together some odds and ends of debris and doused them with gasoline. The fire
flamed up, took hold of the wet wood, more or less, and Bonner could feel the
warmth on his cold, chapped face. It felt good. He started feeling better
almost immediately. Starling opened the old cans with a nicked and scarred
knife and set them in the fire. Bonner squatted down next to him, sheltering
in the lee of an old Toyota. "I don't hear anything." "Me neither," said
Starling. "Think we lost 'em?" "No. But they might have lost interest." "I
hope." Starling narrowed his eyes and looked out over the snow-swept
landscape. He thought he could see the ruins of a town off in the distance,
but he couldn't really tell. "Where are we?" If anyone knew, it would be
Bonner. "Western Penn," he said, "somewhere around a town they used to call
Meadeville." The old stew cans turned black in the flames and soon the
ancient brown sludge started to bubble. "Come on Means," shouted Starling
into the mist, "time to eat." The men-giants came lumbering out of the snow
like trained bears. They eagerly hunched over the fire. "Hungry?" asked
Bonner. The Means nodded in unison, their eyes never leaving the smoldering
stew. Bonner took two of the cans from the fire, holding the hot containers
gingerly in his heavily gloved hands. "Here." A Mean Brother seized the hot
can in his bare hand, raised it to his lips and tossed off the near-boiling
stew as if it was fruit punch. His brother aped his movements perfectly. They
were finished eating before the two riders started. "Do you s'pose these guys
are human?" asked Starling. "Does it matter?" "Only if they ain't on our
side." By way of punctuation one of the Mean Brothers belched a burp as loud
as a pistol shot. Bonner and Starling ate as fast as they could, taking
strength from the brown and chunky liquid. It was so hot it burned their
throats. Suddenly Bonner tensed. He sensed it before he heard it. Through the
snow the soft rumble intercut with the higher whine. "Shit. Fuck," said