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

Bonner, "but Leather has to have a gun in his hands to feel like a man. He
won't show himself outside the Cap." "You know the man," conceded Seth, "but
if things got that bad, if only he could lead the Stormers, then he would have
to go. Man, the Slavestates run on gas. If he can't get any, he's a dead
man." Bonner looked at him. Seth and Starling could see Bonner's blue eyes
provide his own silent extension of that statement. Leather was a dead man
already. One day Bonner would get him, and kill him. The jury had returned its
verdict, the judge had pronounced his sentence: Leatherman would die, Bonner
would be his executioner. Seth's voice was husky. "He's out there man, he's
out there...." "And you could take him," said Starling, leaning forward. A
thousand different thoughts raced through Bonner's mind, each a good, balanced
thought: he wondered about the number of people Leather would have with him,
he wondered if Leather would ever allow himself to leave his power base, he
wondered if the three of them could ever find Leather in that vast shattered
continent, he wondered about the odds.... But all of that was washed away in a
single blood-red tide of hate. Leather must die. Bonner must kill him. Bonner
exhaled heavily. "Okay guys, you just bought yourself an old
Outrider." "Good," said Seth, smiling broadly. "Awwwwwright," said
Starling. Behind the door the girl laid her head against the wooden frame and
felt hot tears flow into her eyes. One day he would leave and he wouldn't
come back. She cursed Starling and she cursed Seth, and deep down inside her,
somewhere in the center of her love for him, she cursed Bonner and his burning
sense of duty and revenge. Chapter 4 As soon as Bonner decided to go, he
swung into action. There were preparations to be made. The key to any
successful ride-and a successful ride was one where the rider came back alive,
whole, or at least, without having lost too much blood-was proper preparation.
Bonner was always amazed that people inbound for hostile territory would take
along a rusty old Marlin rifle, half a tank of gas, and a great deal of faith
that they were meaner, tougher, and faster than any man they were likely to
meet. Sometimes these guys came back. They would spend a week or two in Chi
getting blitzed at Dorca's, then they went out again. Bonner had seen them
come into town and a couple of times had been present when they
went--permanently. Life was hard, thought Bonner, but it was much harder if
you were stupid. There were two important struts that supported a rider on
the road, two granite blocks that were the foundation of any man when he went
out to do battle. He had to have a reliable means of transport and he had to
have a weapon he could always depend on. The right gun had to fit a man like
his skin and he had to be able to use it as if it was an extension of himself.
It had to be as flexible as a whip, yet as hard and as strong as a
well-worked-out muscle. Bonner was a master of the knife. Time was when three
heavy, razor-sharp knives hung from a holster on his hip. They were ready to
fly through the air with unerring accuracy. They would cut deep into the
bodies of his enemies, silver, fine-edged extensions of his own power. The
steel would snap through the flesh, the gristly muscle, the soft pliant veins
and arteries, of those unlucky enough to have tried to take Bonner down. He
backed up his blades with a shotgun, 12-gauge, two barrels, instant death.
Bonner could whip his gun from its nest and lay down a carpet.of fire that
devastated all those who opposed his will. But Bonner had suffered a setback,
a humiliation. On the last raid into the Slavestates he had lost his weapons.
Leather had them now. Bonner could get new ones, a gun and a set of knives