"James Herbert - Domain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert James)

'Excuse me, can you fill her up please?' The motorist had wound down his window.

'Are you fucking serious?' Howard asked incredulously.

People were running past the garage, cars were bumper to bumper trying to move out of the
machine-clogged city. He could hear the rending of metal as vehicles collided.

'I'm nearly empty,' the motorist persisted. 'I haven't got enough to get home.'

Take the bloody train, mate,' Howard shouted back at him as he ran to his own car. He pulled open
the door, then thought better of it. No way out in these jam-packed streets. Better to get below ground
somewhere. Find a basement. Not much time. Shit, I knew it was going to be a bad day.

He ran back past the motorist who looked at him pleadingly. 'Please,' the man said, the word rising to a
whine.

'For Chrissake, help yourself.'
 Where to go, where to run to. Oh shit, nobody thought it would ever happen. Nobody ever really took
it seriously. Everyone knew we were on the brink, but nobody considered it would really happen. It had
to be a false alarm. Had to be!

'Leave the money on the counter,' he called back to the



motorist who had left his car and was holding the pump nozzle, studying it as though not sure of its
function.

Howard looked right and left. Any building would do, anything with a basement. Wasn't that what they
told you? Get downstairs. Paint your windows white, barricade yourself in with sandbags, get into the
cellar, build a shelter, stock yourself up with food and water and stay down there until the all-clear
sounded. All in the matter of four or five minutes. Oh Christ, if he only had the paint!

He reached a pub doorway. That would do, they had a big cellar, had to store the beer. He pushed at
the door, but it did not budge. Bloody hell, they couldn't close, it wasn't calling-time yet! He tried the
public bar and banged at the glass in frustration when he found this door, too, was locked tight.

'Bastards!' he screamed, then turned to look back at his garage. The motorist seemed to have found
out how to work the pump.

Howard cursed himself for having wasted time emptying the till. Edie was always calling him
tight-bloody-fisted; maybe she was right. He should have been tucked away in some nice little basement
by now. Still, it could be a false alarm. Nothing had happened yet. Yeah, that was it, he reassured
himself. They'd made a mistake, bloody idiots. If anything was going to happen, it would have before
now. He checked his watch and shook it. Couldn't have stopped, could it? Seemed a long time since the
sirens had started. He grinned. What a mug! He'd acted like everyone else, running, panicking, telling
God he was sorry. He tried to chuckle, but it came out as a choking sound.

Well, I'll tell you what, matey, you're gonna pay for that petrol. Howard began to walk back towards