"James Herbert - Rats 02 - Lair" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert James)

Josie's fingertips reached for the ball and flicked it free, rolling it
back towards her. She hugged it to her chest and was about to rise
when her sharp little eyes caught sight of the animal. She moved
closer, ducking beneath the leaves to get a better view. The football
was forgotten for the moment and left to one side, shiny and wet. Josie
crawled forward on all fours, oblivious to the damp earth which muddied
her hands and knees. In the dimness she could just distinguish a
black, stiff-furred body and two close-set highlights reflected in the
creature's eyes. It did not move, but waited for her to draw near.

"Good doggy," Josie said happily. "Come here. Come on."

A thick branch blocked her way and she pushed at it impatiently, but it
would not budge. She reached over, wanting to stroke the animal's
head.

The pointed head jerked once, then stretched forward towards the
approaching fingers. The girl giggled, overjoyed that the animal
wanted to be friendly, and pushed even harder against the branch so
that she could touch the furry body. Hot breath from the creature's
mouth warmed her pudgy hand.

The sudden crash of broken undergrowth from behind startled her and she
drew her arm back in a reflex action.

"Josie? Where are you?" came her father's concerned voice.

"Here, Daddy," she called out. "Got a doggy."

Terry brushed the leaves and branches aside and found his daughter on
her knees in the mud, the white football near her feet. Her face
beamed up at him in excitement.

"You wait till your mother sees the state of you," he scolded, and
reached down to scoop her up in his arms. "Dog in there, Daddy. Can
we take him home?" Her father peered into the gloom behind her, but
when she turned to point to the spot where the animal had been hiding,
it had gone.

The horse, chestnut in colour, cantered easily along the hoggin path,
its rider immaculately clad in a light brown uniform and dark riding
cap. Charles Denison, Head Keeper of Epping Forest, was content on
this fine, October morning.

It was the season he loved best: the greens, yellows and browns of
autumn gave the forest new life, changed its personality in a most
beautiful way. The dying leaves replenished the earth, the golden,
myriad carpet they formed on the woodland floor injecting the soil with
fresh vitality which would be slowly processed through the winter
months. The air was fresh, its sharpness exhilarating. And best of