"James Herbert - The Survivor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert James)

study of Eton becoming an expert on the subject. Any tourists stopping the old
man in the street to ask for directions would suddenly find themselves with a
knowledgeable and seemingly tireless guide, who would not let them go until they
had grasped at least a fundamental history of the place. But towards the end of
summer, he would grow tired of the tourists and the bustle they brought to his
normally peaceful habitat, and he would welcome the arrival of the cold weather
and the darker evenings.

Every night now, he would leave his tiny terraced house in Eton Square at about
8.30 and walk down to the College, then back up to the High Street towards the
bridge where he would spend at least twenty to thirty minutes, regardless of
weather, staring downriver to where the Thames divided around Romney Island,
never particularly deep in thought, just enjoying the mood of the night.
Occasionally, mainly in summer, he would be joined by others, some strangers,
some acquaintances, and he would chat with them for a while, but soon fall into
his own reflective silence. Then he would walk back, stop in at The Christopher
Courage for a single brandy, one of the few luxuries he allowed himself, and
afterwards return home to bed.

Tonight, he imagined, would be no different from any other. Then, the drone of an
aeroplane's engines reached his ears. It was nothing unusual - Eton was on a direct
air route from nearby Heathrow airport, a cause of much complaint to the local
people both in Eton and Windsor - but for some reason he peered up into the sky
to find the source of the noise. He saw the tail light first and then the huge bulk of
the plane became visible as his eyes adjusted to the inky backdrop.

One of the big 'uns, he thought. Damn nuisance, all these planes. Especially those
big ones. Noisy brutes. Necessary evil I suppose. He wanted to avert his eyes, the
tension in his neck muscles now becoming an uncomfortable strain as they
stretched upwards; but for some reason, he was unable to do so. The huge body -
quite low - the red light, the droning noise, had suddenly become fascinating to
him. He'd seen too many of the monsters for this one in particular to hold any real
interest, yet he found he could not tear his eyes away from it. Something was

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 Herbert, James - The Survivor UC FR


wrong. He had no idea how he knew, but there was something wrong up there.

It seemed to be turning, which in itself was unusual because most other aircraft
flew directly across Eton in a straight line. The right-hand wing seemed to be
dipping. Yes, it was definitely turning. And then, he saw the plane split open. He
heard the muffled explosion, but his senses barely registered the noise. They were
too entranced by the horror of the spectacle, for the aeroplane hadn't quite broken
up and the whole body was now plummeting towards the earth. He could see
objects falling from it as it plunged; objects that could only be seats, cases -and
bodies!

Oh God!' he said aloud, as the noise suddenly penetrated his brain. 'It can't be!