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

The area appeared to be covered with twisted metal, material that had been
scattered and flung wide on impact. The old man reluctantly entered the field,
aware that there might be a possibility of helping someone. It seemed unlikely, but
it was. the only thing to do. As he moved forward, he heard the sounds of shouts
and footsteps behind him. Others must be arriving on the scene; he prayed that
they would be of some use. He carefully skirted around glowing pieces of metal,
some that burned the grass they rested on. And then came the smell. He didn't
recognise it at first because it was mingled with smoke and the odour of melting
metal. Then he realised its source. It was burning flesh.

He retched and almost fell to his knees again. How many passengers did these big

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 Herbert, James - The Survivor UC FR


planes take? It was more than three hundred, he felt certain. Oh dear God, no
wonder the smell was so strong!

Suddenly the old man felt faint. It wasn't just the odious smell; the heat was
intolerable, and up till now he hadn't realised how fierce it was. He had to move
away, it was no good, no one could have survived this carnage. He looked around
in desperation just in case, and was repulsed when he discovered that some of
what he had imagined as being twisted metal was, in fact, twisted bodies. They
were scattered all around him; he was standing in a field of maimed, torn human
beings. He ran his hands over his eyes as though to dismiss the sight, but he
couldn't shut out the vision he'd already seen. Slowly, his hands ran down his face
and again he looked around in some faint hope that he might find someone alive.
He closed his mind to the sight of dismembered limbs, to blackened bodies, to
bodies that seemed to move - tricks of the unsteady light. He saw something small
and pink, naked and seemingly unmarked. Small enough to be - a child? A baby?
Oh God, please give this one a chance! He ran towards it, avoiding obstacles,
human or otherwise. The child was facing downwards, its body stiff. He prayed
aloud, his words emerging in choking sobs, as he knelt down beside the body and
turned it over.

Huge, sightless eyes stared up at him. Its small mouth grinned and moved in the
flickering light. One side of the doll's face had melted away, giving it an ugly,
scarred appearance, the grinning lips adding to the obscenity. The old man
screamed and threw the object down and, in his confusion, stumbled towards the
fire and the main wreckage. The intensity of heat didn't warn him of his direction
but, fortunately, a large fragment of smouldering metal tripped him, halting his
progress. He lay flat in the churned mud, his body shaking, his fingers digging into
the soft slime. The shock was beginning to hit him; he was an old man; he was no
longer strong enough to bear a punishment such as this. The earth filled his mouth
and he began to choke, and it was only this physical discomfort that forced his
frightened mind to function properly again. He raised his head and lifted himself
to his elbows. He stared up at the flames and was forced to close his eyes quickly
as they became scorched by the heat. But before he'd closed them, something had
registered. A shape, a silhouette against the bright glare, was coming towards him.