"Kyle, Duncan - Terror's Cradle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kyle Duncan)

'I'm being chased. Hunted,' I gasped. I knew how stupid it must sound. 'There are men with rifles! Help me, for God's sake!'

He stared at me for a second. I said, 'Quickly. Please. Get me away from here!' - wondering what I'd have done in his place.

"Kay. Get in!' He flung the door wide and I more or less dived across the front seat, scrambling to the far side. Rapidly he slid in beside me. The motor spun and the tyres squealed as the car tore out of the park towards the road.

'Thanks. Christ, thanks!' I stared across him, waiting for my pursuers to come into view round the angle of the building. And they did; four men, moving fast. One raised his rifle and fired as the car lurched on to the approach road, but we weren't hit. A few seconds later they were out of sight as the ear tore over a little rise. I began to explain: 'I don't know why. They just '

'Save it.' He was concentrating on what he was doing, whamming the big car along the shimmering tarmac with skill and judgment, hands easy on the wheel. The soft suspension bounced us, but he took the bends easily, suntanned face still but watchful.

After three or four miles there was a crossroads. Signs pointed left to Echo Bay and Las Vegas, right to Glendale. We took neither, ploughing straight on. As I stared ahead the scenery changed with startling suddenness from greyish shale to weird reddish rock. Another sign came up SCENIC RIM DRIVE: VALLEY OF FIRE STATE PARK and he swung left, away from it, plunging down a lesser road among the red rock formations.

We'd both looked back pretty often, he through the mirror, I by turning in my seat. So far I'd seen nothing. But now I did. A blue car was racing over the rise behind us. I watched it in dismay. The empty car at Overton Beach had been blue, too . . .

That was when he began to brake. I turned in surprise, but the braking was sharp and the big car slowed suddenly, flinging me forward, almost out of my seat. By the time I'd grabbed the padded ledge and was pushing myself back, he'd stopped. Also a revolver had appeared in his hand and was pointing at me.

'Out,' he said.

'But-'

'Out.'

The tanned face was expressionless. I said, 'They're right behind-'

I'll count to three.'

I forced my eyes away from him, looking back up the road. The blue car was closing fast. I said, 'They'll kill me.'

'One.'

'Christ!' I reached behind me, for the door handle,

'Two.'

I pulled the handle, swung the door open and lurched out. The blue car was only a couple of hundred yards away and slowing. I looked round me desperately. There was a gap of sorts in the rearing rocks at die roadside. I flung myself towards its doubtful shelter.




CHAPTER FOUR

As I stumbled quickly between the sheltering rocks, I heard die car stop and doors open and close. Then there was silence. I kept going, frantic to get space and distance between myself and die road. Already I was disturbingly conscious of die heat. The sun blasted down out of a brilliant sky; there was no wind; die spaces between die rocks were filled with air so hot it was Uncomfortable to breathe. In the open spaces it was worse. I tripped and fell, then dragged myself to my feet and plunged on between two red, rock outcrops. Within fifty yards sweat was streaming off me. Then five more yards and a bend in die narrow passage and I was faced with a blind end, a massive lump of red sandstone ten feet high, blocking the way. But it was fissured, there were big cracks. Maybe I could scramble up ... I tore at it, jammed my foot into a low crevice, grabbed for handholds, and forced my way up. Seven or eight feet above ground was a narrow ledge and I strained to reach it, managed to haul myself up. From there to die top was simple: two easy footholds and I was standing, then flinging myself flat as a bullet sang by.

The rock was intensely hot to die touch; I could feel it even through my soaking clothes and it was too hot for my bare hands. All the same, I had to get off the flat top of that rock. I turned, rolling over across die bumpy, scorching surface towards die far edge and glanced down. The drop was a good fifteen feet into a rough fissure strewn with stones. I swung my legs over the edge and eased my body backward, trying to grip the smooth rock with hands that demanded relief from the burning contact with the red sandstone. Then my feet found a ledge, but there was nothing for my hands, no way down but to jump and pray I didn't break leg or ankle.

The jar as I landed hammered at joints I scarcely knew I had, and drove the breath out of me, but at least there was a passage now and it seemed to offer a route away through the stone jungle. I staggered bone-achingly on, threading my way along the defile.

'Over here!' The shout came from behind me, and not so far behind at that. I looked over my shoulder and saw a man standing, not fifty yards away, on top of a rock. He was raising his rifle. I flung myself sideways into the shelter of a boulder and heard the crack of the shot. Now if I moved it would be into the open into his sights. But no, there was another gap, dark in the sweltering shadow, four or five feet away. I took a deep breath, launched myself into it and found that a rocky track led steeply upward. By now I could scarcely breathe; the heat was unbelievable, die air itself seemed to scorch my lungs, sweat cascaded out of my hair and off my forehead and ran saltily into my eyes. Valley of Fire the sign had said, one place in the burning Nevada desert that had been singled out for its heat, one place hotter than all the others. Oh God!