"Laymon Richard - No Sanctuary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laymon Richard)

I can't just lie here and wait for him!

She flung the sheet aside, sat up, snapped her head toward the
bedroom window. The curtains were open, stirring slightly in the
breeze. She shivered and clenched her teeth, but not because of
the mild night air on her bare skin.

I've gotta get out of here!

The window was no good. The damn thing was louvered. There
wouldn't be time to pull out enough slats, remove the screen and
climb through. If she barricaded the bedroom door and smashed an
opening with a chair ...

She flinched at the sound of a footstep - a shoe crunching
broken glass.

He's still in the kitchen.

If I try smashing the slats, he'll know I'm here, and what if he
gets to me before I can--

He doesn't know I'm here!

Rhonda swung her legs off the bed. She rose slowly. The
boxsprings squeaked a bit, but then she was standing. She turned
to the queen-sized bed. With trembling hands, she smoothed her
pillow, drew up the top sheet, then the electric blanket, then the
quilt. A few tugs and the bed looked as if it hadn't been slept in.


1


She crouched. She sat on the carpet. She lay back and squirmed
sideways, the hanging quilt brushing across her body It passed over
her face. She kept moving. It slid over her left breast, then her
shoulder. She scooted in farther. Stopping, she fingered the hem of
the quilt. It was five or six inches beyond her left hip and about two
inches short of touching the floor.

Good enough.

She lay still, hands pressed to the sides of her thighs. She was
trembling badly. She heard her quick thudding heartbeat. She heard
herself panting. But she didn't hear footsteps.

He's probably out of the kitchen, walking on carpet. Where?