"Lumley, Brian - Necroscope - The Lost Years Volume 2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

Necroscope: The Lost Years -- Vol. II
49
Brian Lumley
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Uselessly because they didn't work. This could have been done by foxes -- indeed the wanton destruction of so many birds was precisely the fox's modus operandi -- but foxes would have dug under the wire, not through it; they couldn't have chopped through it As for wildcats: they would never come this close, and certainly not at this time of year, when there was plenty of food in the wild.
"Well, whatever he was, he's out o' here now,' the constable croaked, and cleared his throat The birds would tell us if he was still here.'
Old Bishop was wandering among the shattered hen-houses, gathering up corpses. "What birds?' he said, his face a fearful mask in Strachan's torch beam. There's no a one o' they left!' And he went stumbling to the far side of the enclosure.
'What about the deer pens?' Strachan was acutely aware of the eerie silence, and he didn't like it *Ye told me the deer had been scared off?'
'Stampeded, aye. Me and the wife saw them scattering away intae the woods. Ye'd think the place was on fire, by God! But Gavin, it's time ye knew. Ah don't think the things Ah saw oot here were dogs. Ah'm no sure. Ah cannae say what they were...but no dogs, they yins.'
Before he could continue, there came an uproar of chattering and screeching from a large cage set well apart from the other enclosures. The pine martens!' old Bishop gasped.
'Quick! Back out through the hole,' Strachan husked. , But: 'No!' came Bishop's answer. This wa/11 be better.'
Strachan stumbled to him across the shattered boards of a wrecked hen-house, and found him shaking like a man in a fever beside a second hole in the wire-mesh. His eyes stared fixedly at a trail of bloodied feathers, wings, and bird debris in general, that led off into the night and the mist
'Enough o' this!' Strachan was furious with himself, disgusted at the fear that the situation and the old man's obvious terror had inspired in him. 'Let's see what the/fee* this thing is!'
They went through the hole in the perimeter and ran stumblingly towards the pine marten cage, where it was at once seen that the animals had only been complaining about -- or warning of -- the presence of outsiders and possible danger. But despite the fact that the cage wasn't damaged, certainly something had been here. The pine martens' fear was manifest in the way they clung close together, spreadeagled on the wire-mesh ceiling of their cage.
The mist was thicker now, swirling knee-deep and sending tendrils up into the trees bordering the park. This mist,' Old Bishop complained, and shivered uncontrollably, 'man, it clings tae ye!'
It was true: the mist seemed alive, like the thick breath of a beast
They moved through it, torch beams stabbing ahead, towards the next enclosure: a small corral containing Bishop's five prized bison of a species long absent from the Highlands proper. Which was when things livened up again, and in a single moment the night became a nightmare.
First the agonized bellowing of a beast from beyond the corral's four-bar fencing; then the fence itself splintering outwards as a pair of stampeding bison smashed into it, hurling boards and then themselves in Bishop's and Strachan's direction; and a moment later the sound of breaking glass, and a cry -- a scream -- from the dimly visible, dark silhouette of the old man's house:
'Andrew! Andrew! Andrew] Let me out...oh, let me out.1"
Sent flying as the wild-eyed, fearful bison went thundering off into darkness, the two men picked themselves up -- only to stumble aside as two more animals came snorting and kicking through the break. Then Old Bishop was off at a run, heedless of life and limb, towards the house. 'Liz!' he shouted. 'Ah'm comin', lass, Ah'm cominT
And Strachan was on his own, fairly certain that whatever was plaguing the beasts was in the corral. But all he could see through the break was a lake of mist with milky tendrils lapping outwards from some central disturbance. Then --
-- The black and crimson hump of a thrashing animal's back heaved up into view, breaking the surface...and other things reached up to pull it under again!
Strachan wasn't sure what he'd seen; it had happened too quickly. But an afterimage, of thick white ropes -- or arms? -- fitted with grapples or claws -- or taloned hands? -- burned on his riveted retinae. He stood there as if nailed in position, smelling hot blood and listening to tearing sounds...and the bison's panting and bellowing, quickly dying away.
And then the snarling, and slobbering of frenzied -- what, gluttony? -- as the ripples of mist continued to swirl outwards from that deadly central area...
How long? Difficult to say. Minutes that felt like hours, before Strachan could think again. Or before he was galvanized to activity, as the knee-deep mist began swirling and rippling in his direction, and vague outlines were seen within the mist, with eyes like lamps that burned on him!
He had no weapon but a torch. Glancing this way and that he saw pieces of shattered fence at his feet and snatched up a two-foot length of inch-by-four sharpened to a splintery point where it had broken along the grain. There were three pairs of luminous eyes in the mist Three -- whatever they were -- were in there; they spread out as they moved towards Strachan.
But seen out of the corner of Strachan's eye, coming from the
Necroscopt: The Lost Years -Vol. II
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Brian Lumley
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direction of the house and heading for the woods, a figure. Not Bishop but...a figure that leaned oddly forward, upright like a badly formed man -- or woman -- loping through the mist And its eyes were luminous, too...
...Then Old Bishop was back, and a double-barrelled shotgun in his trembling hands. 'Ah found a couple'ay shells," he found time to pant...before the scene at the corral impacted on his mind. And cursing as he pointed his gun -- without even bothering to aim -- he let fly with both barrels. There came a flash and a roar both dazzling and deafening, which for a single second blew apart the menacing dark and stunned silence.
Half-blinded by the flash, Strachan threw up an arm before him as the mist erupted! He was bowled over -- something bowled him over, and raked at the sleeve of his jacket in its passing. Then there was a blur of sinuous motion, an angry snarling receding rapidly into the woods behind the animal park, and an urgent howling ringing down from the foothills beyond the trees. Almost as if...as if they were being called off.
And there was a gasping and sobbing from old Andrew Bishop, stretched prone on the earth. 'It's mah damn leg!' the old man groaned. 'Mah bleddy leg! It has tae be broken. But did ye see, Gavin? Did ye see?1
'No.' White as a ghost, the constable went to him. 'Nothing that makes sense, anyway.'
'But...dogs?' the old man pressed.
And as their eyes met Strachan was obliged to admit: 'No, Ah cannae say they were dogs.'
'What, then?' Bishop's voice was a whisper.
Strachan could only shake his head. The sleeve of his uniform and shirt had been sliced as by razors down to the skin, but by some miracle his skin was unmarked. And no matter what he might think he had seen, what he thought he'd seen couldn't possibly have done that. Not unless it -- or she? -- had a handful of razor blades...
At the house Liz Bishop was in a bad state of hysteria. Shuddering and almost incoherent, she told a story that night that she could never repeat to any court, nor ever commit to paper. Her husband wouldn't let her, and he himself would later deny all knowledge of anything but 'an attack by wild or rogue animals, probably dogs, on the creatures of the park.' Perhaps he feared ridicule, but Strachan thought not. Knowing Andrew Bishop's character, it seemed more likely he believed that in denying what he truly believed, he might make it go away -- like a man whistling in the dark. And later, the constable might have wished that he had taken a similar course. As for Mrs Bishop's story:
Alarmed by the squawking of the chickens and the frenzy of the pine martens, she'd gone to the window of her upstairs bedroom and looked out Immediately beyond the window, a balcony overlooked the park; and down below, there was the mist, of course: a milky lake lapping between the trees and various enclosures. But also down there, crouching by the wall of the house and staring up at her...
...Something wild and naked and awful, and human! Or perhaps not human.
For as its yellow triangular eyes met hers, the creature had snarled, sprung upright, bounded all of fifteen feet into the air to grasp the balcony rail and vault over it And its face had stared at her through the window, as its lips became a muzzle that drew back from teeth like bone daggers! At which she had picked up a chair and smashed it at the thing through the window, then screamed for her husband, and for her life.
But when next she had dared look the thing had gone, and all Mrs Bishop could remember of it was that, 'It looked like...Ah could swear...Ah mean, it wasnae all animal, Andrew! Am Ah mad, or what? It looked something like...Ah mean, it reminded me o'...a lassie? But what sort o' lassie, Andrew? What sort?' And her last few words had been spoken in little more than an awed and frightened whisper.
That was what she'd said that night, but the next day she was in too bad a way to record a statement, and old man Bishop too busy looking after her. Meanwhile:
'Mah report had gone in,' Strachan finished. 'Ah was young and eager; Ah would hae made a good cop; Ah tol' it the way Ah saw it Big mistake. When finally they Bishops did speak about it huh, it was animals did the job. No specific creature, ye ken, but most likely dogs. Me? Ah was left holdin' the bleddy baby! And it came out how Ah'd had a couple'ay wee drams that night! So that was that As for the rest...
1...Ah got no peace frae then on in -- until Ah got out! What an idiot, eh? For like Ah said, Ah tol' it the way Ah saw it, and Ah tol' what Ah saw. That was mah error.'