"George R. R. Martin - WC 8 - One Eyed Jacks" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

dark blue trousers step over her into the car, heard a sharp thwack as a
nightstick connected with the creature's arm. There was no outcry this time, but
he let her go. A black, oily liquid spread across the seat beneath it, filling
the car with a smell beyond anything Cody had ever imagined. A breath, she knew,
would kill her and her savior both. Hands helped her up-she registered a woman's
features and thought, absurdly, So young, almost a baby-a uniform as well,
Transit Police, thank God, and a pair of neck chains, the one a crucifix, the
other a St. Christopher medal hooked to a miniature representation of her
shield. An electronic chime announced the imminent closing of the subway doors,


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and the woman shouldered Cody outside onto the platform, handing out her bags to
her.
"You all right?" she asked, continuing after a fractional pause. "You look
pretty shaken, I'll radio for some help, you just wait here or, if you can
manage, head upstairs to the token booth."
She'd blocked the door with her leg so it couldn't fully close.
"What," Cody stammered, "you?"
"I'm the only cop on the train," the woman said matter-of-factly.
And she stepped back aboard.
"No," Cody yelled, lunging forward to the door even as the train started moving.
"No!" She was screaming, staggering along the platform, trying to hold on, keep
pace, as the train gathered speed; she had no chance, less strength, tripped and
fell crashing to the platform, her final cry-as the taillights disappeared into
the darknessmore of a sob. "No!"
A flight of filthy stairs led up from the platform. She collapsed before she'd
gone halfway, back against the banister, teeth chattering, good eye staring
straight ahead at the long empty station as though it was the jungle and, any
second now, she expected a VC attack to come boiling her way, the classic
"thousand-yard stare" that one of the paramedics-another vet-who eventually came
in answer to the policewoman's radio call, instantly recognized. He asked if she
was okay and she nodded, not really hearing, or caring what he said, mostly
ignoring what was happening around her, hands tucked tight under her armpits,
making sure the flesh beneath was still her flesh and not some changeling
nightmare, while she rocked panting back and forth, back and forth, thinking of
nothing save those awful doll-face lacquer eyes and what they'd almost done to
her. No joker, she realized, but an ace. A monster. And, whoever he was,
whatever he was, he was still loose, and still hunting. And the next woman he
found might not be as lucky. And she thought of the policewoman-and her low,
keening wail built up into a cry of feral rage that filled the station and
turned heads and made people step smartly away from her. Madness, she thought,
not even noticing the sting of the needle as the medic shot a dose of sedative
into her arm, madness!
I've become Dante, was her last awareness as oblivion claimed her...
... and my world, my home, is Malabolge.
She knew where she was without opening her eye, hospitals have that kind of
smell and emergency rooms most of all. Problem was, when she opened her eye, she