"Alan Mcgregor - Angels Of Mercy" - читать интересную книгу автора (McGregor Alan)

"Oh, you don't have to do that." He tried to hide his shivering under the coat.

"You need to stay warm. And I need to stay active if we're going to get us out of here.
The chill will keep me moving."

Frank was liking this woman. He saw great possibilities in her. He wondered if anyone
else did. Maybe not. Maybe that was the reason she'd ended up on the street. "Zanax,
come to me."

She sat down next to him. "I don't know what to do," he said, honestly, "but if you have
any ideas, please tell me."

"I..."

"Zanax, I can't tell you how much I hate your street name." He looked steadily at her,
trying to make her feel comfortable.

She sighed. Her eyes were tired. Frank thought she looked like she had reached the
end of her rope long before whatever disaster had put them here. "My name is Maria,"
she said. "Maria," she said again, as if she were glad Frank insisted on knowing it.

"That's better. That's much better."

She put her hand in his hair--gently... "You have blood in your hair. May I take a look?"

"Please," he said.

She carefully explored the area of the matted blood, the mild pressure of her fingers
comforting him as if he were an animal being groomed by his mate. "I don't think you
have a serious head wound." She grinned. "That's a good thing."

"Yes it is," he said. "That's a very good thing."

She pulled her coat off him, then zipped down his jacket as far as she could. She gently
probed his ribs.
"God!" he yelped.

"Sorry. I guess we can conclude your ribs are broken."

"I guess we can," he gasped against the pain.

He was buried under the rubble up to his belly button, but now he could feel there was
clearance down his left leg, the leg that was pulsing with pain. He was relieved; he
might not lose his leg, after all.

"What else hurts?" she asked, almost clinically.

"My leg. My left leg hurts so bad I want to vomit."

She turned back her coat that was covering him, then slowly felt down his leg, reaching