"Fallow Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Melko Paul)

Fallow EarthPaul Melko
Fallow Earth
The spaceship crashed through the tree tops, splintering the boughs of a gangly
locust, and landed in the Olentangy River on top of Mr Joyce, which was okay
with Nick and me, since Mr Joyce was drunk most of the time and liked to flick
matches at Nick when we waited for the bus.
Nick looked up from his pile of skipping rocks, then back down again. I dropped
my reel, tossed my ponytail over my shoulder, and watched the six-inch wave
slide down the river. Splinters of wood spun through the air, while steam rose
from beneath the spaceship.
It was built to resemble an old Volkswagen Beetle. The paint job was good;
they'd even added rust around the wheel wells. If I hadn't seen the vapor trail
and heard the sizzling as it sliced through the atmosphere and crashed on top of
Mr Joyce, I'd have thought it was some old car Harry and Egan had rolled down
the hill below the Case Road bridge.
I slipped down the slope to the bank where Nick was piling his skipping rocks. I
followed the bank upriver to within fifty feet of the ship, then I had to step
into the deep part of the river. I heard Mama's voice in my head, and I felt her
husband Ernie's swat on my butt as my shoes sank into the mud of the Olentangy.
They'd have a fit if I tracked dirt into the trailer.
The Olentangy was a broad, slow river. I could walk it from the trailer park to
the reservoir dam, two miles north, stepping from flat rock to flat rock without
getting the tops of my knees wet. Up by the spillway was where the sporting
fishermen cast, catching the occasional walleye. Down here by the trailer park,
we got mostly small bass and bluegills.
The water hissed from beneath the Volkswagen spaceship. Its single occupant, a
figure slumped over the steering column, looked like a man. He had a head with
hair, not at all what an alien should have looked like.
Dirt swirled in the water, masking the river bottom, and I flung my arms out to
balance myself, finally grabbing the doorframe of the Beetle. I saw Mr Joyce on
the other side, face-up in the river. The ship hadn't landed on him after all,
just near enough to the old drunk to knock him down and out. He hadn't drowned
because he'd landed on his back on a wide, slimy stone.
The window of the Bug was open. I peered in and caught the odor of old vinyl.
The alien's Volkswagen was well made. I popped the lock and pulled the door
open.
The driver was dressed in tan slacks and a light tan jacket. He had on Nike
shoes and a black belt. Horn-rimmed glasses, like the ones my real dad used to
wear when he was young, were tilted across his face.
I leaned him back and noted where the skin had fallen away from his face to
reveal red flesh. An alien, as I suspected.
What the hell was that?
I recognized Harry's voice up the slope, heard the rustle of brush as he and
Egan came to investigate. Harry was fifteen, a year older than me, but because
he'd flunked the fifth grade he was going to be a freshman just like me in the
fall. Harry had started some nasty rumors about me because I let him touch my
breast during truth-or-dare the summer before. That wasn't the only reason I
hated him. I sure didn't want him finding the alien. Harry had once forced three
younger kids to hollow out a pile of concrete blocks; he'd threatened to beat
the kids up unless they spent the day hauling rock for him. They'd done it too.