"Chad Oliver - The Winds of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oliver Chad)

TWO
It was too dark for him to see clearly, but it was dry. He fumbled in his shirt pocket under the jacket',
took out a match, and struck it. He held it above his head, trying to make out where he was.
The tiny light didn't do much good. He must be in a cavern of some sort, he reasoned; he could see
only one side of it, although the ceiling was within easy reach. Something gleamed with a metallic
reflection about fifteen feet behind himтАФa vein of ore, probably.
The match went out.
He listened, ready to translate the slightest scrabble or scratch into wolves, snakes, or other charming
companions. He heard nothing. There was only a hard, dust-covered silence in the cave.
He thought: I may be the first man in the world who has ever been in here.
Ordinarily, the notion would have given him considerable pleasure; as it was, he was too miserable to
be impressed. He was wet, cold, and tired. There was nothing he could make a fire with. Outside, a
scant two yards from his head, the storm was cutting loose with an icy, persistent ferocity. And it was
getting dark.
Why didn't I bring a flashlight? He thought of those cheerful cartoon ads in which deep-sea divers,
bear hunters, and dauntless young executives were inevitably saved by good reliable flashlight batteries.
Suppose you didn't have a flashlight? Could you throw the batteries at the enemy?
He laughed, felt a little better, and lit a cigarette. The smoke, at least, was warm. His patients were
always asking him about lung cancer, and he always answered them solemnly. Just the same, he stuck to
his tobacco.
He made plans, shifting his position to get a sharp rock out of his side. He would stay here all night if
he had to; the storm couldn't go on forever. Then get back to the car, drive to the cabin, and tell Jo what
had happened. Then a hot shower, breakfast with steaming-hot coffee, and a round of antibiotics from
his bag. He had plenty of free samples, fortunately. The drugstore in Lake City was probably still in the
blackstrap molasses and yogurt era.
Was his throat already getting raw, or was that imagination?
Physician, heal thyself тАж

Two cigarettes later and it was six o'clock. Night had fallen outside in the storm, and a deeper,
blackness crawled inside the cave around him. There was a change in the sound of the storm; he heard a
hissing and a gurgling that must mean that the hail had turned to rain. A hard, driving rain. He knew from
past experience that the water would be gushing down the mountain trail two or three inches deep. It
would make for treacherous going at best. He would never make it at night without a broken fibula or so,
and that would be a pretty picnic.
He peeled the paper from a candy bar and ate the chocolate slowly. He decided to save the
remaining two for breakfast before he started down the mountain in the morning.
He was already stiff and sore, and he knew that a night on the rock floor of the cavern would do
nothing to loosen him up. But he was tired. Maybe if he could doze a little the time would pass more
quickly.
He twisted around on the rocks to find a more comfortable position and discovered that there were
no comfortable positions. He wadded up his handkerchief for a pillow and closed his eyes.
The storm roared wetly outside, but it was a steady sound, almost soothing тАж
He slept.
He tossed fitfully on the hard floor of the cave, asleep and yet somehow aware that time was passing.
He held on to sleep almost consciously, as though a part of him knew that it was easier than waking up in
the cold.
And then, quite suddenly, he was fully, intensely awake.
Something had awakened him.
What?
He lay very still, listening. The rain had stopped, and the world outside was hushed and dripping. Pale