"Jerry Oltion - The Miracle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oltion Jerry)

JERRY OLTION

THE MIRACLE

WHEN THE SHORT, WIRY bush burst into flame less than ten feet in front of him,
Greg Murry shouted "Holy Moses!" and leaped back in surprise. His involuntary
reaction didn't take him very far; he'd just panted and puffed his way up Pilan
Hill's two-mile jogging trail and he was exhausted. He took another couple of
steps backward, stumbling on a jagged rock in the trail, and looked around
sheepishly to see who had set him up for the practical joke.

He was alone on the hilltop. Long stalks of green grass waved in the faint
breeze wafting up the west slope, and a couple of turkey vultures circled
overhead, but that was the only sign of life or motion anywhere nearby. The
grass wasn't tall enough to hide anybody, and the nearest trees were a hundred
yards downslope.

The bush, growing from a cleft in the rock outcrop at the very top of the hill,
crackled and spat sparks. It was about thigh-high, and scraggly looking.
Windswept. Greg had no idea what kind it was. In the evening light the flames in
its branches looked blue-hot, like a gas burner. There was no smoke, but a
peculiar smell bit Greg's nose when he sniffed. A chemical smell. He took a
cautious step toward the fire, wondering if somebody had left a camp stove whose
fuel tank had burst in the sunlight, but he couldn't see any evidence of it. No
sign of charcoal or ashes from a picnicker who hadn't put out his fire, either.
Just the rock and the burning bush.

Yeah, right. A burning bush. Any minute now he'd hear a thunderous voice telling
him to fall on his knees, and then a couple of stone tablets with the Federal
Penal Code engraved on them would fall out of the sky. Greg didn't buy it. This
was far more likely a fraternity prank, or even his roommates having fun at his
expense. He looked around again to see if he could spot the idiots who were
playing with matches and gasoline, but they must have had a remote igniter or
something because the hilltop truly was empty.

The bush was burning, though, and Greg didn't have anything to put it out with.
He'd taken a long drink from his water bottle before he'd started his hike, but
he'd left the bottle in the car as he always did, counting on the drink to hold
him until he got back. He'd left his T-shirt in the car, too, so he couldn't
beat the flames out with that. He supposed he could try doing it with his
cutoffs, but he'd just as likely catch them on fire and then have to run back
down for help in his undies.

No, he would have to stamp it out, but to do that he'd have to wait until it
burned down some. If he tried it now he'd singe off all his leg hair for sure,
and probably melt his running shoes as well.

The leaves seemed to be lasting an awfully long time for such a bright blaze.
Greg squinted, looking into the glare, and thought he could still see a green
tinge to them. They weren't even curling. He held out a hand, but felt no heat.