"Severna Park--The Breadfruit Empire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Park Severna)

"We don't have a phoneтАФ" She realized how ludicrous that sounded, and blurted out the address.
"My dad's trying to kidnap me. I can't get away. I can't call my mom. His crazy friends are here and
they'reтАФ"
Ma'am, are you in any kind of physical danger?
"What?"
Are you being threatened, ma'am? Are you being hurt or attacked?
"No, but ..."
I'm sorry, but we can't respond to non-emergency situations. We've got lootings and gunfire
downtown. If you're not in physical danger, we can't help you tonight.
The line went dead.
Lisa stared at the phone, open-mouthed. Outside, Bob was coming closer. She stumbled
backwards, ready to unbolt the back entrance and flee into the woods. She hit the lit candle with her
elbow and it fell over on the stack of videos. For a second nothing happened. She could have picked up
the candle and nothing would have happened. Then the plastic caught. Smoke curled up in a tendril. A
slender flame reached for the wooden ceiling. Lisa fumbled with the puzzle lock, shoved the door open
and ran into the darkness where the yard met the woods.
The snow had thickened to a blizzard. She crouched in it with her aching knee and freezing feet.
Nine one one. The keypad lit up with the same weird green as in the photograph of her house.
Please stay on the line.
Inside the shack, the videos were burning. She caught a glimpse of the green-aura photo of the
house, peeling, burning and finally vanishing in an emerald flare. Bob's flashlight swung over the dark yard
and Lisa ducked behind the nearest tree, hidden in leaping black shadows. Flames licked out of the shed.
She heard Bob yell.
Now the dog was barking frantically, banging around in the trailer. Men came running from the
house with fire extinguishers, yelling and sliding in the wet snow. The ceiling of the shed was completely
engulfed but Bob ran inside without hesitation as his friends fumbled with their fire extinguishers.
"Lisa!"
Please stay on the line.
 Bob started throwing anything he could grab out of the shed. A cardboard box. An armload of
folders. The jar of alien fingers hit a tree and broke.
He heaved a crate of breadfruit into the snow and the crate burst open. One leathery breadfruit
rolled into the woods and stopped almost at Lisa's feet. It was no bigger than her fist. She picked it up as
a live human voice interrupted the recording.
Emergency 911. Do you need police, fire or ambulance?
"Fire!" she screamed into the receiver. "Fire! Fire!"
Bob heard her and bolted into the thin woods. He grabbed her arm and hauled her up. "Dammit!
Dammit!" He saw the cellphone. "Who're you calling?"
"The fire department!" she shouted. "Who the hell do you think I'm calling?"
There was another noise over the roar of fireтАФsomething louder than the yelling men or the
hysterical dog. It sounded like a helicopter.
Bob's grip tightened on her arm. Through the net of bare branches, the pink sky changed color. Not
to the shock-white helicopter searchlights. It brightened to a thick, unhealthy green.
"Oh, fuck," said Bob.
The helicopter sound intensified to a screaming pitch. The men with the fire extinguishers stared
upwards as the shed's roof collapsed.
Lisa felt Bob's hand loosen on her arm. She stepped away, frozen in her soaking shoes and wet
coat. Bob, his friends, the Winnebagos and the Airstream glowed in the nightmare fluorescence,
suspended in the moment. Even the snow seemed to hang in the air, weightless, motionless. The only
thing she could hear was the disembodied voice from the cellphone, shouting, Are you there? Are you
there?