"James van Pelt - Parallel Highways" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pelt James Van)

"Stop it."

"Do you think there was a freeway between Sodom and Gomorrah?" He laughed a little easier this time
but bitter.

"Sodom and Gomorrah," she said, "L.A. What's the difference?"

If it were L.A., we might be able to get off. Merge lane," he said. Whatever the junction was, a
spray-painted white hand obscured the name. "Should we take it?"

"I thought that was Anaheim we passed yesterday," she said wistfully. "I always liked Disneyland."

"I'm taking it."

Jack scanned his left, tapped the brakes and eased into a space between a Bronco with tinted windows
and a guy on a motorcycle. The cyclist's head wove back and forth as if he were listening to a private
symphony. Hair spilled out beneath his faded bandana and streamed in the wind. Ahead of them, taillights
blinked and cars jockeyed for position.

Traffic split, and Jack followed the curve of the road beneath an overpass. A green highway sign said,
CarmilhanтАУ76 miles. Within a few minutes, the warehouses disappeared, replaced by desert and
twisted Joshua trees streaking by behind the concrete retainer.

Jack sighed. Highway reached before him straight to the horizon as unwavering as a knife edge. Here, the
cars spaced themselves a bit. Twenty to thirty feet between them, but the asphalt still whined under the
wheels at a steady eighty miles per hour. He laid his head back and stared at the ceiling for a second,
then blinked hard and rubbed his hand across his eyes.

"I'm exhausted. Can you handle it for awhile?"

Debbie nodded, moving next to him, onto the emergency brake. She put a hand on the wheel and arched
up as he slid underneath her, the back of her blouse wet with perspiration. Now, almost sprawled across
the seat, the brake's handle digging into his back, he kept a foot on the accelerator. She stepped over his
legs, careful to keep from turning the car with her hip as she dropped into his place.

"What should we do at the next junction?" she said.

Jack reached into the tiny backseat for a Jacket, folded it over several times, then wedged it into the
corner between the top of the seat and the doorjamb. He rested his head on it and closed his eyes.
Humming wheels whipping over road whispered against his cheek. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Go
where you want."

Speed varied as Debbie adjusted for the traffic. Air rushed past the window, whistling a little in some
crack he'd never been able to find. After a while he drifted into a kind of false sleep, not quite dreaming,
not quite aware of where he was, and he felt like he was floating. Then he said, or thought he said, or
maybe even imagined he said, "How come all roads lead everywhere, but you can't get there from here?"

Debbie didn't answer, so he let the car's motion lull him further. He thought about treetops waving back
and forth and a time when he rested beneath them, watching diamonds of sun coming through the leaves.