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

"So, are we wimps or heroes?" said Debbie. "Are we resisting our fate or giving in?"

"Well, I guess if this were a movie, we'd be wimps. We're not solving our problems. But in real life
sometimes the most heroic thing you can do is stay even and not give up. So we're heroes."

"I don't feel like a hero. I haven't done anything."

Debbie let her hands slip to the bottom of the wheel. She was steering with the tips of her fingers barely
draped. Back in the Joshua trees, a black shape moved; Jack only caught a glimpse of it. It was like a
bear, but its arms were loose-fleshed, hairless and yellow. It looked up from whatever it was feeding on.
Eyes glinted.

"We're not in our world," he said.
"I'm sure that was Anaheim the other day. Maybe we're there part of the time. If we could find our way
back."

"One freeway to another. Merge lanes and junctionsтАУthere's never an exit."

"I remember the signs: Hermosa Beach and then Long Beach. We were going west on the 91. Maybe
these are like parallel universes, except they're parallel highways. Part of the time we cross over. Do you
think anybody saw us? Do you think we looked different?"

Debbie drove for three hundred miles before they switched. She rested her head and closed her eyes
immediately. Ahead, a line of hills rose out of the desert, and soon he was climbing steadily. Joshua trees
gave way to pinion as the road wove higher and higher. Occasionally he passed a camper or heavy truck
laboring in the right lane, belching exhaust. A sign read, Slower traffic keep right: No stopping on the
shoulder. He smirked. They'd tried stopping twice, pulling against the cement retainer, only to watch the
following traffic pile into them, as if they were incapable of stopping themselves. The second time they'd
burned. A thousand years in the fire.

Once he'd seen a man jump from a car; maybe he was a newbie, desperate to escape the road. The man
slowed as much as the flow allowedтАУmaybe fifty miles per hourтАУthen opened his door and rolled out.
Jack had been three cars back, and passed him as he slid and tumbled on the asphalt. Craning his head
over his shoulder, Jack saw the man, amazingly, stagger to his feet just before a bus creamed him.

No stopping on the shoulder, Jack thought. No kidding.

A road sign read, Mary CelesteтАУ14 miles. "That's a phantom ship," he said. Debbie turned on her seat;
opened her eyes.

"What?"

"Sign said, Mary Celeste. It's a ship whose crew never made port. they found her floating around,
perfectly seaworthy, but no one on board."

"I know about the Celeste," said Debbie, her eyes closed again. "We're more like Vanderdecken."

"Who?"

Debbie covered her face with one hand. Jack couldn't tell if she were crying or not. "Vanderdecken