"Christopher Pike - The Immortal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pike Christopher)

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THE IMMORTAL

the previous summer, I'd had a bout with pericarditis, which is an inflammation of the sack surrounding
the heart. It can hit with varying degrees of intensity. My illness had been particularly severe. I was
hospitalized for three weeks, ten days of which I spent in intensive care. The disease hit with incredible
speed and had at first mystified the doctors. By the time I was diagnosed, I was close to death. My fever
was so high I lay in semiconscious slumber for days, knowing little, except that I was in pain, horrible
pain every time I took a breath.

Yet after the illness I had been happy, for it seemed that by coming so close to death I had gained a new
appreciation for life. The simplest things that I had taken for granted, such as walking to school in the
morning or eating ice cream, now came to have special meaning for me. I had also decided to take my
future more seriously and buckled down with my studies. My grades my senior year had reflected my
newfound dedication. I got almost straight A's.

The doctors believed I had made a full recovery, without permanent damage to my heart, but they had
warned that my endurance would only return gradually. Even now, so many months later, I was aware
that I was not at full strength.

The pain hit me when I was near the end of the jetty, a quarter mile out. I briefly contemplated trying to
climb onto the rocks and resting, but there were waves, battering the jetty hard enough to knock me
down if I tried to stand up, and the rocks were covered with moss that looked slippery. Helen was fifty

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CHRISTOPHER PIKE

yards off to my right, swimming circles around a huge yacht. I debated calling out to her but was
embarrassed. I know it was foolish. Helen was my old friend. My problem was genuine. I was having
trouble breathing; I was on the verge of cramping. But I hated to appear weak, particularly in front of
her. The aversion had started the previous summer, after my illness.

Slowly I began to swim toward the beach. How quickly perceptions could change. Moments before the
beach had looked within arm's reach. Now it was miles away. I cautioned myself to take my time, to
breathe slowly and deeply. At first the strategy worked. I was halfway in and looking good. But then all
at once I tired. The pain in my chest returned like a hammer pounding. The muscles in my legs knotted
and stiffened. I had been saving my arms--every good snorkeler knew the arms couldn't compete with
fins. Panic entered my mind. Could I actually drown in front of five hundred sunbathers, on my first day
of vacation? The thought sent a shot of cold terror up my spine. I began to thrash with my arms, trying to
pull myself to shore as fast as possible.

It was the worst thing I could have done. In a minute I was exhausted and gasping for air. I pulled my
head out of the water and took my mouth off the snorkel--another mistake. It was easy, while
snorkel-ing, to just relax in the water, facedown, and not even paddle at all. But all I could think of was
getting to shore.

I accidentally took in a mouthful of water and
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