"Carrie Richardson - A Dying Breed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Richardson Carrie)

way through to the spine. But she was still conscious, for a last few seconds, and the look in
her eyes as she struggled to scream past the blood and the froth....
Angelina headed for the victim; the rest of us bracketed Englethorpe. He was babbling,
scrambling back into the shadows, trying to yank up his pants with one hand and waving that great
bloody knife at us with the other. We were all yelling at him to drop it, but I'm sure he
couldn't even understand what we were saying. Any moment someone was going to blow him away, and
I didn't want that. No, not that.
Then little Jeffrey Thornton walked into the middle of the chaos, and Englethorpe just went to
pieces. He threw the knife away, dropped to his knees, and crawled to my feet, crying and begging
us to protect him. I wanted to kick him in the face. I turned away in disgust.
To see Kyle raise his service revolver and pull back the hammer. The click echoed like a gong in


file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Carrie%20Richerson%20-%20A%20Dying%20Breed.txt (4 of 8) [1/5/2005 11:16:38 PM]
 file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Carrie%20Richerson%20-%20A%20Dying%20Breed.txt

the suddenly silent barn.
***

Night. A street sweating with fog and fear. A body lies sprawled in the dim circle of light
from a corner streetlamp. One arm is outflung; the hand lies in shadow. Something dark seeps
from the chest to add to the stains of old sins on the sidewalk.
A young, uniformed police officer edges toward the body. Her weapon is fixed upon the still
figure, but her hands are shaking. The revolver's barrel is hot; it fumes faintly in the wet air.
Question: How many guns can you count in this picture?
Answer: Every shooting, no matter how justified, has two victims.
***

I blinked my way back to the choking stink of blood and fear-sweat and semen in the barn. In an
instant it would be joined by the reek of burnt powder. We all wanted Englethorpe dead, but I
couldn't let Kyle destroy himself like that. Angie was gathering herself to jump him. I waved
her off as a horrible inspiration struck.
"Kyle, how would you like him to rise from the dead to accuse you of murder?"
For a long moment nothing changed. Then a tremor started in Kyle's hand and moved up his arm
until his whole body vibrated. I reached for the gun, lowered the hammer, and took it away from
him. Tears -- shame? rage? -- spilled down his cheeks. For the first time in far too long, I
felt tenderness rather than exasperation. Surely he deserved at least as much of my compassion as
what I had been handing out to dead folks lately. I thought about Jeffrey Thornton, and his
mother, and hugged my son fiercely.
I sent him back to the front gate to fetch the patrol car. He would have to walk the gauntlet of
the dead, but it was better than being in that barn. I helped George handcuff Englethorpe and
shackle him to the stanchion of a hayrick. Then I forced myself to cross the bloody straw to
where Angelina knelt by Englethorpe's last victim.
The woman was dead; nothing Angie could have done would have saved her. It did occur to me to
wonder if, or how long, she would stay dead. We searched through the clothing scattered about,
but didn't find anything to identify her. We did find a number of implements that Englethorpe had
used on her.
***

There were hours and hours of depressing, tedious details to complete after that. Angelina and