"Richard Paul Russo - Just Drive, She Said" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russo Richard Paul)

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Just Drive, She Said
a short story by Richard Paul Russo

Night.
Ahead of us, the road ended at a washed-out bridge, but we were driving
for it at eighty-five miles an hour. Moonlight lit the barricades, the
ruins of the bridge dangling over muddy water below.
"Jesus!" I said, trying to look at her. She pressed the gun harder into my
temple.
"Just drive," she said.
I drove.

It wasn't even my car.
It was my sister's, an ugly-brown Mazda RX-7 that drove fast and smooth.
I'd borrowed it for a few days, and Friday night I drove to a nearby
liquor store to pick up some wine--something to get me through another
empty weekend.
I was inside for fifteen or twenty minutes. With three bottles of wine in
hand, I walked back to the car. I unlocked the door, opened it, and the
overhead light went on.
A woman sat in the passenger seat pointing a gun at me. She didn't move,
silent and intense, and I thought she was trying to decide whether or not
to shoot me.
"Get inside and close the door," she finally said.
I wasn't going to do anything stupid. I got in, closed the door, and the
light went off.
The woman took the wine from me with one hand, and with the other jabbed
the gun into my ribs.
"Start the engine," she said.
As I did, strange lights went on in the middle of the dash. The tape deck
was gone, replaced by a larger, glistening piece of electronics with
dozens of buttons, dials, and readouts. Amber and green lights flickered
across the thing, the displays showing figures that were probably letters
or numbers, though nothing I recognized.
"What the hell is that?" I asked.
"A probability wave console. Generator, tuner, and amplifier."
Jesus, hijacked by a lunatic.
She jabbed me again with the gun, and said, "Let's go."
"This isn't my car," I told her.
"You think I give a shit?"
No, guess not. "My sister's waiting for me," I said, without much hope.
"Want me to repeat what I just said?"
I shook my head. "Where to?"
"Just go right and drive a while," she said.
The gun was still in my ribs, so I did what she asked.
Her hair was short and dark, and she was wearing blue jeans, a gray
sweatshirt, and dark boots. Slim, but strong-looking. She didn't look
crazy, I thought, but then what did crazy look like?