"William Mark Simmons - Undead 2 - Dead on My Feet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons William Mark)

Black chinos, black shirt and shoes, black duster: a very Goth Peter Pan and overdressed for the
season, to boot.
I braked, leaving gummy streaks of rubber sole on the hot asphalt. Then I cut to the right, turning
down a side street, and picked up speed. Six blocks ahead and two streets over I could see an on-ramp
for the highway.
He elected to catch up to me on foot. I think it was intended to spook me; his running just ahead of
me, turned backward to converse as if we were participants in a casual strollтАФnot running at breakneck
speed down a darkened city street.
"My, but you're a fast one," he hissed with grinning, bloody lips. "I like it when the rabbit tries to run a
bit."
"Do you?" I puffed. Ten more minutes of this and I might break out in a sweatтАФan increasingly rare
experience in my "after" life.
Now that I had the occasional street lamp to manage the "visible" spectrum, I could make out a
faceтАФdoughy, round features overlaid with a ruddy glow, and overly prominent eyes. His sunburned
appearance had nothing to do with the sun and his bulgy eyeballs weren't tied to a thyroid condition.
Rather, he'd overfed just moments before and so he was no longer motivated by hunger.
He was just tidying up; making sure there would be no witnesses.
"What is your name, little bunny?"
Not that he was in a big hurry, you understand. Like many predators, he liked to play with the prey.
"Bugs," I answered, trying not to "puff" too much.
"What . . . ?" My lack of terror was throwing him a little off-balance.
"Can you say 'Wascally wabbit'?" I asked.
And shoved him. Hard. He wasn't expecting it and his momentum carried him down in a tumble that
sounded none too gentle for the parked car at the side of the road.
Now I ran as fast as my lungs would permit, inadequate draughts of air rasping in and out of my chest
like a fiery crankshaft. I started up the on-ramp. If there had been more than one of him, I would've been
dead already.
"Lit-tle bun-neeeee!"
And even with only one, it was just a matter of time.
He settled across my back and shoulders like a stack of cold, wet, woolen blankets, riding me like a
grotesque jockey. He was surprisingly light, but far too strong for me to dislodge on my own.
"Little bun-nee," he whispered with a sniggering giggle, his wet lips close to my ear, closer to my
neck. I threw myself down, twisting in midair and thrusting with my legs to ensure a long, sliding skid
before I stopped.
It hurt!
It would have hurt a lot more if I hadn't put the vampire between the concrete and myself as I went
down. I tumbled to my feet and limped the last dozen yards onto Interstate 20.
Traffic was light: a couple of semis and a dozen or so cars and pickup trucks. Playing dodge-em at
60 mph was better odds than what I had just left behind. As I ran, jumped, and spun across three lanes
of traffic, I found it odd that no one swerved. I expected the sound of horns and the squeal of brakes but
the drivers seemed oblivious to my presence. Reaching the concrete divider, I risked a glance back.
The creature stood at the entrance to the freeway, directing his attention to the oncoming traffic. He
was obviously concentrating, using vampiric mind control to delete my image from the drivers'
consciousness. For all intents and purposes, I was invisible for the moment! He turned his face to the
right as I vaulted the divider, clouding the minds of motorists in the eastbound lanes, now.
I took my time as the traffic was heavier and he wasn't moving for the moment. As I reached the far
side I risked another glance back and saw him launch himself into midair, off of the hood of a sedan that
had slowed on the ramp. I climbed over the side of the elevated highway, dangling some three stories
above the ground as he sailed across four lanes, headed directly for me. A large semi in the fifth lane
intercepted him as I let go. There was a squall of surprise and rage heading eastbound with the truck