"Dean Wesley Smith & David Michelinin - Spiderman - Carnage In New York City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Dean Wesley)

The cold October air bites hard at midnight,
The streets of the city are slick and black with rain and have lost what little heat they
gathered during the day. The
dark shoves the city lights into small circular islands of false safety on the sidewalks, like
spotlights on a Broadway stage.
At midnight in October, the fall's misty rain cuts through unprotected hands and nips at
cheeks and faces with an intensity forgotten in the hot days of summer. Breath is
frosty-white in the air and the chill makes teeth chatter.
Winter is on the way and it sneaks up on the city at night, one cold, biting step at a time.

Doctor Eric Catrall paid little attention to the cold and the light rain cutting through his tan
overcoat and his bare white hands. Instead he glanced left, then quickly right at the
deserted sidewalks of 92nd Street as he ducked around the coner of a deli and moved
away from the brighter lights of Broadway. Through the mist on his glasses he was
watching for much, much worse than anything the weather could do to him.
he clutched his black briefcase to his chest with his icy hands as the sounds of his dress
shoes clicking on the wet pavement echoed up through
the tall buildings and off the closed, dark windows. He feared losing the briefcase almost
more than losing his own life. One minute he wanted to just toss the black leather monster
into the nearest dumpster and run to forget it ever existed. Then the next minute the Simple
thought of losing the case and its contents would send his heart racing out of control and his
breathing into panicked gulps for air.
The briefcase and its contents were tearing him apart and somewhere deep down inside
he knew he couldn't last much longer.
But at the same time, he knew he didn't have a choice.
A cold gust of wind snapped at his coat and hair and he thought he heard other footsteps.
He glanced quickly over his shoulder and then around at the dark street. No one was in
sight.
He suddenly stopped and listened, hoping to catch his pursuers moving. Hoping to hear
their steps or the sounds of their breathing in the cold night air. Nothing.
Nothing but the silence of the dark, wet street, the distant honking of cabs on Broadway and
the heavy pounding of his own heart.
He was as alone as a person could be in Manhattan.
when he started again the loud sounds of his steps
panicked him and he started to run, then to a fast walk after a few paces his breath
coming- in large hard gasps. He wanted to tip toe,
like a ghost through the streets, but he didn't have the time. He had to keep going. walk fast
maybe even run. had to get away. had to get to a safe place and figure out what His life,
and a lot of other lives depended on what he did next.
raised edge of sidewalk caught the toe of his shoe and he stumbled forward. His left hand
shot out and
he came very close to smashing the brief-case against a staircase railing that led down
into a basement apartment. at the last instant he managed to catch himself, yanking the
briefcase sideways, only grazing it
against the metal.
close. Way too close. He needed to be more careful. He clutched the case to his chest,
afraid he would hear the contents. If he could hear the contents, then it was broken and all
was lost.
if he could hear the contents then thousands would die, all because of him.
But nothing rattled in the case and he let out a deep sigh and again glanced around. He