"William Tenn - Generation of Noah" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tenn William)

Plunkett pressed the stud on his stopwatch. Funny. There was no practice alarm scheduled for
today. All the kids were out of the house, except SaulтАФand he wouldn't dare to leave his room, let alone
tamper with the alarm. Unless, perhaps, AnnтАФ
He walked inside the kitchen. Ann was running toward the door, carrying Dinah. Her face was
oddly unfamiliar. "Saulie!" she screamed. "Saulie! Hurry up, Saulie!"
"I'm coming, momma," the boy yelled as he clattered down the stairs. "I'm com-ing as fast as I can!
I'll make it!"
Plunkett understood. He put a heavy hand on the wall, under the dinner-plate clock.
He watched his wife struggle down the steps into the cellar. Saul ran past him and out of the door,
arms flailing. "I'll make it, poppa! I'll make it!"
Plunkett felt his stomach move. He swallowed with great care. "Don't hurry, son," he whispered.
"It's only judgment day."
He straightened out and looked at his watch, noticing that his hand on the wall had left its moist
outline behind. One minute, twelve seconds. Not bad. Not bad at all. He'd figured on three.
Clang-ng-ng-ng-ng!
He started to shake himself and began a shudder that he couldn't control. What was the matter? He
knew what he had to do. He had to unpack the portable lathe that was still in the barn.
"Elliot!" his wife called.
 He found himself sliding down the steps on feet that somehow wouldn't lift when he wanted them to.
He stumbled through the open cellar door. Frightened faces dot-ted the room in an unrecognizable
jumble.
"We all here?" he croaked.
"All here, poppa," Saul said from his position near the aeration machinery. "Lester and Herbie are in
the far room, by the other switch. Why is Josephine crying? Lester isn't crying. I'm not crying, either."
Plunkett nodded vaguely at the slim, sobbing girl and put his hand on the lever protruding from the
concrete wall. He glanced at his watch again. Two minutes, ten seconds. Not bad.
"Mr. Plunkett!" Lester Dawkins sped in from the corridor. "Mr. Plunkett! Herbie ran out of the other
door to get Rusty. I told himтАФ"
Two minutes, twenty seconds, Plunkett realized as he leaped to the top of the steps. Herbie was
running across the vegetable garden, snapping his fingers behind him to lure Rusty on. When he saw his
father, his mouth stiffened with shock. He broke stride for a moment, and the dog charged joyously
between his legs. Herbie fell.
Plunkett stepped forward. Two minutes, forty seconds. Herbie jerked himself to his feet, put his
head downтАФand ran.
Was that dim thump a distant explosion? ThereтАФanother one! Like a giant belching. Who had
started it? And did it matterтАФnow?
Three minutes. Rusty scampered down the cellar steps, his head back, his tail flickering from side
to side. Herbie panted up. Plunkett grabbed him by the collar and jumped.
And as he jumped he sawтАФfar to the southтАФthe umbrellas opening their agony upon the land.
Rows upon swirling rows of them...
He tossed the boy ahead when he landed. Three minutes, five seconds. He threw the switch, and,
without waiting for the door to close and seal, darted into the corridor. That took care of two doors; the
other switch controlled the remaining entrances. He reached it. He pulled it. He looked at his watch.
Three minutes, twenty seconds. "The bombs," blubbered Josephine. "The bombs!"
Ann was scrabbling Herbie to her in the main room, feeling his arms, caressing his hair, pulling him in
for a wild hug and crying out yet again. "Herbie! Herbie! Herbie!"
"I know you're gonna lick me, pop. IтАФI just want you to know that I think you ought to."
"I'm not going to lick you, son."
"You're not? But gee, I deserve a licking. I deserve the worstтАФ"
"You may," Plunkett said, gasping at the wall of clicking Geigers. "You may deserve a beating," he