"Thompson, Jim - Cropper's Cabin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

"The next day? There at the usual place?"
"I"--she shivered. "Oh, Tom, why did you . . ."
"I know. I know, honey. I'll be there every evening until you come, and you just take your time. But won't you . . . Send that breed away for a minute, honey."
"Well . . ." She sniffled, and looked over her shoulder. And my arms started to come up, because I didn't feel like I could wait another second.
Then her head snapped back around, and what I saw in her face I never want to see in another. Cold white sick. Burning-mad crazy sick.
But her voice was just a whisper.
"Breed," she whispered. "Breed."
I said, "Donna, honey, you know I . . ."
"It finally came out, didn't it?" She backed away. "You don't think much of breeds, do you?" She kept backing away. "That's why you came here, isn't it? To finish up the job. Why not? Red meat's cheap, isn't it? You know how cheap it is, don't you? You . . ."
"Donna!" I said. And I made a grab for her.
And she wasn't there.
But the Chief was. He was standing between us.
"Yes, ma'am?" he said, his eyes on me.
"M-make him go! Take him away! Run him away!"
"Yes, ma'am."
He put two fingers between his teeth and whistled, and back in the trees somewhere there was a nicker. It was one of the plantation's big bays. All their horses were bays. It came up to the chief and hung its head over his shoulder. He reached back and stroked its muzzle, never looking away from me.
"You understand me, Chief?"
"Yes, ma'am." He stepped back, and swung into the saddle.
"Run him, run him, _run him_ . . . !"
"Yes, ma'am."
I backed up against the shrub. I started backing around it, pushing myself back into the branches. "Y-you try it! You try it, and by God I'll . . ."
The bull whip came off of his shoulder. He let it trail back behind him, then snapped the handle. And there was a _cr-aack_ like a rifle going off. And a red hot iron seemed to jab through the toe of my shoe, searing clear up through my toes and into my ankle.
I'd known what was going to happen, and I'd set myself for it. I'd told myself I wouldn't jump or yell; I'd die before I did it. But I didn't die.
I jumped. I yelled.
I threw myself around the shrub, and the whip swung again, _cra-ack-cra-ack!_, and the hot iron jabbed me in the heels. I threw myself frontwards, and I got another load in the toes. I--
Backwards, _cra-ack-cra-ack!_, frontwards, _cra-ack-cra-ack!_, toes, _cra-ack!_, heels, _cra-ack!_
I leaped backwards away from the shrub, and I stumbled, went down sprawling on my shoulders, and the fire raced through my soles. I rolled over. I went into a running crawl, my eyes filling with blood, my insides pushing up into my throat and--
_Cra-ack-cra-ack!_, _cra-ack-cra-ack!_, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. _Cra-ack-cra-ack_ . .
I ran-crawled.
_Cra-aack!_
I screamed and ran, stumbling, blind.
_Cra-aack!_
I fell down, screaming, crawl-running, running, falling and rolling, and--
_Cra-ack, cra-ack, cra-ack, crack_ .
Lights had come on. There was a blur of sounds, laughing, shouts, a scream, the same scream over and over. But they were just a blur like the lights. I couldn't really hear them. I couldn't really hear myself, what I was yelling. Everything had gone numb inside of me, and there wasn't any pain any more.
Or anything else.
I stood up. I turned around and faced him.
"Run me!" I yelled. "Try and make me run!"
_Cra-ack, cra-ack!_
"_Go on! Run me, goddam_ . . ."
_Cra-ack, cra-ack!_
"--you! Run me! Try it, try it, tr . . ."
_Crraaa-aaack!_ My ankle. I could feel the dime-sized spot of flesh leap away.
"Make me, make me, make me!"
_Craaa-ack-a-craa-ack-a-craa-ack-a-craa-aack!_
"Make me . . ."
"Cra-Tom, Tom Carver!"
"Try an' make . . ."
"Carver! Tom! Snap out of it, son!"
He was shaking me, a man with a bandage over one eye and a strip of courtplaster down his cheek. She was sagged against him, still and white, her head hung back over his arm. She couldn't see me run now, because her eyes were closed.