"Robert Charles Wilson - Julian- A Christmas Story" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Robert Charles)

the secular ancients.

The Tipmen had not left much behind: only a rubble of broken bits of things, indistinguishable under
layers of dust and dirt. The far wall was of concrete, and the fire had been banked against it, under a
chimney-hole that must have been cut by the scavengers during their labors. A circle of stones hedged the
fire, and the damp planks and splinters in it crackled with a deceptive cheerfulness. Deeper parts part of
the excavation, with ceilings lower than a man standing erect, opened in several directions.

Julian sat near the fire, his back to the wall and his knees drawn up under his chin. His clothes had
been made filthy by the grime of the place. He was frowning, and when he saw me his frown deepened
into a scowl.

"Go over there and get beside him," my captor said, "but give me that little bird rifle first."

I surrendered my weapon, modest as it was, and joined Julian. Thus I was able to get my first clear
look at the man who had captured me. He appeared not much older than myself, but he was dressed in
the blue and yellow uniform of the Reserves. His Reserve cap was pulled low over his eyes, which
twitched left and right as though he were in constant fear of an ambush. In short he seemed both
inexperienced and nervousтАФand maybe a little dim, for his jaw was slack, and he was evidently unaware
of the dribble of mucous that escaped his nostrils as a result of the cold weather. (But as I have said
before, this was not untypical of the members of the Reserve, who were kept out of active duty for a
reason.)

His weapon, however, was very much in earnest, and not to be trifled with. It was a Pittsburgh rifle
manufactured by the Porter & Earl works, which loaded at the breech from a sort of cassette and could
fire five rounds in succession without any more attention from its owner than a twitch of the index finger.
Julian had carried a similar weapon but had been disarmed of it; it rested against a stack of small staved
barrels, well out of reach, and the Reservist put my squirrel rifle beside it.

I began to feel sorry for myself, and to think what a poor way of spending Christmas Eve I had
chosen. I did not resent the action of the Reservist nearly as much as I resented my own stupidity and
lapse of judgment.

"I don't know who you are," the Reservist said, "and I don't careтАФone draft-dodger is as good as the
next, in my opinionтАФbut I was given the job of collecting runaways, and my bag is getting full. I hope
you'll both keep till morning, when I can ride you back into Williams Ford. Anyhow, none of us shall
sleep tonight. I won't, in any case, so you might as well resign yourself to your captivity. If you're hungry,
there's a little meat."

I was never less hungry in my life, and I began to say so, but Julian interrupted: "It's true, Adam," he
said, "we're fairly caught. I wish you hadn't come after me."

"I'm beginning to feel the same way," I said.

He gave me a meaningful look, and said in a lower voice, "Is SamтАФ?"

"No whispering there," our captor said at once.

But I divined the intent of the question, and nodded to indicate that I had delivered Julian's message,
though that was by no means a guarantee of our deliverance. Not only were the exits from Williams Ford