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

of dozens, and he compressed the trigger of the weapon reflexively. The resulting shot went wild. The
bullet impacted near the main nest of the creatures, causing them to scatter with astonishing speed, like a
box of loaded springsтАФunfortunately for the hapless Reservist, who was directly in their path. He cursed
vigorously and fired four more times. Some of the shots careened harmlessly; at least one obliterated the
midsection of the lead serpent, which knotted around its own wound like a bloody rope.

"Now, Adam!" Julian shouted, and I stood up, thinking: My father's advice?

My father was a taciturn man, and most of his advice had involved the practical matter of running the
Estate's stables. I hesitated a moment in confusion, while Julian advanced toward the captive rifles,
dancing among the surviving snakes like a dervish. The Reservist, recovering somewhat, raced in the
same direction; and then I recalled the only advice of my father's that I had ever shared with Julian:

Grasp it where its neck ought to be, behind the head; ignore the tail, however it may thrash;
and crack its skull, hard and often enough to subdue it.

And so I did just thatтАФuntil the threat was neutralized.

Julian, meanwhile, recovered the weapons, and came away from the infested area of the dig.

He looked with some astonishment at the Reservist, who was slumped at my feet, bleeding from his
scalp, which I had "cracked, hard and often."

"Adam," he said. "When I spoke of your father's adviceтАФI meant the snakes."

"The snakes?" Several of them still twined about the dig. But I reminded myself that Julian knew very
little about the nature and variety of reptiles. "They're only corn snakes," I explained.[11] "They're big, but
they're not venomous."

Julian, his eyes gone large, absorbed this information.
Then he looked at the crumpled form of the Reservist again.

"Have you killed him?"

"Well, I hope not," I said.


8
We made a new camp, in a less populated part of the ruins, and kept a watch on the road, and at
dawn we saw a single horse and rider approaching from the west. It was Sam Godwin.

Julian hailed him, waving his arms. Sam came closer, and looked with some relief at Julian, and then
speculatively at me. I blushed, thinking of how I had interrupted him at his prayers (however unorthodox
those prayers might have been, from a purely Christian perspective), and how poorly I had reacted to my
discovery of his true religion. But I said nothing, and Sam said nothing, and relations between us seemed
to have been regularized, since I had demonstrated my loyalty (or foolishness) by riding to Julian's aid.

It was Christmas morning. I supposed that did not mean anything in particular to Julian or Sam, but I
was poignantly aware of the date. The sky was blue again, but a squall had passed during the dark hours
of the morning, and the snow "lay round about, deep and crisp and even." Even the ruins of Lundsford