"Timothy Zahn - The Green and the Gray" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zahn Timothy)

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The Green and the Gray

Roger could feel Caroline trembling against his side as he silently steered them past the mugger and
down the sidewalk, trying desperately to come up with a plan. The man was obviously weak and
sick. If he jumped him and wrestled away the gun...
No. If he jumped him, he would get himself shot. The mugger was a head shorter than he was, but
judging by the width of his shoulders he probably outweighed Roger by a good twenty pounds.
Probably outmuscled him by a hell of a lot more, too.
"Here," the mugger said suddenly from behind him. "In here."
Roger swallowed hard, focusing on the iron fence set across an alley between two buildings to their
left, its gate standing wide open. The dark concrete beyond the fence sloped downward to a flat area,
beyond which he could see a set of concrete steps leading to a higher platform, beyond which was a
flat, featureless wall. On the right, between the entrance and the back steps, was a shorter wall
leading into a little courtyard-like area; just past that was a fire escape attached to one of the
buildings. Inside the fence to the left was a stack of garbage bags.
"In here," the mugger said again.
"Do as he says, Roger," Caroline murmured.
With his heart thudding in his ears, Roger stepped through the gate and started down the slope,
Caroline still clutching his arm. They had gone perhaps three steps into the alley when, behind them,
the dead streetlights abruptly came back on.
"Stop," the mugger ordered. "There."
Roger frowned. The man, now in silhouette against the light, was pointing at a long bundle of rags
lying at the far end of the line of trash bags. "There what?" he asked.
"Oh, my God," Caroline breathed, letting go of Roger's arm and stepping over to kneel beside the
bundle.
And then Roger got it. The bundle wasn't rags, but a young girl, fourteen or fifteen years old, dressed
in some odd patchwork outfit made of green and gray material. She was curled into a fetal position
against the cold night air, her eyes closed.
"Take her," the mugger's voice said in Roger's ear.
Something swung toward Roger's face; reflexively, he flinched back. But the something didn't
connect, merely stopping in midair in front of him.
It was the mugger's hand. In it was the mugger's gun.
Its grip pointed toward Roger. "What?" Roger asked cautiously.
"Take her," the other repeated, thrusting the gun insistently toward him. "Protect her."
Carefully, Roger reached up and touched the weapon. Was this some sort of trick? Was the other

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The Green and the Gray

going to suddenly reverse the gun and shoot him? His fingers closed on the gun, and the weapon's
gentle weight came into his hand as the mugger let go. "Protect her," the other said again softly.
Brushing past Roger, he headed silently down the slope farther into the alley.
"Roger, give me your coat," Caroline ordered. "She's freezing."
"Sure," Roger said mechanically, watching the man's broad back retreating. Was he staggering a
little? Roger couldn't be sure, but it looked like it. A mugger who'd lingered too long after happy
hour might explain why Roger was now the one holding the gun.
But the man hadn't sounded drunk. And there certainly hadn't been any alcohol on his breath when
he'd handed over the weapon.
And that cough...