"Zelazny, Roger - Damnation Alley" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

He blinked his eyes and stared at the small man whose necktie had long ago vanished, along with his dark suit coat, and whose angular face now bore several days' dark growth of beard. Peabody hadn't been standing there a second ago. Had he been dozing?
He raised his cigar, to discover that it had gone out again.
"Thank you, Peabody. I couldn't sleep if I tried, though. I'm just built that way. There's nothing for me to do but wait, here."
"Well, then, would you like some fresh coffee?"
"Yes, thank you."
Peabody seemed gone for only a few seconds. Harbershire blinked his eyes, and a cup of fresh coffee was steaming beside his right hand.
"Thank you, Peabody."
"The latest figures have just come in, sir. It seems to be tapering off."
"Probably a bad sign. Fewer people to do the reporting, and fewer to handle the figures. . . . The only way we'll really know will be to take a count of the living, if there are any living, when this thing is passed, and then subtract from what we had to begin with. I don't trust these figures worth a damn."
"Neither do I, really, sir."
Harbershire burned his tongue on the coffee and drew on his cigar.
"The drivers may have made it by now, and help may be on the way."
"Possibly," said Harbershire.
"So why don't you let me get you a blanket and a pillow, and then you stretch out and get some sleep. There's nothing more to do."
"I can't sleep."
"I could find some whiskey. A couple shots might help you to relax."
"Thanks. I've had a couple."
"Even if the drivers don't make it, this thing may dry up on its own, you know."
"Maybe."
"Everybody's keeping to himself now. We've finally gotten across the idea that congregating is bad."
"That's good."
"Some people are leaving town."
"Not a bad idea. Head for the hills. May save their necks, or some of ours, if they've got it."
He took another sip of coffee, more gingerly this time. He studied the blue smoke ladders that bent above his ashtray.
"What about the looting?" he asked.
"It's still going on. The police have killed a dozen already this evening."
"That's all we need, more deaths. Take a message to the Chief. Have the cops try to arrest them, or only wound them, if possible. Let the public think they're still shooting to kill, though."
"Yes, sir."
"I wish I could sleep. I really do, Peabody. I just can't take much more of it."
"The deaths, sir?"
"That, too."
"You mean the waiting, sir? Everyone's been admiring the way you've borne up..."
"No, not the waiting, damn it!"
He gulped more coffee and puffed a great cloud of smoke into the air.
"It's those goddamn bells," he said, gesturing at the night beyond the window. "They're driving me out of my mind!

They descended to the basement, the subbasement and the sub-subbasement.
When they got there, Tanner saw three cars, ready to go; and he saw five men seated on benches along the wall.
One of them he recognized.
"Denny," he said, "come here," and he moved forward, and a slim, blond youth who held a crash helmet in his right hand stood and walked toward him.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked him.
"I'm second driver in car three."
"You've got your own garage, and you've kept your nose clean. What's the thought on this?"
"Denton offered me fifty grand," said Denny, and Hell turned away his face.
"Screw it! It's no good if you're dead!"
"I need the money."
"Why?"
"I want to get married, and I can use it."
"I thought you were making out okay."
"I am, but I'd like to buy a house."