"Arcady And Boris Strugatsky. Prisoners of Power" - читать интересную книгу автораcaptain fired three more shots. Mac fell forward and lay still.
Guy felt giddy and his legs buckled. He sank down on the truck's running board. The repulsive crunching sound of bullets penetrating the body of his closest friend still ran through his head. Soon he recovered his strength, but still unsure of his legs, rested a little longer. Mac's motionless body lay like a rock among the pink and white fragments. The captain returned to where he had been standing, held his gun in readiness, and lit up a cigarette, inhaling greedily. He didn't look at Guy. Smoking the cigarette down to the last puff, he burned himself; he threw the butt away and took two steps toward the dead man. "Massaraksh!" grunted the captain, replacing his pistol in its holster. He fumbled for a long time, trying to fasten it, and finally gave up. He walked over to Guy, grabbed his clothing at the chest with his crippled hand, and jerked him up. Breathing noisily in Guy's face, he spoke unsteadily. "OK, boy, we won't bust you to private. But you're finished in the Legion. You'll write out a request for transfer to the army. Get in the van." PART THREE: TERRORIST 9. His escort murmured: "Wait here," and vanished into the brush. Maxim sat down on a stump in the middle of a clearing, thrust his hands deep the undergrowth was strangling it. The ancient tree trunks smelled of rotting mold. Maxim shivered from the dampness. He felt faint and wanted to sit in the sun, where he could warm his shoulder. Someone was in the bushes nearby, but Maxim ignored it. Although he had been followed from the moment he left the village, he wasn't concerned. It would have been strange if they had believed his story at once. A little girl wearing an oversized blouse and carrying a bucket entered the clearing from one side. As she passed, her eyes were riveted on Mac, and she kept stumbling in the tall grass. A squirrel-like animal streaked through the bushes, darted up a tree, looked down, took fright, and disappeared. It was quiet except for the distant, irregular clacking of a machine cutting bulrushes on the lake. The man in the bushes did not go away. The feeling that he was being watched was unpleasant, but he had to get used to it. He must expect this from now on. The inhabited island had turned against him: one group had shot him, another distrusted him. Maxim dozed off. Lately he had been dozing at the most inappropriate times. He'd fall asleep, wake up, and fall asleep again. Realizing that his body knew best what it needed, he did not attempt to fight it. This would pass. He heard the rustle of footsteps and his escort's voice: "Follow me." Maxim rose and followed. They went deep into the forest, weaving in and out, describing circles and complicated loops as they gradually approached a dwelling that was actually very close to the clearing. Finally deciding that he had sufficiently confused Maxim, the escort took a shortcut over some |
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