JК
Desperation :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 401 из 422” His voice, trembling. “Will you light us on our way.”
“I don’t want to,’, David whispered. Then, pulling in a deep breath, he looked up at a sky in which the stars were just beginning to pale and screamed: “I don ‘t want to! Haven’t I done enough. Everything you asked. This isn’t fair! THIS ISN’T FAiR AND I DON’T WANT To!”
The last four words came out in a desperate, throat—tearing shriek. Mary started forward.
Johnny grabbed her arm.
“Take your hand off me,” she said, and started forward again.
Johnny yanked her back again. “Be still.”
She subsided.
Johnny looked at David and silently raised his hand to the drift again.
David looked up at his father with tears running down his cheeks. “Go away, Dad. Go back to the truck.”
Ralph shook his head. “If you go in, I go in.”
“Don’t. I’m telling you. It won’t be good for you.”
Ralph simply stood his ground and looked patiently at his son.
David looked back up at him, then at Johnny’s out-stretched hand (a hand which now did not simply invite but demanded), and then turned and walked into the drift. He clicked on the light as he went, and Johnny saw motes dancing in its bright beam… motes and something else.
Something that might have caused the heart of an old prospector to beat faster. A glint of gold, there and then gone.
Ralph followed David. Steve came next. The light moved in the boy’s hand, tracing first along a rock wall, then an ancient support with a trio of symbols carved into it-some long-dead Chinese miner’s name, perhaps, or the name of his sweetheart, left far behind in the marsh—side huts — of Pc Yang-and then to the floor, where it picked out a litter of bones: cracked skulls and ribcages that curved like ghastly Cheshire cat grins. It shifted upward again and to the left. The gold-gleam came again, this time brighter and more defined.
“Hey, look out!” Cynthia cried. “Something’s in here with us!”
There was a fluttering explosion in the dark. It was a sound Johnny associated with his Connecticut childhood, pheasant exploding out of the underbrush and into the air as twilight drew down toward dark. For a moment the smell of the mine was stronger, as unseen wings drove the ancient air against his face in pulses.
Mary screamed. The flashlight beam jagged upward at an angle, and for just one moment it pinpointed a night-marish midair apparition, something with wings and glar-ing golden eyes and outstretched talons.
“I don’t want to,’, David whispered. Then, pulling in a deep breath, he looked up at a sky in which the stars were just beginning to pale and screamed: “I don ‘t want to! Haven’t I done enough. Everything you asked. This isn’t fair! THIS ISN’T FAiR AND I DON’T WANT To!”
The last four words came out in a desperate, throat—tearing shriek. Mary started forward.
Johnny grabbed her arm.
“Take your hand off me,” she said, and started forward again.
Johnny yanked her back again. “Be still.”
She subsided.
Johnny looked at David and silently raised his hand to the drift again.
David looked up at his father with tears running down his cheeks. “Go away, Dad. Go back to the truck.”
Ralph shook his head. “If you go in, I go in.”
“Don’t. I’m telling you. It won’t be good for you.”
Ralph simply stood his ground and looked patiently at his son.
David looked back up at him, then at Johnny’s out-stretched hand (a hand which now did not simply invite but demanded), and then turned and walked into the drift. He clicked on the light as he went, and Johnny saw motes dancing in its bright beam… motes and something else.
Something that might have caused the heart of an old prospector to beat faster. A glint of gold, there and then gone.
Ralph followed David. Steve came next. The light moved in the boy’s hand, tracing first along a rock wall, then an ancient support with a trio of symbols carved into it-some long-dead Chinese miner’s name, perhaps, or the name of his sweetheart, left far behind in the marsh—side huts — of Pc Yang-and then to the floor, where it picked out a litter of bones: cracked skulls and ribcages that curved like ghastly Cheshire cat grins. It shifted upward again and to the left. The gold-gleam came again, this time brighter and more defined.
“Hey, look out!” Cynthia cried. “Something’s in here with us!”
There was a fluttering explosion in the dark. It was a sound Johnny associated with his Connecticut childhood, pheasant exploding out of the underbrush and into the air as twilight drew down toward dark. For a moment the smell of the mine was stronger, as unseen wings drove the ancient air against his face in pulses.
Mary screamed. The flashlight beam jagged upward at an angle, and for just one moment it pinpointed a night-marish midair apparition, something with wings and glar-ing golden eyes and outstretched talons.