JК
Desperation :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 412 из 422“Push over!Make room!”
She did. Steve turned to David. “Are you going to be a problem.”
David shook his head His eyes were dull and apathetic, but that didn’t completely convince Steve. The boy was nothing if not resourceful; he had proved that before he and Cynthia ever met him.
He boosted David into the truck, then looked at Mary. “Get in. We’ll have to bundle a little, but if we’re not friends by now-”
She scrambled into the cab and closed the door as Steve hurried around the front of the truck, stepping on a buz-zard as he went. It was like stepping on a pillowcase stuffed with bones.
How long had the boss been gone. A minute. Two. He had no idea. Any sense of time he might once have had was completely shot. He swung into the driver’s seat, and allowed himself just one moment to wonder what they’d do if the engine wouldn’t start.
The answer, nothing, came at once. He nodded at it, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. No suspense there, thank God. A second later they were rolling.
He turned the Ryder truck in a big circle, skirting the heavy machinery, the powder magazine, and the field office. Between these latter two buildings was the dusty police—cruiser, driver’s door open, front-seat area plas-tered with Collie Entragian’s blood.
Looking at it-into it-made Steve feel cold and a little dizzy, the way he felt when he looked down from a tall building.
“Fuck you,” Mary said softly, turning to look back at the car. “Fuck you. And I hope you hear me.”
They hit a bump and the truck rattled terrifically. Steve flew up and off the seat, his thighs biting into the bottom arc of the steering wheel, his head bumping the ceiling. He heard a muffled clatter as the stuff in the back flew around. The boss’s stuff, mostly.
“Hey,” Cynthia said nervously. “Don’t you think you got the hammer a little too far down for rocktop, big boy.”
“No,” Steve said. He looked into the mirror outside his window as they began tearing up the gravel road which led to the rim of the pit. It was the drift opening he was looking for, but he couldn’t see it-it was on the other side of the truck.
About halfway to the rim they hit another bump, a bigger one, and the truck actually seemed to leave the road for an instant or two. The headlights corkscrewed, then dipped as the truck dove deep on its springs. Both Mary and Cynthia screamed. David did not; he sat crooked between them, a lifesized doll half on the seat and half on Mary’s lap.
“Slow down!” Mary screamed.
She did. Steve turned to David. “Are you going to be a problem.”
David shook his head His eyes were dull and apathetic, but that didn’t completely convince Steve. The boy was nothing if not resourceful; he had proved that before he and Cynthia ever met him.
He boosted David into the truck, then looked at Mary. “Get in. We’ll have to bundle a little, but if we’re not friends by now-”
She scrambled into the cab and closed the door as Steve hurried around the front of the truck, stepping on a buz-zard as he went. It was like stepping on a pillowcase stuffed with bones.
How long had the boss been gone. A minute. Two. He had no idea. Any sense of time he might once have had was completely shot. He swung into the driver’s seat, and allowed himself just one moment to wonder what they’d do if the engine wouldn’t start.
The answer, nothing, came at once. He nodded at it, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. No suspense there, thank God. A second later they were rolling.
He turned the Ryder truck in a big circle, skirting the heavy machinery, the powder magazine, and the field office. Between these latter two buildings was the dusty police—cruiser, driver’s door open, front-seat area plas-tered with Collie Entragian’s blood.
Looking at it-into it-made Steve feel cold and a little dizzy, the way he felt when he looked down from a tall building.
“Fuck you,” Mary said softly, turning to look back at the car. “Fuck you. And I hope you hear me.”
They hit a bump and the truck rattled terrifically. Steve flew up and off the seat, his thighs biting into the bottom arc of the steering wheel, his head bumping the ceiling. He heard a muffled clatter as the stuff in the back flew around. The boss’s stuff, mostly.
“Hey,” Cynthia said nervously. “Don’t you think you got the hammer a little too far down for rocktop, big boy.”
“No,” Steve said. He looked into the mirror outside his window as they began tearing up the gravel road which led to the rim of the pit. It was the drift opening he was looking for, but he couldn’t see it-it was on the other side of the truck.
About halfway to the rim they hit another bump, a bigger one, and the truck actually seemed to leave the road for an instant or two. The headlights corkscrewed, then dipped as the truck dove deep on its springs. Both Mary and Cynthia screamed. David did not; he sat crooked between them, a lifesized doll half on the seat and half on Mary’s lap.
“Slow down!” Mary screamed.