JК
Bloody Bones :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 43 из 272Someone had butchered the trees back to either side, so the Jeep climbed upward towards a black blanket of sky, sprinkled with a million stars. The shine of stars was the only light in sight.
"It is really dark out here," Larry said.
"No streetlights," I said.
"Shouldn't we see the lights from the restaurant by now?"
"I don't know." I was staring at the broken trees. The trunks gleamed white and ragged. It had been done recently, as if someone had gone mad with an axe, or maybe a sword, or something big had ripped off the trunks.
I slowed down, scanning the darkness. Was I wrong? Was it trolls? Was there a Greater Ozark Mountain Troll left in these mountains? One that would use a sword? I was a big believer in a first time for everything.
I brought the Jeep almost to a stop.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked.
I hit the emergency flashers. The road was narrow, barely two cars wide, but it was going uphill. Anybody coming down wouldn't see the Jeep right away. The lights helped, but if someone was speeding. . Hell, I was going to do it; why quibble? I put the Jeep in park and got out.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm wondering if a troll ripped the trees apart."
Larry started to get out on his side. I stopped him. "Slide over on my side if you want to get out."
"Why?"
"You're not armed." I got the Browning out. It was a solid, comforting weight, but truthfully, against something the size of one of the great mountain trolls, it wasn't too useful. Maybe with exploding bullets, but short of that a 9mm wasn't the gun for hunting something the size of a small elephant.
Larry closed his door and slid across. "You really think there's a troll out here?"
I stared off into the darkness. Nothing moved. "I don't know." I moved to a dry gully that cut the edge of the road. I stepped very carefully into it. The heels sank in the dry, sandy soil. I grabbed a handful of weeds with my left hand and levered myself up the slope. I had to grab one of the butchered trunks to keep from sliding backwards in the loose leaves and pine needles.
My hand came up against thick sap. I fought the urge to jerk away, forcing myself to keep hold of the sticky bark.
Larry scrambled up the bank, slick-soled dress shoes sliding in the dry leaves. I didn't have a free hand to offer him. He caught himself in a sort of half pushup, and used the weeds to move up beside me. "Damn dress shoes."
"At least you're not in heels," I said.
"And don't think I'm not grateful," he said. "I'd break my neck."
Nothing moved in the dark, dark night except us.
"It is really dark out here," Larry said.
"No streetlights," I said.
"Shouldn't we see the lights from the restaurant by now?"
"I don't know." I was staring at the broken trees. The trunks gleamed white and ragged. It had been done recently, as if someone had gone mad with an axe, or maybe a sword, or something big had ripped off the trunks.
I slowed down, scanning the darkness. Was I wrong? Was it trolls? Was there a Greater Ozark Mountain Troll left in these mountains? One that would use a sword? I was a big believer in a first time for everything.
I brought the Jeep almost to a stop.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked.
I hit the emergency flashers. The road was narrow, barely two cars wide, but it was going uphill. Anybody coming down wouldn't see the Jeep right away. The lights helped, but if someone was speeding. . Hell, I was going to do it; why quibble? I put the Jeep in park and got out.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm wondering if a troll ripped the trees apart."
Larry started to get out on his side. I stopped him. "Slide over on my side if you want to get out."
"Why?"
"You're not armed." I got the Browning out. It was a solid, comforting weight, but truthfully, against something the size of one of the great mountain trolls, it wasn't too useful. Maybe with exploding bullets, but short of that a 9mm wasn't the gun for hunting something the size of a small elephant.
Larry closed his door and slid across. "You really think there's a troll out here?"
I stared off into the darkness. Nothing moved. "I don't know." I moved to a dry gully that cut the edge of the road. I stepped very carefully into it. The heels sank in the dry, sandy soil. I grabbed a handful of weeds with my left hand and levered myself up the slope. I had to grab one of the butchered trunks to keep from sliding backwards in the loose leaves and pine needles.
My hand came up against thick sap. I fought the urge to jerk away, forcing myself to keep hold of the sticky bark.
Larry scrambled up the bank, slick-soled dress shoes sliding in the dry leaves. I didn't have a free hand to offer him. He caught himself in a sort of half pushup, and used the weeds to move up beside me. "Damn dress shoes."
"At least you're not in heels," I said.
"And don't think I'm not grateful," he said. "I'd break my neck."
Nothing moved in the dark, dark night except us.