"Barker, Clive - Sacrament (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive)

On the step behind him, Guthrie was yelling something - whether he was summoning his guest back inside or
urging him to pick up his pace Will couldn't make out; the dog was too loud. He blocked out the sound of both
voices, man and animal, and concentrated on making his fingers perform the simple function of slipping the key
into the lock. They played the fool. He fumbled, and the key slipped out of his hand. He went down on his
haunches, the dog's barking shriller by the moment, to pluck it out of the snow. Something moved at the limit of
his vision. He looked around, his fingers digging blindly for the key. He could see only the rocks, but that was
little comfort. The animal could be in hiding now and on him in five seconds. He'd seen them attack, and they
were fast when they needed to be, moving like locomotives to take their quarry. He knew the drill if a bear
elected to charge him: drop to his knees, arms over his head, face to ground. Present as small a target as
possible, and on no account make eye contact with the animal. Don't speak. Don't move. The less alive you
were, the better chance you had of living. There was probably a lesson in that somewhere, though it was a bitter
one. Live like a stone and death might pass you by.

His fingers had found the dropped key. He stood up, chancing a backward glance as he did so. Guthrie was still
in the doorway, his dog, her hackles raised, now silenced at his side. Will hadn't heard Guthrie hush her; she'd
simply given up on this damn fool man who couldn't come out of the snow when he was told.

On the third time of trying, the key went into the lock. Will hauled open the door. As he did so he heard the
bear's roar for the first time. And there it was, barrelling out between the rocks. There was no doubting its
intention. It had him in its sights. He flung himself into the driver's seat, horribly aware of how vulnerable his
legs were, and reached back to slam the door behind him.

The roar came again, very close. He locked the door, put the key into the ignition and turned it. The headlamps
came on instantly, flooding the icy ground as far as the rocks, which looked as flat as stage scenery in their
glare. Of the bear there was no sign. He glanced back towards Guthrie's shack. Man and dog had retreated
behind the locked door. He put the jeep in gear and started to swing it round. As he did so he heard the roar
again, followed by a thump. The bear had charged the vehicle in its frustration, and was rising up on its hind
legs to strike it a second time. Will caught only a glimpse of its shaggy white bulk from the corner of his eye. It
was a huge animal, no doubt of that: nine hundred pounds and counting. If it damaged the jeep badly enough to
halt his escape, he'd be in trouble. The bear wanted him, and it had the means to get him if he didn't outpace it.
Claws and teeth enough to pry the vehicle open like a can of human meat.

He put his foot on the accelerator, and swung the vehicle around to head it back down the street. As he did so
the bear changed tactics and direction, dropping back onto all fours to overtake the jeep, then cutting in front of
it.

For an instant the animal was there in the sear of the headlamps, its wedgesnouted head pointing directly at the
vehicle. It was not one of the pitiful clan Guthrie had described, their ferality dimmed by their addiction to
human refuse. It was a piece of the wilderness still; defying the blaze and speed of the vehicle in whose path it
had put itself. In the instant before it was struck, it was gone, disappearing with such speed that its departure
seemed almost miraculous; as though it had been a vision conjured by the cold, then snatched away.

As he drove back to the house, he felt for the first time the poverty of his craft. He had taken tens of thousands
of photographs in his professional lifetime, in some of the wildest regions of the planet: the Tomes de Paine, the
plateaus of Tibet, the Gunung Leuser in Indonesia. There he had photographed species that were in their last
desperate days, rogues and man-eaters. But he had never come close to capturing what he had seen in the jeep's
headlamps minutes before: the power and the glory of the bear, risking death to defy him. Perhaps it was
beyond his talents to do so; in which case it was probably beyond anybody's talents. He was, by general
consensus, the best of the best. But the wild was better. Just as it was his genius to wait upon his subject until it