"Brookmyre, Christopher - A Big Boy Did It" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brookmyre Christopher)

She wiped the window clear of condensation with a paper handkerchief, not daring to touch the grimy pane with her bare hands. It was the last one in the packet, and it had crossed her mind to offer it to the brat to clean some of the adhesive gloop from his paws, but she needed the distraction of a view. Hardly worth it, of course. Nothing but snow. She saw some soldiers by the side of the track, which suggested they would be passing the army base soon, thank God. That meant there were only about forty- five minutes more to endure.
There had been some soldiers at the Christmas party at Peter's place, an old school friend of his and three of his comrades. And God, could they drink. Her head throbbed at the mere memory. It had gone well beyond the usual outrageousness, and of course it had to be Helena who outdid herself. She had gone down on two of the soldiers in the middle of the room, with everyone cheering and looking on. Talk about trying too hard. She badly needed to learn the difference between decadence and stupidity. The idea was to not care what anyone thought of you, as
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opposed to merely having a complete lack of self-respect. Socially, it should have been the end for her, but the guys would undoubtedly still let her hang around for obvious reasons.
Through the window she saw the army base's outer-perimeter fence, whizzing past in a blur of posts and wires. She let her focus blur by staring at the snow, while around her the kissers squelched, the mutterer burbled and the sprog finally ended the tension by wiping a palm on her thigh. Tanya looked down to examine the damage but was promptly thrown back against her seat as though the train had been cracked like a whip. The carriage had suddenly jolted to one side, accompanied by a shuddering creak of steel and a grinding rumble from beneath. The couple and the mutterer were thrown forward into the gap between the seats, while those in the aisles fell to the floor or on top of the seated passengers on either side.
Around her the air filled with gasps and screaming, above which the grinding still boomed, the derailed train driving forward with terrifying momentum. The carriage shook and bounced as its passengers struggled to support themselves. Her forearm was gripped by the now disentangled female on the floor, while the woman at her side tried to curl herself around the now bawling infant. All faces were filled with fear, eyes widened, breath held. Each new jolt or shunt spilled body against body while voices cried in pain or strain. The girl in front fell forward as she tried to right herself, her elbow landing in Tanya's thigh like a spike. Her boyfriend sprawled sideways, nose streaming with blood after the mutterer's head struck him, the mutterer himself slumped against the old woman's knees like a marionette.
The shuddering intensified, the carriage shaking left and
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right, faster and faster as it bludgeoned forward, building and building until there was a cracking, smashing, snapping sound from up ahead. Tanya instinctively braced herself, pulling her legs up and huddling into a ball against the seat-back and the panel separating the windows.
The initial derailment had been merely the overture; now the symphony of destruction truly began. The carriage was flipped from end to end along the horizontal, then turned on its side and rolled a full three hundred and sixty degrees, all the while still skidding forward through the gravel and snow, until brought to a standstill by its collision with the side of a barracks building, which it partially demolished.
The effect inside was like a liquidiser.
Tanya only knew that the carriage had halted because the thunderous rumbling stopped. Inside, there was still motion as bodies tumbled and rolled, those still conscious struggling to extricate themselves from the tangle and crush; those less fortunate lolling helplessly at gravity's dictates.
She knew she was alive because she could hear screaming and she could feel pain. Her left ankle had been snapped like a chicken-bone, but she couldn't see the damage because she was trapped from the waist down under the combined weight of the girl and the old woman, both of whom appeared to be dead. The girl was lying face up, her head at an impossible angle, neck broken, eyes open. The old woman was face-down, motionless, blood puddling beneath her.
The screaming was everywhere, but its omnipresence seemed curiously to mute it; either that or she was losing consciousness. Amidst it, however, she could hear a slightly different cry: higher, insistent, younger. It was the child. Tanya turned her head and looked either side. She could
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see him, under a seat which had miraculously not collapsed. His face was red with crying, a look of frightened confusion in his eyes. From somewhere she summoned the strength to reach out and grab one of the seat's supports, trying to pull herself out from under the two bodies. Agony seared through her leg at the first hint of movement, but it was enough to cause the old woman to slide off to one side. After that, Tanya was able to roll the dead girl off too, then dragged herself close enough to reach out a hand to the child. He didn't respond at first, still too enveloped in his little world of distress to notice her. Then, when he did, he tried to shrink away.
'Come on,' she attempted to say, her voice a broken whisper, inaudible amid the cacophony.
Her hand touched his foot, then he tentatively took hold of her fingers, before finally crawling forward from his refuge.
She heard a shout from outside, through the shattered window. There was a soldier looking down at her, offering his hand through the empty frame. Her voice still failing, she pointed down until he noticed the child. The soldier pulled himself part of the way inside and took hold of Tanya around the torso, hauling her through the gap as she continued to voice her hoarse concerns for the tiny creature still down on the floor.
'I know, I know,' he said quietly, setting her gently down on the ground before clambering back into the train. Tanya looked around. There were soldiers attempting assistance all along the side of the carriage, one end of which was sticking into the barracks. In the opposite direction she could see the other carriages, all of them having crashed through into the compound. Soldiers were running from every building towards the scattered wrecks.
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Her own rescuer re-emerged, the toddler under one arm, suddenly quiet. The soldier handed him to her as she sat in the snow, then commenced another sortie inside the mangled compartment. The child began sobbing again, throwing his little arms around her neck and burying his face in her coat. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his hair, the pain in her leg seeming momentarily that bit more distant.
Then she heard the bang.
Tanya looked up and saw the front-most carriage and the locomotive disappear in a ball of fire. The ground shook beneath her as the explosion grew and expanded, faster and faster, ever outwards, unstoppable, inescapable. In a fraction of a second she saw it consume soldiers, carriages, buildings, billowing forwards like a tidal wave of flame.
She clutched the child and closed her eyes.

A brilliant flash lit up the rain-blackened night. Nicholas presumed it to be lightning, as his wipers battled to make an impression against the downpour and the spray. It was followed in a fraction of a second by a clap of thunder that shook the sky, the ground and the car, though this last was through his startlement at its suddenness, its volume and its awesome power. Nicholas refocused on the taillights in front, all of them turning red to brake as the wipers bought him another millisecond's clear view. The flyover ahead was collapsing, the vertical columns crumbling and buckling as the top section crashed down on top of the traffic in huge broken segments.
He stepped hard on the brakes but the Audi slid on the drenched road surface, aquaplaning at ninety kilometres per hour towards the car in front, itself still hurtling forward, brake lights no more than a panicked wish. As
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he skidded he heard a series of bangs, like his fellow condemned being executed by gunshot while he awaited his own bullet. He covered his head with his arms as the Audi slammed into the car in front, the airbag bursting out to envelope him before he was jolted again by an impact from the rear.
He was hyperventilating, but at least he knew he was alive. Behind him he could hear more crashes; in front of him he could see only the airbag. His arms were pinned, but he could move them a little, and his legs were mercifully intact also. He attempted to slow his breathing, compose himself. He was okay. Shaken, probably looking at back pains for months, but he was alive. Uberleben durch Technik.
There was another bang from ahead, louder than any of the crashes, followed by another, then another, the relentless sequence accelerating as it continued. At the top of the windscreen he could see red and yellow light dancing in the raindrops.
Fire.
Nicholas clawed at the airbag, struggling to escape its now deadly embrace. He reached below for the seat-adjustment lever and slid backwards, giving himself the precious inches he needed to manoeuvre.
The car in front exploded as he pressed the seatbelt release.
He closed his eyes.
'Janine.'

The first thing Tony saw when he opened his eyes was his hand, balled into a fist in front of his face. It was still holding the banknote he'd proffered at the concessions stand for Maria's ice-cream, the only thing she'd agreed to
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let him pay for. Beyond that was a haze of smoke and dust, so much dust. It billowed around him, obscuring all but his immediate surroundings, occasionally allowing a glimpse of what lay a few more feet away: a cornflower sundress, the figure face down, twitching, convulsing.
Breathing didn't work. He sucked in air, hissed it forth, too fast, irregular. Everything felt cold.
Between him and the cornflower sundress he could make out a pair of legs amid the rubble. One foot was missing, the other hanging by a ragged remnant of flesh. The shoe looked like his. He owned a pair just like it, but he hadn't put them on today. He hadn't put those shoes on today. He'd worn the other ones, the older ones.
Please.
Tony reached down with his right arm.
He tried to call for his mother, but his throat filled with liquid. Blood washed back over his face, covering his eyes, and he saw no more.
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MONDAY, SEPTEMBER FIRST.