"Thomas Easton - Organic Future 03 - Woodsman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

Swords rose and fell. One terrorist cried, "Where's that other pig?" Two
or three thrust their blades between the bars and laughed as the elephants
recoiled. Most ignored the animals. All seemed to relish the screams of the
injured and dying humans. At last the siren calls of police Sparrowhawks
resounded in the sky overhead. One of the Engineers seized a fistful of
canapes from the still untoppled buffet table, and all turned to run. Seconds
later, their motorcycles roared in flight.

A single banner waved near the center of the elephant hall, its staff
still embedded in Muffy's chest. Around it sprawled a scene of carnage, of
blood and moans and sobs and screams, both human and animal. On the stage,
Freddy keened in anguished fear and loss, his gaze fixed on the body of his
wife. "Porkchop!" he wailed. "Toommmyy!"

The police arrived. With them came the medics, one of whom immediately
slapped a sedative-secreting leech on Freddy's neck.



"Forty dead," said Kimmer Peirce. Her eyes were hollow, her blonde hair
disarrayed. It was the day after the Engineers' attack on the concert, but she
had neither slept nor used a comb. "Fifty more in the hospital." Freddy stared
at the familiar walls of his museum apartment, the mats and pillows, the tub,
the fridge, the door to the attendant's booth. The attendant was gone; Kimmer
had banished her, insisting on taking over herself.

They had brought him home while he was out. He knew that. He was nestled
in familiar cushions, surrounded by familiar smells. But..."Porkchop?" he
asked, hoping it had all been a nightmare.

It had, but not in sleep. Kimmer nodded, squeezing his forelimbs just
above the trotters. "She's gone," she said.

"And Tommy?"

Another nod, another squeeze. "And Muffy." Kimmer's eyes filled with
tears; Muffy had been among her favorite people. "Randy, too."

Freddy emitted a shuddering sigh. "Litter. Shit."

She nodded again.

"I'm glad the kids weren't there." Barnum and Baraboo, Ringling and
Bailey. They could play in their ways as marvelously as their parents, but
they had their own gigs elsewhere.

"They're on their way home."

"But they can't talk." All they could offer was their presence, and that