"Elrod, P N - Vampire Files 01 - Bloodlist E-Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

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Bloodlist by P.N. Elrod
Chapter 1
THE CAR WAS doing at least forty when the right front fender smashed against my
left hip and sent me spinning off the road to flop bonelessly into a mass of
thick, windblown grass.
It was a well-engineered accident, involving no small skill on the part of the
driver. A body, depending on its size and weight in relation to the speed and
position of the car usually does two things: it either goes under the car or
bounces over it. Going under, it can get dragged, leaving a lot of bloody
physical evidence all over the road and vehicle. If it gets flipped up and over,
the driver risks a dented hood and roof or a broken windshield or all three. The
professional hit-and-run artist knows how to avoid such risks and will try to
clip the target with just the front bumper or fender; that way he has only some
scratched paint to touch up or at most a broken headlight to replace.
I had been hit by such an expert. There was minimal pain, though, and that was
swiftly receding. The idea my spine had been broken was the first real thought
to surface in my cobweb-clogged brain since I woke up on the beach. I'd been
groggy then, with only enough stuff working in my head to shakily stand and
blink down at my soaked clothes. It never occurred to me to question why I was
on a beach and in such a condition, and I was still in a thought-numbing state
of shock when I climbed a short, sandy rise and found the road. There was no
rational decision on what direction to go in, my legs took me left and walked.
When I heard a car motor rumbling up behind me I stuck out a thumb and walked
sideways.
The small dot down the road swelled into a dark green Ford with a big
lumpy-looking man at the wheel. While still a little distance off, the car
slowed abruptly, its headlights raking painfully into my eyes. I shaded them,
blinking stupidly as the motor gunned, gears shifted, and the thing shot
forward. The driver held a straight course, as though he'd changed his mind
about picking up a hitchhiker, then he swerved at the last possible second. If
my brain had been running on more than one cylinder. I might have been able to
jump away in time.
The landscape stopped spinning and I lay belly-up, staring at an unnaturally
brilliant Milky Way a few feet from my nose, wondering what the hell was going
on. I tried moving a little, the initial pain of the impact was gone, but I was
cautious of broken bones. Everything worked perfectly, though—I'd been
incredibly lucky. Twisting onto my stomach, I stared down the road.
The Ford stopped, the motor cut, and the lump behind the wheel was just levering
himself out the door.
The only cover for fifty yards was long grass. The beach was just across the
road, but this particular stretch was clear of concealing rocks. Except for the
car, the only option left was a stand of trees on my side of the road, which was
much too far away.
The man was coming up fast and had a gun in one hand.
Anything was better than waiting for it. My feet dug into the ground and I
bolted for the trees like a frightened rabbit. He spotted me, changed course,
and yelled for me to stop. After hitting me with the car, he couldn't have