"Foster, Alan Dean - Alien Nation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

occasionally rising long enough to get off a couple of shots in the
store's
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direction, ducking back down when an answering shotgun burst howled
inside.
And where the hell, he wondered frantically, was their damn freaking
backup?
With only the thin lamppost for cover, Tuggle was much worse off. Seeing
this, the aliens were concentrating their fire in his direction and
ignoring Sykes's wild shots.
Sykes leaned around the front of the sedan. "Tug, get outta there! "
Tuggle heard him and nodded, leaned left, and immediately drew back as
twelve-gauge shot rattled off the post. "I can't! Do you mind?"
"I'll cover you! Get outta there!"
"Well, if you're gonna insist."
Sykes made a face in his partner's direction, then rose and rapid-fired
an entire clip in the store's direction. It was enough to make both
robbers temporarily dive for cover. Seizing the opportunity, Tuggle
scrambled out from behind the lamppost and ran like hell for the nearest
real cover, which happened to be the radiator-pierced car stalled nearby.
Throwing himself onto the hood and rolling down the other side, he got
his feet under him before slowly rising for a look through the glass.
His attention was distracted by the car's occupant. The elderly alien
driver was still inside, lying flat on the front seat and breathing hard.
He eyed Tuggle desperately.
"Can I get out now?"
"Come on, move it!"
He all but dragged the oldster out of the seat, watched as the Newcomer
scrambled for safety around the nearest comer. His legs were moving fast
enough to belie his real age.
"You okay?" Sykes's voice, concerned.
"Yeah! We having fun yet?"
Sykes didn't reply to that one. After checking his pistol, Tuggle rose
and took careful aim at the store. The aliens were taking their time
reloading, but it was hard to pick them out inside among the shelves and
counters. His individual blasts in their direction drew heavy return
fire. For
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some reason the shotguns' echoes lingered longer in the night air than they
had earlier.
Glass shattered above his head as the car windows were blown out. That
didn't bother him. What widened his eyes was a shuddering in the body of
the vehicle he sat crouched behind. Metal ripped and smoked off to his
right. That last shot had gone right through the whole car. Through the
car. As he stared dumbfoundedly at the ragged hole, a second blast tore
through the thick sheet metal barely inches from his shoulder.
Panicked, he scuttled toward the front of the car, blasts and exit holes
following him in neat, orderly succession, until only the fender remained.