"Steven Gould - Jumper 03 - Griffin's Story" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Stephen Jay)

I smiled and walked on but when I turned the corner she was talking on her cell phone.
Bugger all. I cut into an alley and when the tall fences hid me, I jumped away.
Empty Quarter again. Either I was getting better or I'd already moved so much of the loose
dirt here that there wasn't as much to sweep into the air. The bloodstains were fading but ants
were now mining the dark dirt. It still reminded me of bloodstains on carpet. I kicked gravel
and sand over the spot, ants and all.
It took me a moment to calm down enough to jump back to Sam's place, by the spring. I
splashed water over my face and sat down in the shade. After a bit, I wandered back to the
house and pulled out the lunch that Consuelo had left me– tamales with pork. The smell made
me want tortilla crisps and salsa. Crunchy, salty crisps and a medium salsa–I couldn't handle
the hotter stuff.
Why not?
 I jumped back to the elementary school. There was a Safeway market a block east of the
school grounds and I went there and bought tortilla crisps and salsa and several large bottles of
Gatorade, then jumped back to the spring. I started to put the extra Gatorade in the
fridge–there was plenty of room–but then I thought about Sam and Consuelo seeing it there so
I stashed the bottles under my bed instead. The crisps and salsa tasted good–really good–and I
ate them until the bag was empty and I was uncomfortably full.
The bag I buried at the bottom of the rubbish bin, but the salsa jar was half full so I put it at
the back of the fridge, behind the pickles and mayonnaise.
I wanted to take another run at the flat, to try to get there without drawing attention, but I
was tired and sleepy from the walking and the full stomach. I was still weak, I guess, from the
blood loss. I thought about jumping directly back to my room, but I remembered the footsteps
on the stair. Maybe they'd planted bugs? Maybe they were watching?
I sat down on the bed. The pillow pulled at me and I slumped over. I was asleep almost
immediately after my head touched the pillowcase.
Sam brought home the San Diego News Daily and handed it to me in the living room.
"They had this at the Stop–N–Go," he said.
They'd used the same photo.
BOY FEARED DEAD AFTER PARENTS KILLED.
The story was a little different but had pretty much the same facts, including the bit about
drugs and the implication that Dad and Mum were criminals. I clenched my teeth as I read it.
"It's rubbish, you know, about the drugs. Not in our home–never. Mum had an uncle–he
was an alcoholic and he died of it. We weren't very well off– Mum wasn't working because
she was homeschooling me, and Dad couldn't get proper work because they're supposed to
hire Americans first in his specialty. To make the rent we were stretching every penny of
Dad's salary. If they'd been selling drugs, think we'd have to live like that?"
He tilted his head to one side. "I only know what I've read and what you've told me. And
you ain't told me much. And what you did tell has some, well–what is your name again?"
My ears got hot and I looked away. "Sorry. The newspaper has it right. It's just it was me
they were asking for when they came to the door. My name. I–" I looked at the wall and
squeezed my eyes shut. "They weren't after Mum and Dad. They were after me!"
Never jump where someone can see me and never jump near home. I'd done both and
Mum and Dad were dead.
"Really. They wanted to kill you?" He raised his eyebrows. "Did you see something you
weren't supposed to? Or is there money involved? Do you stand to inherit something?" He
pulled a wooden chair from the wall and straddled it backward, arms resting across the back.
He gestured at the paper. "This wasn't your average sicko hunting little kids, was it? The paper
said the neighbors saw multiple assailants leave, so there was more than one attacker, right?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.