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

"Moving? Why?"
"Dad and Mum said it was the people who started showing up, asking questions at their
work. Then there was a close call on the street–a car. I thought it was a careless driver.
Anyway, I skipped back behind a postal box and he missed me but he kept driving. No harm
done, I thought. But Mum saw it from upstairs. I heard her tell Dad he'd been waiting for me to
cross."
He sucked on his teeth. "Can you go anywhere?"
"Anywhere I've been before that I can remember well enough."
He swallowed the last of his whiskey. "I can see why they'd want you–could be handy. But
why do they want to kill you? If I could do what you do–if I was the sort of man ... I'd want to
capture you, to use what you do."
"Well, Dad talked about that, too. We read that Stephen King book about the girl who is
kidnapped by the government."
"Firestarter" said Sam. "Didn't read it but I saw the movie."
 "Yeah, with Drew Barrymore. We rented it after we read the book."
"But why not something like that? Why do they want to kill you instead?"
My heart started racing and I was breathing fast again. Before Sam said anything I
deliberately took deep, slow breaths. Grief may have been one of the things that the gauze was
muffling but I recognized the other thing now.
Fear.
They were going to kill me. They followed us for over five years until they found us and
then they tried to kill me. Made me want to hide under a bed. Made me want to curl up in a
ball and pull dirt over me.
I went back to just breathing. Sam's question still floated out there, though, like a falling
glass of milk. You can't grab it in time, you just watch it as it drops, anticipating the spreading
puddle of white liquid and jagged glass. "I don't know why they want to kill me."
Later, after supper, in the dusk after sunset, I told Sam I was going back to the flat. "Why?"
"Well, for one thing, my clothes are starting to stink. I want my things."
"And don't you think they'll be waiting?"
"Of course!" My voice was shrill and I clamped my mouth shut and concentrated on my
breathing again. I wondered if I was getting asthma or something. After a bit I said, "I'm not
going straight there. I'll jump to the neighborhood first and check it out."
"Clothes can be bought, kid."
I dug out my hoard and spread it out on the coffee table. There were sixty–three dollars
and some change, fifteen francs, and seven pounds, eight shillings, four p. "Not really gonna last
that long, is it?
"Besides–it's my birthday. I'm ten. I should be able to get my own stuff."
"I really don't think you shou–"
Didn't hear the rest but as I walked toward the flat from my jump site behind the school
hedge, I felt guilty. I hope I hadn't messed up the living room too much. Sam had done nothing
but help me and what had I done for him, besides the bag of beans?
The flat used to be just storage over the detached garage of a small house on Texas Street,
but now the house itself was a separate rental property with a front driveway and the yard had
been split with fencing. There was a narrow path back along the fence to the flat but there was
a police car on the street, pretty much where one had been previously. The cop inside was
reading by the dome light.
I backtracked and took to the alley, sticking to the shadows as I got closer to the house and
avoiding the backyards with dogs. Fortunately, most of the dogs were inside and the one that
wasn't, a big Labrador named Lucky, lived in the rental house in front and knew me. There was
a gap in the fence at the corner of his backyard and I crouched and snaked my hand in to