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

He screamed and fell backward, clawing at his eyes. A gun went off and something tore at
my hip and I jumped sideways again, shooting the man who was coming up the hallway in the
forehead. One hand went to his face but he fired his weapon and multiple projectiles with
wires between them tore through the air over my head. I jumped behind him and he whirled
and I shot him in the bollocks, twice.
He doubled over and as he did, I saw Mum.
She was lying on the floor, slumped to one side, and the blood was everywhere.
Plaster exploded next to my head as a trio of projectiles thudded into the wall, wire
trailing, lashing at the paint. I dropped to my knees, half flinching, half numb.
 Dad's puddle of blood was even bigger and there was a knife sticking out of his lower
back.
The man I'd shot in the bollocks was twisting around, bringing his gun up. I shot him in the
face again, hitting his cheekbone. He fired his gun but the cables flew down the hallway, over
my head, tearing pictures off both walls. I hit him with the paintball gun barrel, hit him hard,
and again, and again. He dropped his gun and his eyes rolled back.
I turned back to Mum and Dad and the door. I could hear footsteps on the stair. I lifted the
paintball gun but there was a flash from the door and a projectile caught the gun, slammed it
up into my forehead.
I fell back, my vision dimming, dropping into some dark and formless place, but instead of
hitting the wall, I fell all the way back onto sand and gravel.
The Empty Quarter. Mum. Dad. Empty.
I tried to lift my head and the moon dimmed and blinked out.
Empty.



Chapter Two
Lost (and Found)
Someone was trickling water into my mouth and, startled, I inhaled it. Wracking coughs
produced a stabbing pain in my head and side, but I couldn't stop. The sun was high and
blinding. I squeezed my eyes shut, still coughing. There was something wrong with my
forehead and the side of my neck and my right hip.
Hands lifted me, helping me to sit. I managed a wheezing breath without coughing and
opened my eyes. Sand. Gravel.
The Empty Quarter. I touched my forehead–there was a ragged gash, crusted, above my
right eyebrow. I dropped farther and felt the side of my neck. There was a scab, like a rug burn.
It tugged when I turned my head to see who was helping me to sit up.
"Mas comodo?" a rough voice asked. White teeth flashed in a salt–and–pepper beard. I
shifted back slightly. He wore a straw hat and a blinding white button–down shirt, worn khaki
shorts. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored aviator shades. His skin was brown but he didn't
look Hispanic. Tanned.
"Excuse me?" I managed.
"Oh," he said. "More water?" He offered me the plastic bottle.
I accepted it and sipped cautiously, trying not to breathe it again.
"What happened, kid?"
I blinked. What had happened? Something at home, the woman who said she was from the
school district.. . ?
I think I screamed then. I know I jerked upright and surged to my feet and my vision
dimmed.
Not sure how much time passed, but I was lying down again, on my back. Someone was