"Charles L. Grant - Oxrun Station 03 - The Hour Of The Oxrun Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Charles L)

The sudden chill on her legs disturbed but did not interrupt an already precarious sleep; the hand
returned to her ear.
A tangled strand of dark hair slipped into her mouth, then, as she rolled her face away from the
window, her tongue worked, pushed out the hair, licked at full lips that hinted at black in the grey light.
She sighed. Pressed her fingers tighter against her skull. Shud-dering.




Control, this is One Alpha.
One Alpha, roger. A bit of static but I hear you good, Ben.
Your English is lousy, Sam, do you know that? And so's your sense of direction. Did you say 1176
High?
That's right, Ben. You there now?
Well, sure I'm here. Where else would I be at this time of night? And I've got news for you, brother.
This here house is locked up tight. There's a garage door open, but there's no car inside. I already took a
quick look around, and even the stupid crickets are sleeping. For crying out loud.
You ring the bell?
At four o'clock in the morning? Are you nuts? I knocked front and back, but no one answered. The
shades are up, no curtains that I can see. Grass needs cutting badly, too. There just ain't nobody home,
Sam. There ain't nobody home at all.
Can't be. I got the call. You want me to go in or something? Wait one. Let me think a minute.
Oh, brother!




Perspiration trembled into droplets in the shallows of her temples, the sides of her nose, under her
lower lip. She threw an arm over her eyes, and her breasts heaved once against her flannel nightgown.
The fingers of her left hand clenched, opened, fumbled and gripped the edge of the mattress. Her teeth
began to chatter. Another sigh that lingered before whirling into a choking gasp.




Ben, check the mail box. Look for a name or something.
Wait one, slave driver ... Sam? There is none, believe it or not. Just a hole where the post used to be. I
went onto the porch again, and there are a couple of broken windows on the first floor. They have tar
paper tacked over them. Didn't see that the first time. Sam, I hate to tell you this, but this place is
deserted. Nobody's lived here for a good long time.
What? A joke. It must be a stupid practical joke.
At four in the morning?
Ben, do you have to keep saying that?
Absolutely! Nat's probably listening in and want her to go back to bed. Now! Ben, you've been told
before we don't allow personal messages over the radio. You're going to get nabbed for that one of
these days.
So I'll never make Chief. Big deal, who needs it? And if it'll make you happy, I'll never do it again. Fine.
Just as long as Nat goes to bed. Ben!