"James Patrick Kelly - Fruitcake Theory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

retrieves his fruitcake.
The rooster wants to eat the cellophane wrapping but we
talk him out of it. When we pry the top off the tin, he
eeks and drops it. =Not Christmas!= The cake is still in
the bottom half of the tin; it rolls toward the Playbot
store.
=Fruitcake stinks!= He starts hopping up and down on one
foot. =Stinks like a lie.=
"I’m sorry," says Bjorn. "Maybe that one was bad. I can
get you another."
=Take it away!= the rooster says. =Bury it!=
"His hour is almost up." I say, "Let’s get him out of
here."
But we don’t get the chance because striding toward us
from the food court is Kasaan. A dozen gas-masked
followers trot behind.
The Kuvat scarecrows have no more in common with our
scarecrows than the roosters have with gallus
domesticus. We call them scarecrows because they’re so
gangly and because they wear loud, loose clothes that
cover most of their bodies. But nobody who meets a
scarecrow ever remembers her wardrobe. What you remember
is the impossible head. It looks something like a prize
pumpkin, only pumpkins aren’t rust red or as wrinkled as
walnuts. The eyes are like bloodshot eggs and the mouth
is full of nightmare teeth, long and curved and pointed.
If the scarecrows weren’t so shy, so polite, so
intelligent -- everything that the roosters are not --
they would’ve frightened the bejesus out of us.
At the sight of Kasaan, the rooster forgets all about
the fruitcake and begins to eek furiously. Instinctively
Bjorn and I step back. The scarecrow is swooping down on
the rooster; I’ve never seen one move so fast. The
followers are left scrambling behind. The rooster
tenses. He looks as if he wants to run in five
directions at once, but can’t decide which one.
"Eek, eeek, eeeek, eeeeek, eeeeeek! "
Just before it happens, I realize what I’m seeing. This
isn’t any meeting. It’s an attack: a lion charging a
wildebeest, a wolf taking a hare.
"Uh-oh," I say, but it’s good. It’s true. The smell has
changed everything.
Kasaan slams into the rooster, knocking him down. The
rooster bounces, rolls and lies, shivering, on his back.
His legs pump weakly as Kasaan looms over him. The
scarecrow bends to nuzzle the rooster’s shoulder. He
closes his eyes. His eeking is low and wet. The
breathless followers catch up.
"What is this?" I recognize Balfour. "Oh my god, what’s
she doing?"