"Laymon, Richard - The Traveling Vampire Show" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laymon Richard)

shit."

This was no Lassie, no Rin Tin Tin, no Lady or the Tramp. This was a
knee-high bony yellow cur skulking toward us with an awkward sideways
gait, its head low and its tail drooping.

"I don't like the looks of this one," I said. Rusty said, "Shit"
again. "No collar," I pointed out.

"Gosh," Rusty said, full of sarcasm. "You think it might be a
stray?"

"Up yours," I told him.

"At least it isn't foaming at the mouth," said Slim, who always looked
on the bright side.

"What'll we do?" I asked.

"Ignore it and keep walking," Slim said. "Maybe it's just out here to
enjoy a lovely stroll."

"My ass," Rusty said.

"That's what it's here to enjoy," I pointed out. "Shit." "That,
too."

"Ha ha," Rusty said, unamused.

We picked up our pace slightly, knowing better than to run. Though we
tried not to watch the dog, each of us glanced at it fairly often. It
kept lurching doser.

"Oh, God, this ain't good," Rusty said.

We weren't far from the stadium. In a race, we might beat the dog to
it. But there was no fence, nothing to keep the dog out if we did get
there first.

The bleachers wouldn't be much help; the dog could probably climb them
as well as we could.

We might escape by shinnying up one of the light poles, but the nearest
of those was at least fifty feet away.

A lot closer than that was the snack stand. It used to sell
"BEER--SNACKS--SOUVENIRS" as announced by the long wooden sign above
the front edge of its roof. But it hadn't been open, far as I knew,
since the night of the parking disaster.