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

howling and yelping, butt low, tail curled between its hind legs as if
to hide from more harm.

Rusty, at the edge of the roof, called down, "Got a piece of him!" The
dog sat down, curled around and studied its tail. "I'll be back as
soon as I can!" I yelled.

My voice must've gotten the dog's attention. It forgot its tail and
turned its head and stared at me with its only eye.

I muttered, "Uh-oh."

It came at me like a sprinter out of the blocks. "Shit!" Rusty
yelled. "Run! Go, man!" I ran like hell.

Somewhere in the distance behind me, Rusty yelled, "Hey, you fuckin'
mangy piece of shit! Over here!"

I looked back.

The dog, gaining on me, turned its head for a glance toward the
voice.

Rusty let fly with a sneaker.

The dog barked at him ... or at the air born shoe.

The sneaker hit the ground a couple of yards behind it and tumbled,
throwing up dust. Not even a near miss. But the dog wheeled around
and barked.

Rusty threw a second sneaker.

The dog glanced over its shoulder at me, snarled, then dodged the
second sneaker (which would've missed it anyway by about rive feet) and
raced forward to renew its seige of the snack stand.

 Afraid the dog might change its mind and come after me again, I ran
for all I was worth until I reached the edge of the woods. Then I
stopped and turned around.

The dog was sitting in front of the shack, barking and wagging its tail
as if it had treed a pair of squirrels.

Up on the roof, Rusty waved at me, swinging his arm overhead like a
big, dopey kid.

I waved back at him the same way.

Then Slim, apparently on her knees, raised herself up behind the sign.