"Brian Lumley - E-Branch 2 - Invaders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

for his safety in that respect.
But in one other respect, he was. And he kept finding himself wishing that right now he wasn't
somewhere but rather someone else - despite that he would usually prefer not to be! All very
confusing and paradoxical, but it was something which had only ever' happened twice, and then in
the most extreme of circumstances. And for the time being Jake was only Jake Cutter.
Such were his thoughts when the narrow but adequate beam of his pencil-slim pocket torch picked
out the first of several side tunnels, shafts that radiated off from the main, the original
mineshaft.
Until now the floor had borne a thick coating of dust and sand, much of which had settled against
the walls. Towards the centre, however, and between the rails, most of this had been

scuffed away, presumably by the recent passage of several or many persons. But persons going
where? Of course, the old proprietor might be using this place as a warehouse or stock room;
indeed, back where the shaft opened into the shack that fronted the mine Jake had passed a jumble


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of old crates and cardboard boxes, and labels on the latter had declared their contents as wiper
blades, fuses, various grades of motor oil, spark plugs, and spare parts and vehicle accessories
in general. Naturally, he would have expected as much that close to the entrance.
But all these signs of recent disturbance - or of occupation? - all this way back here? Why would
anyone want to come back here, except perhaps on exploratory forays; maybe someone who was curious
about old mine shafts? But recently? And how many someones? It was beginning to look like this
might be the place. In which case he and Liz should never have split up and gone their own ways.
Oh, he knew why she'd done it, all right, but now ...
... Now what was that? Jake froze.
The side shafts weren't recent diggings; they were probably old exploratory digs from the days
when prospectors sought an ultimately elusive 'mother lode.' Certainly quartz was present in the
walls where the subsidiary tunnels had been hewn or blasted from the rock. It was here, too, that
the scuff marks on the floor
- in places actual footprints - were most in evidence, and it was from the first of these lesser
branching diggings that the sound had issued. A sound like a sigh or a yawn, like someone waking
up.
Jake knew that by now it would be night in the valley in the Gibson Desert, dark in the outside
world. But not nearly as dark as it was in here. And Liz was back there somewhere, alone with the
old man. Or maybe not alone. And hadn't his 'Orstrylian' accent been a little too thick, and
hadn't there been something
- maybe just a trace - of the Gypsy about him?
Jesus! Jake was now aware of fumbling movements from the side tunnels - from more than one of them
- and was

immediately galvanized to action. But at a time and in a place such as this there was only one
action he could take: flight!
Behind him, the main tunnel curved, however slightly, back towards the entrance. Setting off at a
loping run, Jake played his torch beam on the ceiling in order to avoid the jagged ends of
dangling timbers in a number of places where pressured beams had popped. And as he went he felt
for his pager, making ready to send out his distress call. Not that he felt panicked or in
immediate danger himself, but Liz might well be. If she wasn't already aware of the danger, the