"Pendragon - 01 - The Merchant Of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacHale D J)

Journal #1
(continued)

Denduron

There wasn’t much I could ask Uncle Press from the back of a speeding motorcycle. Between the whine of the engine, the blast of wind rushing by and the fact that both of us were wearing these high-tech helmets, conversation was impossible. So I was left with my own imagination to try and figure out where we were going and why.

One thing was clear though. We were leaving town. I lived in a quiet, peaceful, okaydull suburb of New York City. I’d been into the city a few times with my parents, mostly to go to events like the holiday spectacular at Radio City or the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Then there was that one time you and I, Mark, hopped the commuter train to catch that James Bond flick. Remember? Other than that, the city was pretty much a mystery to me.

On the other hand, it didn’t take a New York cabbie to realize Uncle Press was steering us into a section of the city that by anybody’s standards would be defined as…bad. This was not the New York I’d ever seen, except maybe on a TV news report about some nasty crime that had just gone down. Once we shot off the Cross Bronx Expressway we were smack in the middle of the badlands. Burned-out buildings were everywhere. Nobody walked on the streets. It all looked empty and desolate, yet I had the eerie feeling that many sets of eyes were locked on us from the dark windows of the derelict buildings as we cruised by. And of course, it was nighttime dark.

Was I scared? Well, judging by the fact that I wanted to puke and I held on to Uncle Press so hard I expected to hear one of his ribs crack, I’d say yeah, I was scared. Uncle Press guided the motorcycle toward one of those old-fashioned kiosks that marked the stairs leading down to the subway. We bounced up onto the curb and he killed the engine. As we glided to a stop, suddenly everything became quiet. Granted, I’d been riding on the back of a motorcycle for the past half hour and after thatanything would seem quiet. But this wasreally quiet, like a ghost town. Or a ghost city.

“This is it,” he announced and jumped off the bike. I jumped off too and gratefully removed my helmet. Finally, I could hear again. Uncle Press left his helmet on the bike and headed for the subway entrance.

“Whoa, hold on, we’re going to leave the bike and the helmets?” I asked with surprise. I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even take the keys out of the ignition. I’m no expert on crime, but I could pretty much predict that if we left this gear here, it would be gone before we blinked.

“We don’t need it anymore,” he said quickly and started down the subway stairs.

“Why are we taking the subway?” I asked. “Why don’t we just stay on the bike?”

“Because we can’t take the bike where we’re going,” he answered with a matter-of-fact tone. He turned and headed down a few more steps.

I didn’t move. I wanted answers, and I wasn’t taking another step until I got some. Uncle Press sensed that I wasn’t following him, so he stopped and looked back at me.

“What?” he asked, with a little bit of frustration.

“I just blew off the most important game of my life, my team is going to crucify me tomorrow, and you want me to follow you into the subway in the worst part of New York City? I think I deserve to know what’s going on!” This had gone far enough and if I didn’t get some answers, I was walking. Of course I wasn’t exactly sure of where I would go if Uncle Press left me there and went on alone. I figured it was a safe risk, though. After all, he was my uncle.

Uncle Press softened. For a moment I saw the face of the guy I’d known all my life. “You’re right, Bobby. I’ve asked you to do a lot on faith. But if we stop for me to explain everything, we may be too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“There’s a group of people who are in trouble. They’re relying on me to help them, and I’m relying on you to help me.”

I was flattered and freaked at the same time. “Really? What kind of trouble?”

“That’s what would take me forever to explain. I’d rather show you.”

I didn’t know what to do. Even if I wanted to run away, I had no clue of how to get out of there. And here was this guy, my uncle, staring me straight in the eye and saying he needed me. There weren’t a whole lot of options. I finally decided to divulge the single overriding thought in my head.

“I’m scared.” There, I said it.

“I know. But please believe me, Bobby, as long as it’s in my power, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He said this with such sincerity, it actually made me feel better…for about a second.

“What happens when it’snot in your power?” I asked.

Uncle Press smiled, and said, “That won’t be for a while. Are you with me?”