"Picnic At Lac Du Sang" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

being human. What else was I supposed to do?'


He watched television until just after midnight, and then he undressed and
climbed into bed with her. She was breathing softly against the pillow. He
reached out and touched her arm, and then her breast. Then he ran his hand
over the swelling of her stomach. He could feel the baby stir and kick,
like somebody kneading dough.
He slept uneasily until 3:04. He kept having fragmentary dreams about
people laughing and talking in other rooms. He woke with a strong hard-on
and he reached out for Catherine again. She was still quietly breathing.
He caressed her breasts through her nightgown and then he drew her legs
apart and climbed on top of her. Maybe it was wrong of him to fuck her
while she was asleep, but he needed her so urgently. She felt dry, in the
darkness, but he spat on his fingers to moisten the end of his cock. Then
he pushed himself into her, and started a deep, plunging rhythm.
She woke up. He sensed her wake up. But he was too close to his climax to
stop, and he kept on thrusting himself into her, harder and harder. He
heard her panting, quick and harsh, and he thought, great, she's getting
into it too. He said, 'Come on, baby, you're wonderful. Come on,
sweetheart, you're fantastic.'
It was then that she screamed. It was a piercing, gargling scream, and he
could feel spit fly all over his face. He jerked upright, his skin
freezing in fright, and then she screamed again. He scrabbled to find the
bedside lamp, and managed to switch it on, but then it dropped onto the
floor, so that what he saw was illuminated by an angled, upward light that
made it look even more terrifying than it was.
He was kneeling between the legs of a shriveled old woman. Her sparse
white hair was coming out in clumps. Her eyes were sunk into their sockets
and her lips were drawn tightly back over orange, toothless gums. All that
identified her as Catherine was her huge, swollen belly.
'Oh Jesus,' Vincent whispered. 'Oh Jesus, tell me this is a nightmare.'
The old woman tried to scream again, but all she managed this time was a
thick gargle. She lifted one of her bony arms, and clawed feebly at
Vincent's shoulder, but Vincent pushed her away. She was collapsing in
front of his eyes. Her face was tightening over her cheekbones and her
breasts were shriveling. Her collarbone broke through her skin, and her
chin dropped onto her chest.
'Catherine!' Vincent quivered. 'Catherine!'
He lifted her head, but it dropped sideways onto the pillow and it was
obvious that she was dead. Vincent climbed off the bed, wiping his hands
on the sheet. He was trembling so much that he had to hold onto the wall
for support.
It was then that he thought: the baby - what about the baby? Even if
Catherine's dead, maybe I can save the baby!
He thought for one moment of calling for an ambulance - but how the hell
was he going to explain an old, dead woman in his bed - an old, dead
pregnant woman? He approached Catherine cautiously, and laid his hand on
her stomach, and, yes, he could still feel the baby kicking inside her.
But how long could it survive if he didn't get it out?