"Plague" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

Dr. Petrie went through into David's bedroom, and helped Mr. Kelly to dress the boy in a pair of clean pajamas. David shuddered and whispered to himself while they buttoned the jacket up, but that was the only sign of life. Dr. Petrie lifted David up in his arms, and carried him out down the fire escape. Mr. Kelly followed with the medical bag.

'I sure hope he's going to be okay,' said Kelly. 'He was supposed to go on a school outing today. He'll be sorry he missed it. He didn't talk about nothing else, for weeks.

"When I go to the Monkey Jungle ... " every sentence.'

'Don't worry, Mr. Kelly. Once we get David to hospital, he's going to get the best treatment going.'

They were nearly at the bottom of the fire-escape when Dr. Petrie felt something go through David's body - a sigh, a vibration, a cough. He was a skilled doctor and he recognized it. The boy was dying. He needed to get him into a respirator as fast as he could, within the next two or three minutes, or that could be the end.

'Mr. Kelly,' he said tightly, 'we have to get the hell out of here!'

Mr. Kelly frowned. He said, 'What?' But when he saw Dr. Petrie clattering rapidly down the rest of the fire-escape and across to his car, he came running behind without a word.

'My car keys!' Dr. Petrie said quickly. 'Get them out of my pocket. No, the other side. That's right.'

Mr. Kelly, in his panic, dropped the keys on to the sidewalk, and they skated under the car. He knelt down laboriously and scrabbled beneath the Lincoln while his son weakened in Dr. Petrie's arms. 'Hurry - for Christ's sake!'

At last Mr. Kelly hooked the keys towards the gutter, picked them up and opened the car. Dr. Petrie laid David carefully on the back seat, and told Mr. Kelly to sit beside the boy and hold him, in case he rolled off. The hospital was five minutes away if you drove slow and sedate, but David didn't have that long.

The Lincoln's engine roared. They backed up a few feet, then swerved out into the street. Dr. Petrie crossed straight through a red light, sounding his horn and switching on his headlamps. He prayed that downtown Miami wouldn't be jammed up with early-morning traffic. Swinging the Lincoln across a protesting stream of cars, he drove south on South West 27th Avenue at nearly fifty miles an hour. He swerved from one lane to the other, desperately trying to work his way through the traffic, leaning on his horn and flashing his lights.

'How's David?' he shouted.

'I don't know - bad,' said the father. 'He looks kinda blue.'

Dr. Petrie could feel the sweat sliding down his armpits. He clenched his teeth as he drove, and thought of nothing at all but reaching the hospital on time.

He swung the Lincoln in a sharp, tire-howling turn, and in the distance he could see the white hospital building. They might make it yet.

But just at that moment, without warning, a huge green refrigerated truck rolled across in front of them, and stopped, blocking the entire street. Dr. Petrie shouted, 'Shit!' and jammed on the Lincoln's brakes.

He opened the car window and leaned out. The driver of the truck, a heavy-looking redneck in a greasy trucker's cap, was lighting himself a cigar prior to maneuvering his vehicle into a side entrance.

'Out of the goddamn way I' yelled Dr. Petrie. 'Get that truck out of the goddamn way!'

The truck driver tossed away a spent match and searched for another.

'What's the hurry, mac?' he called back. 'Don't get so worked up - you'll give yourself an ulcer.'

'I'm a doctor! I have a sick kid in this car! I have to get him to hospital!'

The driver shrugged. 'When they open the gates, I'll move out of your way. But I ain't shifting till I'm good and ready.'

'For God's sake!' shouted Dr. Petrie. 'I mean it. This kid is seriously ill!'

The truck driver blew smoke. T don't see no kid,' he remarked. He looked around to see if the gates were open yet, so that he could back the truck up.

Dr. Petrie had to close his eyes to control his fury. Then he spun the Lincoln on to the sidewalk, bouncing over the kerb, and drove around the truck's front fender. A hydrant scraped a long dent all the way down the Lincoln's wing, and Dr. Petrie felt the underside of the car jar against the concrete as he drove back on to the street on the other side of the truck.