"Richard Matheson - I Am Legend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Matheson Richard)

milking the generator.

At the table he sliced himself two pieces of bread and poured himself a


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glass of tomato juice. He sat down and looked at the red second hand as it
swept slowly around the clock face. The bastards ought to be here soon.

After he’d finished his tomato juice, he walked to the front door and went
out onto the porch. He stepped off onto the lawn and walked down to the
sidewalk.

The sky was darkening and it was getting chilly. He looked up and down
Cimarron Street, the cool breeze ruffling his blond hair. That’s what was
wrong with these cloudy days; you never knew when they were coming.

Oh, well, at least they were better than those damned dust storms. With a
shrug, he moved back across the lawn and into the house, locking and
bolting the door behind him, sliding the thick bar into place. Then he went
back into the kitchen, turned his chops, and switched off the heat under
the string beans.

He was putting the food on his plate when he stopped and his eyes moved
quickly to the clock. Six-twenty-five today. Ben Cortman was shouting.

“Come out, Neville!”

Robert Neville sat down with a sigh and began to eat.



He sat in the living room, trying to read. He’d made himself a whisky and
soda at his small bar and he held the cold glass as he read a physiology
text. From the speaker over the hallway door, the music of Schonberg was
playing loudly.

Not loudly enough, though. He still heard them outside, their murmuring and
their walkings about and their cries, their snarling and fighting among
themselves. Once in a while a rock or brick thudded off the house.
Sometimes a dog barked.

And they were all there for the same thing.

Robert Neville closed his eyes a moment and held his lips in a tight line.
Then he opened his eyes and lit another cigarette, letting the smoke go
deep into his lungs.