"McCammon, Robert R. - Stinger" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCammon Robert R)

She walked into the bathroom to sprinkle on some baby powder and brush the taste of coffee and Blue Nun from her mouth. She quickly ran her hands through her short, dark brown hair. Flecks of gray were creeping back from the temples. The march of time, she thought. Not as startling as watching your kids grow up, of course; it seemed like only yesterday that Stevie was a baby and Ray was in third grade. The years were flying, that was for sure. She went to the closet, pulled out a pair of her well-worn and comfortable jeans and a red T-shirt, put them on and then a pair of white socks and her sneakers. She got her sunglasses and a baseball cap, stopped in the kitchen to fill up two canteens because you never knew what might happen in the desert, and took her veterinary satchel from its place on the upper shelf of the hall closet. Stevie was hopping around like a jumping bean on a hot griddle, eager to get going.
“We’re heading off,” Jessie told Tom. “See you about four.” She leaned over and kissed him, and he planted a kiss on Stevie’s cheek. “Be careful, cowgirls!” he said. “Take care of your mama.”
“I will!” Stevie clutched her mother’s hand, and Jessie paused to take a smaller-sized baseball cap off the hat tree near the front door and put it on Stevie’s head. “See you later, Ray!” she called, and he answered, “Check six!” from his own room. Check six? she thought as she and Stevie went out into the already-searing sunlight. Whatever happened to a simple ’Bye, Mom? Nothing made her feel more like a fossil, at thirty-four, than not understanding her own son’s language.
They walked along the stone path that led from the house past the small building next door; it was fashioned of rough white stone, and set out near the street was a little sign that read INFERNO ANIMAL HOSPITAL and, beneath that, Jessica Hammond, DVM. Parked at the curb, behind Tom’s white Civic, was her dusty, sea-green Ford pickup truck; in a rack across the rear window, where most everybody else carried their rifles, was an extendable-wire restraining noose that Jessie had fortunately only had to use a few times.
In another moment Jessie was driving west on Celeste Street, and Stevie was tucked behind her seat belt but hardly able to stand the confinement. She was fragile in appearance, her features as delicate as a porcelain doll’s, but Jessie knew full well that Stevie had an intense curiosity and wasn’t shy about going after what she wanted; the child already had an appreciation of animals and enjoyed traveling to the various farms and ranches with her mother, no matter how bone-jarring the trip. Stevie—Stephanie Marie, after Tom’s grandmother just as Ray had been named after Jessie’s grandfather—was usually a quiet child, and seemed to be absorbing the world through her large green eyes, which were just a few shades lighter than Jessie’s. Jessie had enjoyed having her around and helping at the animal hospital, but Stevie would start first grade next September—wherever they happened to end up. Because after the schools in Inferno closed and the exodus continued, the rest of Inferno’s stores and shops would shut down, and the few remaining spreads would dry up; there would be no work for Jessie, just as there would be none for Tom, and their only choice would be to pull up roots and hit the road.
She drove past Preston Park on her left, the Ringwald Drug Store, Quik-Check Grocery, and the Ice House on her right. She crossed Travis Street, almost crunching one of Mrs. Stellenberg’s big tomcats as it darted in front of the truck, and followed narrow Circle Back Road as it ran along the foot of Rocking Chair Ridge and then, true to its name, circled back to connect with Cobre Road. She paused at the blinking yellow light before she turned west and put the pedal to the metal.
The desert’s bittersweet tang blew through the open windows in the blessed breeze. Stevie’s hair danced around her shoulders. Jessie figured this was the coolest it was likely to be all day, and they might as well enjoy it. Cobre Road took them past the chainlink fence and the iron gates of the Preston Copper Mine. The gates were padlocked, but the fence was in such bad shape an arthritic old man could’ve climbed over. Crudely lettered signs said DANGER! NO TRESPASSING! Beyond the gates was the huge crater where a red mountain rich with copper ore had once cast its shadow. In the last months of the mine’s existence, the dynamite blasts had gone off like clockwork out here, and Jessie understood from Sheriff Vance that there were still some charges in the crater that had been unexploded and left behind, but no one was crazy enough to go down in there and pull them out. Jessie knew that sooner or later the mine would be exhausted, but nobody had expected the veins of ore to fail with such startling finality. From the moment the jackhammers and bulldozers had scraped against worthless rock, Inferno had been doomed.
With a bump and shudder, the pickup’s tires passed over the railroad tracks that ran north and south from the mining complex. Stevie leaned toward the window, her back already getting damp. She caught sight of a group of prairie dogs atop the mound of their nest, standing motionless on their hind legs. A jackrabbit burst from its cover of cactus and shot across the road, and way up in the sky a vulture was slowly circling. “How’re you doing?” Jessie asked her.
“Fine.” Stevie strained against the seat belt, the wind blowing into her face. The sky was as blue as a Smurf, and it looked like it went on forever—maybe even a hundred miles. Something struck her that she’d been meaning to ask: “How come Daddy’s so sad?”
Of course Stevie had felt it, Jessie thought. There was no way for her not to. “He’s not sad, exactly. It’s because of school closing. You remember, we talked about that?”
“Yes. But it closes every year.”
“Well, it’s not going to open up again. Because of that, more people are going to move away.”
“Like Jenny did?”
“Right.” Jenny Galvin was a little girl who’d lived a few houses up the street from them, and she and her parents had moved just after Christmas. “Mr. Bonner’s going to close the Quik-Check store in August. By that time, I expect most everybody’ll be gone.”
“Oh.” Stevie mulled that over for a moment. The Quik-Check store was where everybody bought food. “And we’ll be gone too,” she said finally.
“Yes. Us too.”
Then that meant Mr. and Mrs. Lucas would be leaving, Stevie realized. And Sweetpea: what would happen to Sweetpea? Would they just set him free to run wild, or would they pack him up in a horse box, or would they get on him and ride away? That was a puzzle worth thinking about, but she’d seen the end of something and it gave her a sad feeling down near her heart—the same kind of feeling that she figured her daddy must know.
The land was cut by gullies and covered with wild thatches of sagebrush and towers of stovepipe cactus. A blacktopped highway left Cobre Road about two miles past the copper mine and shot northwestward under a white granite arch with PRESTON embedded in tarnished copper letters. Jessie looked to her right, could see the big hacienda way up at the blacktop’s end, shimmering in the rising heatwaves as they sped past. Good luck to you too, Jessie thought, envisioning the woman who was probably sleeping in that house on cool silk sheets. The sheets and the house might be all Celeste Preston had left, and those wouldn’t last very much longer, either.
They went on, following the road that carved across the desert. Stevie stared out the window, her face composed and thoughtful under the cap’s brim. Jessie shifted in her seat to get her T-shirt unstuck. The turnoff to the Lucas place was about a half mile ahead.
Stevie heard a high humming noise and thought a mosquito was at her ear. She flipped her hand against her ear, but the humming remained and it was getting louder and higher. In another few seconds it had turned painful, like the jabbing of a needle in both ears. “Mama?” she said, wincing. “My ears hurt!”
A sharp, prickling pain had hit Jessie’s eardrums as well. Not only that: the fillings in her back teeth were aching. She opened her mouth, working her lower jaw. “Ow!” she heard Stevie say. “What is it, Mama?”
“I don’t know, hon—” Suddenly the truck’s engine died. Just died, without a stutter or gasp. They were coasting, and Jessie gave it more gas but she’d filled the truck up yesterday and the fuel tank couldn’t be empty. Her eardrums were really hurting now—pulsing to a high, painful tone like a far-off, distant wail. Stevie pressed her hands to her ears, and bright tears had come to her eyes. “What is it, Mama?” she asked again, panic quavering in her voice. “What is it?”
Jessie shook her head. The noise was getting louder. She turned the ignition key and pumped the accelerator; still the engine wouldn’t fire. She heard the crackle of static electricity in her hair, and she caught sight of her wristwatch: the digital display had gone mad, the hours flickering past at runaway speed. This’ll be some story to tell Tom, she thought as she flinched in a cocoon of ear-piercing noise, and she reached out to grasp Stevie’s hand.
The child’s head jerked to the right; her eyes widened, and she screamed, “Mama!”
She’d seen what was coming, and now Jessie did too. She slammed on the brake, her hands fighting the wheel.
What looked like a flaming locomotive was hurtling through the air, burning parts flying off behind it and spinning away. It passed over Cobre Road, about fifty feet over the desert and maybe forty yards in front of Jessie’s truck; she could make out a cylindrical form, glowing red-hot and surrounded by flames, and as the truck went off the road the object passed with a shriek that deafened Jessie and prevented her from hearing her own scream. She saw the rear of the object explode in yellow and violet flames, flinging pieces off in all directions; something came at the truck in a blur, and there was a wham! of metal being struck and the pickup shuddered right down to its frame.
A front tire blew. The truck kept going over rocks and through stands of cactus before Jessie got it stopped, her palms sweat-slick on the wheel. The ringing in her ears still kept her from hearing, but she saw Stevie’s frantic, tear-streaked face and she said, as calmly as she could, “Hush, now. It’s over. It’s all over. Hush, now.”
Steam was shooting from around the truck’s crumpled hood. Jessie looked to her left, saw the flaming object pass over a low ridge and disappear from sight. My God! she thought, stunned. What was it?
In the next instant there was a roaring that penetrated even through Jessie’s aural murk. The pickup’s cab filled with whirling dust. Jessie grasped Stevie’s hand, and the little girl’s fingers clamped shut.
There was dust in Jessie’s mouth and in her eyes, and her cap had blown out the window. When she got her vision cleared again, she saw three gray-green helicopters, flying in a tight V formation about thirty or forty feet above the desert, following the flaming object toward the southwest. They too went over the ridge and out of sight. Up in the blue, the contrails of several jets also tracked to the southwest.
The dust settled. Jessie began to get her hearing back; Stevie was sobbing, holding on to her mother’s hand for dear life. “It’s over,” Jessie said, and heard her own raspy voice. “All over.” She felt like crying herself, but mothers didn’t do such things. The engine ticked like a rusty heart, and Jessie found herself staring at a geyser of steam that rose from a small round hole right in the center of the pickup’s hood.


3
Queen of Inferno

“Christ’s drawers, what a racket!” the white-haired woman wearing a pink silk sleep mask cried out, sitting up in her canopied bed. The entire house seemed to be vibrating with noise, and she angrily pulled the mask off to reveal eyes the color of arctic ice. “Tania! Miguel!” she shouted in a voice made husky by too many unfiltered cigarettes. “Get in here!” She reached for the bell cord beside her bed and started yanking it. Down in the depths of the Preston mansion, the bell clamored for the servants’ attention.
But the horrendous, roaring noise was gone now; it had only lasted a few seconds, but long enough to shock her awake. She threw the covers back, got out of bed, and strode to the balcony doors like a tornado on legs. When she flung them open, the heat almost sucked the breath right out of her lungs. She went out, squinting toward Cobre Road with one hand warding off the glare. She was fifty-three years old, but even without glasses her vision was sharp enough to see what had passed dangerously near the house: three helicopters, racing away toward the southwest and raising a storm of dust beneath them. They vanished behind that dust after a few more seconds, and Celeste Preston was so mad she could’ve spat nails.
Stout, moon-faced Tania came to the balcony doors. She was braced for the onslaught. “Sн, Seсora Preston?”
“Where were you? I thought we were bein’ bombed! What the hell’s goin’ on?”
“I don’t know, seсora. I think—”
“Oh, just get me a drink!” she snapped. “My nerves are shot!”
Tania retreated into the house for her mistress’s first drink of the day. Celeste stood on the high balcony, its floor a mosaic of red Mexican clay tiles, and grasped the ornate wrought-iron railing. From this vantage point she could see the estate’s stables, the corral, and the riding track—useless, of course, since all the horses had been auctioned off. The blacktopped driveway circled a large bed of what had once been peonies and daisies, now burned brown since the sprinkler system was inoperative. Her lemon-yellow gown was sticking to her back; the sweat and heat rekindled her fury. She returned to the cooler temperature of the bedroom, picked up the pink telephone, and punched the numbers with a manicured fingernail.
“Sheriff’s office,” a drawling voice answered. A boy’s voice. “Deputy Chaffin speak—”
“Put Vance on the phone,” she interrupted.
“Uh… Sheriff Vance is on patrol right now. Is this—”
“Celeste Preston. I want to know who’s flyin’ helicopters over my property at”—her eye located the clock on the white bedstand—“at seven-twelve in the mornin’! The bastards almost took my roof off!”
“Helicopters?”
“Clean the wax out of your ear, boy! You heard me! Three helicopters! If they’d been any closer, they could’ve folded my damn sheets! What’s goin’ on?”
“Uh… I don’t know, Mrs. Preston.” The deputy’s voice sounded more alert now, and Celeste imagined him sitting at attention behind his desk. “I can get Sheriff Vance over the radio for you, if you want.”