"Chad Oliver - The Winds of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oliver Chad)

It's a good watch. What's wrong with it? The man turned his attention to the billfold next. He took
four dollar bills out of it and studied them. He rubbed them with his fingers. He hesitated, then placed the
bills in a pile with the coins. He rifled the rest of the billfold carefully, frowning at the assortment of cards,
licenses, and the like. There was one photograph, in color, of Jo. Wes remembered the picture well—it
had been taken three years ago, on her birthday. Jo had been wearing a tweed skirt and a brown
cashmere sweater; she looked fresh and clean and young. A pang of regret stabbed through Wes, cutting
through the haze of the drug. But it passed, he couldn't hold it. Dimly he recognized that it was just as
well.
The man took a cigarette out of the pack that was already open, sniffed it, tore the paper off, and
looked at the tobacco. He tasted it, frowned, and rubbed it off his tongue with his wrist. He picked up
the matches, nodded to himself, and struck one on the first try. He watched it burn down almost to his
fingers, then blew it out.
He looked at the keys, tossed them into a pile with the dollar bills and the coins. Then he picked up
one of the candy bars and scratched it experimentally with a fingernail. His eyes brightened. With a
feverish excitement he ripped the paper off and stared at the brown chocolate with the almond lumps. He
hesitated, clearly fighting with himself about something.
The man got up, paced the rock floor, fingering the chocolate bar nervously. Twice he made motions
as though he were going to eat it, but each time he hesitated, caught himself, stopped.
He doesn't know whether or not it's edible. Where can he be from if he's never seen a chocolate
bar before?
The man came to some decision. He broke off two squares of chocolate, knelt down by Wes, and
gently opened the doctor's mouth. Then he crumbled the chocolate between his fingers, threw an almond
away, and placed the shredded chocolate on Wes's tongue, a little at a time. Wes started to gag, and
was unable to chew. But he could swallow, if he took it easy, and he got the chocolate down.
Guinea pig, he thought. He remembered the little test animals in their cages on the top floor of the
hospital. He remembered, too, one of the daughters of old Doc Stuart-Louise, her name had been—and
how shocked she was when she found out that the guinea pigs were injected with disease strains to see
what would happen …
The chocolate was good, anyway.
The man sat down and made an obvious effort at self-discipline. He sat quietly, watching and waiting.
Several hours must have gone by, but it was difficult now for Wes to keep track of the time.
The man got up finally, felt Wes's forehead, looked at his eyes and his tongue. And he smiled. The
effect was startling, as though a movie monster had paused momentarily in his dim-witted pursuit of the
dim-witted heroine and tossed off a minstrel joke or two.
Then the man ate the chocolate bars.
Ate them?
He demolished them, swallowing convulsively, as a man trapped in a desert might hurl himself into a
stream, desperate for water.
The man smiled again and rubbed his hands together in a curiously out-of-place gesture of
satisfaction. A little color appeared in his pale cheeks. Even his black and rather lank hair seemed to lose
some of its lifelessness.
Evidently encouraged by his new-found energy, the man went to work with a will. He put Wes down
on the rock floor and carefully undressed him, taking mental note of every button, buckle, and zipper. He
covered Wes up with his own clothing, and then struggled to dress himself in his new clothes. He
managed it, though not without a few muttered sounds that might very well have been swearing of some
sort. Wes was surprised to see that his clothes were not a bad fit at all; apparently the man was not as tall
as he looked.
The man stuffed his pockets, paying special attention to the money, and slipped the watch over his
wrist. He seemed nervous again, but determined.
He's going to Lake City, Wes thought, and was suddenly warm with hope. He's done his best, but