"James Van Pelt - A Flock Of Birds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pelt James Van)

He shut the book and turned off his desk light. Gradually his eyes adjusted as
he looked out the window. A full moon illuminated the scene. From his chair he
could see three houses bathed in the leaden glow, their windows black as
basalt. His neighbor's minivan rested on its rims, all four tires long gone
flat. Carson tried to come up with the guy's name, but it remained elusive.
Generally he tried not to think about his neighbors or their empty houses.
He couldn't hear anything other than the wind moving over the silent city. Not
sleepy at all, he watched the shadows slide slowly across the lawn. Just after
2:00 A.M., a pair of coyotes trotted up the middle of the street. Their
toenails clicked loudly against the asphalt. Carson finally rose, took two
sleeping pills and went to bed.


·····


"The woman who stays with me is sick," said Carson. He rested his arm against
his truck, supplies requisition list in hand.
The distribution center manager nodded dourly. "Oh, the sweet sorrow of
parting." He hooked his grimy thumbs in his overalls. Through the warehouse
doors behind him Carson saw white plastic wrapped bales, four feet to a side,
stacked five bales high and reaching to the warehouse's far end. They
contained bags of flour, corn, cloth, paper, a little bit of everything.
Emergency stores.
Carson blanched. "It's not that. She just has a cough and a bit of fever. If
it's bacterial, an antibiotic might knock it right out."
"T.B. or not T.B. That is congestion, Carson," he said, laughing through
yellow teeth. Carson guessed he might be fifty-five or sixty.
Carson smiled. "You're pretty sharp today."
"Finest collection of video theater this side of hell. Watched Lawrence
Olivier last night until 3:00 or 4:00." The manager consulted his clipboard.
"No new pharmaceuticals in a couple months, and I haven't seen antibiotics in
over a year. I could have my assistant keep an eye open for you, but he hasn't
come in for a week. Lookin' sickly his last day, you know?" The manager rubbed
his fingers on his chest. "Could be that I've lost him. Have you tried a
tablespoon of honey in a shot glass of bourbon? Works for me every time."
A car pulled into the huge, empty parking lot behind Carson's truck, but
whoever was inside didn't get out. Carson nodded in the car's direction.
Evidently they wanted to wait for Carson to finish his business.
He handed the manager the list. "Can you also give me cornmeal and sugar? A
mix of canned vegetables would be nice too."
"That I've got." The manager hopped on a forklift. "Tomorrow may creep in a
petty pace, but I shouldn't be a minute."
When he returned with the goods he said, "The quality of mercy is not strained
here. I'm not doing anything this afternoon. I'll dig some for you. Few months
back I heard a pharmacy in an Albertson's burned down. Looters overlooked it.
Might be something there. I've got your address." He waved the requisition
list. "I could bring it by your house."
Carson loaded boxes of canned soup and vegetables into the truck. "What about
the warehouse?"