"Mickey Zucker Reichert - The Books of Barakhai 01 - The Beasts of Barakhai" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

"Benton! Did you just swear at me?"
"Big problem." Wondering whose ten-year, million-dollar experiment he had just ruined, Collins said,
"I'll call you back." Without waiting for a reply, he started to replace the receiver.
Marlys' small voice chased him. "Don't you dare—" Then the earpiece clicked down, cutting off
whatever threat Marlys had uttered. Uncertain whether or not he would ever see his girlfriend again,
Collins bashed the door open with his shoulder.
The panel shot wide, and the impact bruised his arm even through his emerald-green Algary
sweatshirt. Collins caught sight of the rat squeezing beneath the door of one of the unused classrooms
provided by grant money. He had once overheard some of the professors discussing the perks of earning
such a room, then using it for storage, a badge of honor for bringing in a large endowment. Collins
groaned, doubting he could find the escapee amid years of a scientist's accumulated crap.
For a moment, Collins froze, paralyzed by despair. If an experimental animal came up missing on his
watch, he would lose his job for certain; and those who graded him might no longer feel so kindly
disposed. His thesis might become less valuable than the paper on which he printed it. He would never
get a job. His student loans would plunge him into poverty. He had lost his parents to the pursuit of their
own happiness, and he had no siblings with whom to commiserate. He had probably just lost his
girlfriend; worse, he was not sure he even cared. Suddenly, the idea of becoming a second Carrie
Quinton, of disappearing without a trace, seemed the best of all his lousy options.
Collins shook his head, tossing hair the color of bittersweet chocolate; it had gone too long since its
last cutting. Driven only by a deeply rooted sense of responsibility, he pulled open the door. Light
funneled in from a dusty window that made the room seem full of smoke. Mathematical equations,
complicated and incomprehensible, scrawled white across a blackboard. Piled boxes, desks, and chairs
crafted strange shadows across the tiled floor. On an open stretch, someone had sketched out a
pentagram in purple chalk. A chill spiraled through Collins, and the urge to flee gripped him like ice. He
calmed himself with logic. Role-playing gamers abounded on Algary campus, and they often sought out
hidden rooms and alcoves for atmosphere. In his college days, he had played some Dungeons and
Dragons on the roof of Domm Hall.
Collins flicked the light switch. It clicked, but nothing changed. The bulb had, apparently, burned out.
He debated leaving the door open to channel in a bit more light, but it seemed prudent to block the only
exit. Rat in a dark storage room. Kind of makes the old needle in a haystack seem like simple
hide-and-seek. He closed the door, pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, and stuffed it under the
crack. Satisfied the rat could not squeeze out, he sat on the cold floor, half-naked. What now? A
radioactive, rabid cockroach bites off my three chest hairs? He glanced around for a cup or empty
box to hold the creature until he could transfer it to its cage but found nothing suitable. Accustomed to
handling, the rat would likely prove tractable enough to carry in his hands.
Hunger churned through Collins' gut again. Even the rubbery turkey slices Algary's cafeteria served up
on holidays seemed like a treat, garnished with ketchup from a can as big as his torso. They would serve
it up with some weirdly spiced institutional stuffing, a canned blob of cranberries, and something that
vaguely resembled cheese. The denouement: cardboard pie colored some fruity color, as vivid and
unrealistic as Froot Loops. The whole situation suddenly seemed hysterically funny. Shaking his head, he
laughed until his ribs ached.
A flash of white ran right past Collins' left sneaker.
"Hey!" Instantly sobered, Collins leaped to his feet and gave chase. The rat skittered between a row
of boxes and disappeared beneath a pile of desks. "Hey," he repeated, diving after the retreating tail.
Collins slammed against stacked cartons; they exploded into a wild avalanche. Not bothering to
assess the damage, he kept his gaze locked on the rat. His foot came down on something hard, and his
ankle twisted. Pain consumed his leg. Afraid to lose the rat, he bulled through it, plunging into the
darkness beyond the stack of desks.
The world went suddenly black. Collins blinked several times, seeking a bare trickle of light leaching
between boxes or around the irregular shapes that defined the desks. Worried about losing his target, he