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

continued forward blindly, sweeping the space ahead with his hands to protect his head. An occasional
squeak or blur of white movement kept him going far longer than seemed possible in such a small room.
He got the distinct impression he was chasing his own tail instead of the rat's, caught in a wild spiral of
madness constructed from nothing more substantial than stress. Focusing on this current problem kept
him from dwelling on the anger his parents aroused, the advantage his preceptor had taken of a miserable
situation, his inability to appease the one person he professed to love. His world narrowed to the
excitement of the chase.
At length, Benton Collins realized that the passage of time had become more than just a perception.
His stomach gnawed at its own lining; dinnertime surely had come and gone. His memory of the
telephone call seemed distant, indistinct. His back ached from stooping and his knees from crawling. He
reached above his head, his groping fingers meeting nothing of substance. Cautiously, he rose and
discovered he could stand without having to stoop. The room remained utterly black.
Collins glanced at his left wrist. The hands of his watch glowed eerily in the darkness: 7:18. Shocked,
he studied the arrangement of hands and hash marks. He could not believe he had been slithering around
after a rat for over three hours. The thought seemed lunacy. If true, he should have crashed into a wall or
door, should have stumbled over boxes, should have caught glimpses of light through the window. But his
world remained dark, and he felt none of the stored items he had seen before while scurrying beneath the
desks. I'm not in the same room. Can't be.
Vision straining, Collins took careful steps forward, waving his arms in front of him to head off a
collision. At length, the fingers of his left hand scraped an irregular wall. He pawed along it for a light
switch, feeling damp and craggy stone. What the hell? He shook his head, scarcely daring to believe it.
I'm lost in some dark, secret corner of Daubert Labs. But how did I get here? He sucked in a
calming breath, then let it out slowly through his nose. Must have accidentally crawled through a vent
or tunnel or something. No wonder the gamers like it here.
A sharp squeak startled Collins from his thoughts. He glanced around for the creature, more from
habit than true interest anymore. His heart pounded, and a shiver racked him. Rationally, he knew he
could not remain lost in a campus building for longer than the four-day holiday, yet disorientation pressed
him toward panic. Suddenly, his location seemed the most important piece of information in the world.
Pressing both hands to the wall, Collins chose a direction and followed it to a corner. At some point,
he reasoned, he would have to find a door into a hallway. From there, he would surely come upon a part
of the laboratory he knew.
A lump formed in Collins' throat. His heart hammered against his ribs, and his thoughts refused to
coalesce. His elbow grazed something hard at his belt, and this finally triggered coherent thought. Pager.
Got my cell phone, too. And other stuff. He fingered the odd assortment of objects in his pockets,
identifying keys, calculator, and the lighter he used for bunsen burners and alcohol lamps before ending
the silly game. Relief triggered a nervous laugh. What's wrong with me? He tugged the phone from its
plastic holder, lengthened the antennae, and pressed the lower left button. It came on with a beep, the
display revealing the word "on." The indicator showed no signal strength whatsoever. Weird. Charged it
last night. Collins lowered the phone with a shrug of resignation. Who would I call anyway? He
considered the situation. Hello, Dr. Demarkietto? I took a wrong turn, and I'm lost in the lab.
Please send Lewis and Clark. He jabbed the phone back into its holder. His ego preferred no one ever
found out about his little adventure.
Collins continued his march along the wall, surprised by its irregularity, as well as his steady footing.
He kept expecting to stumble over cartons or furniture, but he continued to walk unimpeded. Then,
finally, he discovered a depression in the wall, its surface more like poorly sanded wood than stone. He
groped for a doorknob but found none. Confused, he shoved it. To his surprise, it budged. Encouraged,
he threw all of his weight against it. The wood panel gave beneath the effort, the hinges twisted free, and
it collapsed forward. Momentum dragged Collins along with it.
Collins hit the floor before he realized he was falling, his face slamming into the door. Pain jarred
through his nose and chest, and his glasses tumbled. He rolled onto wet mulch that clung to his bare torso