"Resnick, Mike - Bibi" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"Three out of five still isn't good odds," replied Jeremy. "Especially when you have to live through it all."
Elizabeth quickly grabbed her hat as another bump sent it flying toward her window. "We should reach the end of the tarmac pretty soon," she said.
"It gets better then?"
"It's much better right after the long rains. You can't repair tarmac out here, but if it's just holes in a dirt road, the rains will have leveled it out."
"_Nothing_ can level this road out," said Jeremy devoutly. He looked out the side window just as the tarmac ended. The thornbush, which had been rapidly encroaching on both the savannah and the roadside _shambas_, had triumphed totally. The grass, which was green and endless a few miles back, now existed only in isolated pockets, and was dotted by the bones of dead wildebeest and kob. The red dust from the road obscured his vision, but he could see troops of vervet monkeys, plus an occasional red colobus, scampering through the trees and observing the strange-sounding foul-smelling vehicle from the safety of the branches.
As the truck slowed down to cross a _lugga_ -- a dry riverbed -- Jeremy saw a figure disappearing into the thornscrub some fifty yards off to his right.
"What is it?" asked Elizabeth as Jeremy brought the truck to a halt.
"There's something back there."
"What?"
He shook his head. "I don't know." He paused and frowned. "I think it was a woman or a child; it was too small to be a man."
She shrugged. "Nothing unusual about that. Uganda's got a lot of people and a lot of bush. You tend to find the one in the other."
"Stop patronizing me," he said irritably.
"Then stop belaboring the obvious," she replied. "You saw a woman in the bush."
"There was something funny, though."
"Funny ha-ha, or funny strange?" she asked.
"Funny strange."
"What?"
He paused uncomfortably. "I only caught a quick glimpse of her -- or him -- but..."
"But what?" she persisted.
"She walked like her feet hurt, and _nobody_ in Africa walks like that."
"Maybe she cut her foot."
"The average African spends his whole life walking barefoot on rocks and in thornbush country. I don't think you could cut his foot open with a knife."
"Nonsense," she said. "I cut my own foot just two days ago."
"You're not the average African," he retorted. "You spent most your life in Europe and America."
She ignored his comment, picked up the binoculars, and held them to her eyes. "There's nothing out there. Probably it was a heat mirage. Or maybe the glare on the windshield made you think you saw a woman instead of a tree."
He shrugged. "Maybe."
Or maybe his eyes could be starting to go -- except that it was way too early in the disease cycle for him to hallucinate. And besides, he didn't have the disease yet.
Jeremy continued looking out the window as he started driving again. He spotted a pair of silver-backed jackals, and a few minutes later he had to swerve to avoid a family of hyenas that were fighting over the remains of a small duiker, but there was no sign of the small figure he had seen. Or _thought_ he had seen.
He noticed that sweat was starting to pour down his body, and he transferred the letter to another pocket to keep it dry.
"What is that?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing," he replied. "Just a letter from an old friend."
"You haven't opened it yet."
"I'll get around to it."
"Would you like me to read it to you while you're driving?" she offered.
"Not necessary," he said.
"It's no trouble."
"No."
They came to another village. There were sixteen hatched huts falling to ruin. Nearby was a large thorn _boma_ for the cattle; next to it were four deserted _shambas_, the mango and banana trees fighting a losing battle for survival against the encroaching bush. The village had a well so that the people would not have to drink contaminated water. (Fat chance, thought Jeremy. The water in the nearby bilharzia-infested stream was crystal clear. The people would take one look at the safe brown water coming up from the borehole and opt for the stream every time.) There was only one problem: no people. Like so many other villages, it was completely deserted.
"I get so sick of seeing this," remarked Elizabeth, gesturing toward the empty huts.
"Where to now?" asked Jeremy, staring ahead to where the road forked and went off in two directions.
"I'm not quite sure, but I seem to think we go to the northwest."
* * *
_She saw a strange beast, growling constantly and belching a foul-smelling smoke. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, strange and terrifying even for this strange and terrifying land. She quickly hid behind a thornbush and waited for it to gallop off._
_The beast had a most unusual means of enticing its victims. Instead of stealthily creeping up and then pouncing, like the great cats and canines, it showed her an image of a human very similar to herself. Doubtless she was expected to approach it out of curiosity, and it would open its slavering jaws and swallow her whole._
_She would have to be prepared for this beast in the future, for she had much to do, and would doubtless encounter it again._
* * *
They managed to get lost, of course. After three days of punctured tires (five), false paths (eleven), bug bites (three million), and fraying tempers (beyond computation), the truck crashed out of the underbrush a scant twenty-six miles from where it had entered, and turned onto the narrow, almost overgrown track that was the best road Jeremy could find with sweat, map, frequently profane radio exchanges, and the occasional shout to any people they passed on the road.
"Look up ahead," said Elizabeth, pointing.
As they approached a village, a thread of smoke curled upward, and a flock of birds flew overhead. Jeremy was used to children spotting his Land Rover and running ahead or alongside with wild shouts -- but for some reason the inhabitants of _this_ village, even the children, silently watched the truck and then went about their business.
"What do you make of that?" asked Jeremy, frowning, as the truck crunches over the rough road.