"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Heroics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

wound.
He went halfway down, near the beginning of the stumps, where he
believed no one could hear him, and pulled out his cell phone, flipping it
open.
The line to the left of the tiny screen, the line which showed him how
good the reception was, was barely visible. Great. He'd have to go down to the
highway to get good reception -- and that would be a waste of time, not to
mention a serious drain on his energy.
He dialed 911 anyway, hoping he'd get through, wondering if the new
dispatch knew about him as well. If he didn't get through, he'd go down to the
road, but he'd risk it here, now, and then he'd go back to the cars.
By then, he'd have a plan.
"Nine-one-one," a female voice said, and then got lost in static.
He identified himself, hoping she could hear him, hoping she knew who
he was and what his situation was. He should have left the line open, but he
hadn't wanted voices to come through, hadn't wanted any unusual noise as he
hurried through the trees.
A voice mingled in the static, something about staying by the car.
Good. She knew who he was then, knew what he was about.
He told her, quickly and as quietly as he dared, about going up the
logging road and finding the building and the cars.
"Excellent." Suddenly her voice was as clear as if she were beside him.
"Now return to the highway, Mr. Sobel. Our officers are nearly there."
"No," he said. "I haven't seen Sarah yet. I have to find her."
"Let us do that, Mr. Sobel. You could get -- " Her voice disappeared in
a crackle of static, and he used that moment to sever the connection. He
dropped the phone back in his pocket and felt it bump against the fabric,
slamming against his thigh like the Swiss Army knife had earlier.
His breath caught in his throat as the plan came to him. He reached
across, fumbling in his left pocket with his right hand, cursing softly as his
forearm knocked against the sling, jostling it.
At least the pain had eased. Keeping the arm elevated made it less of a
liability.
His fingers found his Swiss Army knife and pulled it out of his pocket.
He did owe this moment to Jackson Ross and mentally he saluted his character.
Since Sobel had come up with Ross, he'd carried a Swiss Army knife.
_A man has to be prepared for anything_, he used to say.
And now he was.
He pushed open the blade, and looked at it. Shiny with lack of use, it
looked sharp and impressive. Then he folded it back into the knife. Last thing
he wanted to do was walk with the blade extended. His balance was bad enough
from the injury that he could trip, and hurt himself worse than he'd hurt the
thugs who'd taken Sarah.
Still, he clutched the knife in his right hand. The bird had stopped
twittering. He wondered if that meant it had noticed him or it had seen
someone else.
He tried to retrace his own steps, so that he wasn't knocking down new
weeds. He also kept himself a little lower to the ground, wishing he'd blend
in more with the trees than he did.
As he rounded the now-familiar corner, he let out the breath he hadn't