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

He didn't want to sit up.
But he had to. Go back up the road, flag someone down. The car was dead
now, and he'd called 911 from his cell, although he hadn't had time to tell
them the location. He'd left the connection open -- they could triangulate,
right? He'd seen that in a Harrison Ford movie -- but he wasn't sure it would
do any good.
Nothing would do any good.
The rain had stopped suddenly, as if its only duty had been to rouse
him. Being unconscious -- semi-conscious, stunned, shocked, whatever the term
was (and he was usually so good with terms) -- had probably saved his life.
He'd heard the footsteps around him, felt the boot in his side, nudging him,
but he hadn't reacted. Couldn't react. And so he'd been left for dead.
He rolled on his good side, felt his arm flop against his stomach, and
the agony, so sharp that the world went white for a moment. The first man's
shove had sent him over the embankment, down the hill -- he remembered
soaring, swearing, thinking of Sarah, alone up there with them -- and then the
ground rushing toward him. He put his arms out to brace himself, to break the
fall, underestimating both his own weight and the speed he'd been dropping.
He'd heard the snap -- snap_s_ -- three at least -- and then the pain that
blotted out the urgency, the fear, the anger.
He thought of pushing himself up, imagined climbing the embankment like
Jackson Ross, his fictional alter ego, and saving Sarah. Jackson would have
rolled on his good side immediately, would have used the broken limb to pull
himself up the hill despite the pain.
Sobel would do that -- after he rested for a moment.
He had no idea how long he had been un- or semi-conscious. Long enough
for them to climb down the hill, check him for dead and leave, presumably with
Sarah in tow. Why would they want her? An innocent three-year-old with eyes as
big as the world. Not his, not yet. Not legally anyway. The adoption papers
were ready and would be signed the same day he married JoAnn. Instant family.
Take one, add water, and suddenly --
Oh, he was not well.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, and felt his closed Swiss
Army knife press against his left thigh. For a moment that was the only
sensation, and then he realized he was dizzy. The blood staining the leaves;
the way his breath came shallowly; the clammy feel of his skin all added to
his queasiness. He touched his face, felt stickiness, knew that was where the
blood was coming from. Cuts, bruises. He probably had them all over. He was in
shock, no doubt about it. He was in shock and he probably wasn't thinking
clearly.
But to stay here was wrong.
He braced himself with his good hand and got to his feet, swaying
slightly. The air smelled of smoke -- fall in Oregon -- and the sky was dark
gray. It was probably going to start raining again.
He sighed and looked up the embankment. Steep, even with two hands.
There was no easy path. He would have to climb.
Part of him wanted to sit down, wait for someone to come to him. Surely
they would see the car, abandoned, and call someone. The state police would
check the plate, find out it belonged to him, try to call his home, maybe try
to see him. JoAnn was in New York, spending a couple thousand dollars of his