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

passed. Just the few he'd heard, marring the oil path....
Oil path. From the gravel. He tracked it, saw a variegated puddle
exactly where the back car had been parked. It had been leaking oil.
"...sir? Are you all right?"
Apparently she'd been talking to him. He hadn't even heard.
"Wait," he said. "I see something."
"Something?"
He left the line open -- old-fashioned habits died hard -- and walked
beside the trail, realizing almost too late that he had gone on the highway
without looking. _Focus._ He had to focus. If he wasn't clear, he wouldn't be
of any help.
Why was the oil trail crossing the road horizontally? It headed
straight toward the hill. It didn't make an obvious U-turn.
"Sir?" the tiny voice of the dispatch -- female (didn't they ever hire
men in these positions?) -- sounded panicked.
"Just a minute," he said. "I see something."
Which was what he said before, but he didn't want to tell her, not yet.
He follow the trail to the south face of the hill, onto the gravel shoulder,
where the oil became black rock. A wide U-turn then. He felt a deep
disappointment combined with slight wooziness.
This time, going back to his car, he would be cautious. He walked to
the edge of the curve, looked east, saw no cars.
And no oil trail.
"Sir?"
He didn't answer. He was spinning, looking for the oil. It had to be
here. It had to be --
The road was almost invisible, cutting through the trees. It looked
like a path, overgrown and neglected, but it was wide enough for cars. Trees
and shrubs grew over the road, but some of the branches were broken. He jogged
toward them, then quit almost immediately as the pain in his bobbing arm made
him gasp.
"Sir?"
The oil was there, black and familiar, like a trail of bread crumbs.
_Follow me. Follow me._
"Sir?" the poor dispatch sounded panicked now. Funny, he should be the
one who was panicked, but he felt strangely calm.
He brought the phone to his ear -- her voice louder there, and the
ambient noise of her job, faint voices, beeping -- and briefly wondered what
it was like to be her, sitting in a small cubicle, headphones on, mike to the
mouth, monitoring emergencies all day long.
"Sir? If you're there -- "
"I found something," he said. "One of the cars was leaking oil. It went
up a side road just near my car. On the other side of the highway. I'm going
to follow it."
"No, sir. Stay there. When the sheriff arrives -- "
"It might be too late. Sarah's alone with them. She's only three. I'm
heading up. I'm bringing the phone." As if that made it better. He wasn't sure
what he could do. Wasn't sure if he would do it if it weren't for the fact he
had back-up coming. Then realized he would. He couldn't leave her up there,
alone, those wide brown eyes scanning for him, pudgy hands waving, demanding.