"George O. Smith - Highways in Hiding" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith George O)

people call Steve Cornell.

What I really wanted was to find Catherine.

And then it came to me that what I really wanted second of all was to possess a body of Mekstrom
Flesh, to be a physical superman....




I
I came up out of the blackness just enough to know that I was no longer pinned down by a couple of
tons of wrecked automobile. I floated on soft sheets with only a light blanket over me.

I hurt all over like a hundred and sixty pounds of boil. My right arm was numb and my left thigh was
aching. Breathing felt like being stabbed with rapiers and the skin of my face felt stretched tight. There
was a bandage over my eyes and the place was as quiet as the grave. But I knew that I was not in any
grave because my nose was working just barely well enough to register the unmistakable pungent odor
that only goes with hospitals.

I tried my sense of perception, but like any delicate and critical sense, perception was one of the first to
go. I could not dig out beyond a few inches. I could sense the bed and the white sheets and that was all.

Some brave soul had hauled me out of that crack-up before the fuel tank went up in the fire. I hope that
whoever he was, he'd had enough sense to haul Catherine out of the mess first. The thought of living
without Catherine was too dark to bear, and so I just let the blackness close down over me again
because it cut out all pain, both physical and mental.

The next time I awoke there was light and a pleasant male voice saying, “Steve Cornell. Steve, can you
hear me?”

I tried to answer but no sound came out. Not even a hoarse croak.

The voice went on, “Don't try to talk, Steve. Just think it.”

#Catherine?# I thought sharply, because most medicos are telepath, not perceptive.
“Catherine is all right,” he replied.

#Can I see her?#

“Lord no!” he said quickly. “You'd scare her half to death the way you look right now.”

#How bad off am I?#

“You're a mess, Steve. Broken ribs, compound fracture of the left tibia, broken humerus. Scars, mars,
abrasions, some flashburn and post-accident shock. And if you're interested, not a trace of Mekstrom's
Disease.”

#Mekstrom's Disease—?# was my thought of horror.