"Michael Z. Williamson - The Humans Call it Duty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

where it was dangerous, if Var was looking. He wasn’t.

Jaime was just turning, not from suspicion, but from fear of the woods. Cap
caught him on the back of the neck and bit, hard. A swiping pawful of claws tore his
throat out and quieted him to a wet, breathy sound, and he dragged the body up the
slope and into the dip.

A shout, a cough of a Gun, and a Bullet cracked past his ear, like a rotten
bluemaple branch snapping. Cap knew what Bullets were, and flinched. He ran as
fast as he could, hampered by the limp weight of his kill, and felt a sting in his tail.
There were other shouts and shots, but none came close, and he ran until his legs
and lungs were on fire. He crawled under a featherfern and pulled the corpse in with
him, then opened his mouth wide to quiet his heaving breaths and listened for
pursuit.

Three.

The Enemy was shouting now, scared. They hadn’t followed him because
they were consumed with their own fear, their fear of him. Cap knew what pleasure
was, and that was pleasure. He took a look at his tail, and found some short length
had been shot away by the stray Bullet.

It stung badly, and throbbed. He would accept it. He had the Comm, and had
done what his friends wanted.
 “Jaime has the rebel comm!” one Enemy shouted.

“You make it sound like it chose him on purpose. We’ll find it during the day.
We have a sensorpack,” Sergeant replied.

“I tell you that cat thing is hunting us, and knows exactly what it’s doing!”
was the response.

“And I tell you it’s a dumb animal. It’s been hit, look. Here’s a blood trail.
Grab your gear and we’ll follow it.”

“Are you insane?”

The voices became confused. Cap didn’t understand the words, but the fear
was clear. They would look for him, but not yet. Not until it was light. Very well. He
could hunt in light, too. Rising, he dragged the body further away. They might follow
this trail, and he had to confuse it.

The creek was refreshing and cool, and he followed it upstream for some
distance, splashing softly in the rippling pebbled shallows. He dragged his burden up
a rocky shelf, back into the woods, and found a good spot, near some firethorns.
No one went near firethorns. They would spring and sting their prey with a painful
bite. He checked again to make sure the Comm was still in Jaime’s harness. It was.
The fabric was too tough for him to tear, but he yanked at the straps with his fangs
until he was able to wiggle it out. He paused, turned to the body and ate noisily and
quickly, until he knew to stop. If he filled up, he would be unable to hunt. He tore