"Stephen King. The Girl who loved Tom Gordon." - читать интересную книгу автора

through the big old west-country pines, she could hear the squawk of a jay
and the far-off hammering of a woodpecker digging his midmorning snack out
of a hollow tree, she could hear a couple of freshly arrived mosquitoes
(they were buzzing around both ears now), but no human voices. It was as if
she were the only person in all these big woods, and although that was
ridiculous, the minnow fluttered in that hollow place once more. A little
more strongly this time.
Trisha started walking forward again, faster now, wanting to get to
the trail, wanting the relief of the trail. She came to a great fallen
tree, too high to climb over, and decided to wriggle under it instead. She
knew the smart thing would be to go around, but what if she lost her
bearings?
You've already lost them, a voice in her head whispered -a terrible
cold voice.
"Shut up, I have not, you shut up," she whispered back, and dropped to
her knees. There was a hollow running beneath one section of the moss-caked
old trunk, and Trisha squirmed into it. The leaves lining it were wet, but
by the time she realized this the front of her shirt was already soaked
through and she decided it didn't matter. She wriggled further and her pack
hit the trunk of the tree-thump.
"Damn and blast!" she whispered (damn and blast was her and Pepsi's
current favorite swear-it sounded so English country-house, somehow) and
backed up. She got to her knees, brushed clinging damp leaves from her
shirt, and noticed as she did that her fingers were trembling.
"I'm not scared," she said, speaking out loud on purpose because the
sound of her voice whispering was freaking her out a little. "Not scared a
bit. The trail's right there. I'll be on it in five minutes, and running to
catch up." She took off her pack and, pushing it ahead of her, began to
crawl under the tree again.
Halfway out, something moved under her. She looked down and saw a fat
black snake slithering through the leaves. For a moment every thought in
her mind disappeared into a silent white explosion of revulsion and horror.
Her skin turned to ice and her throat closed. She could not even think the
single word snake but only feel it, coldly pulsing under her warm hand.
Trisha shrieked and tried to bolt to her feet, forgetting that she wasn't
yet in the clear. A stump of branch thick as an amputated forearm poked
agonizingly into the small of her back. She went flat on her stomach again
and wriggled out from under the tree as fast as she could, probably looking
a bit like a snake herself.
The nasty thing was gone, but her terror lingered. It had been right
under her hand, hidden in the dead leaves and right under her hand.
Evidently not a biter, thank God. But what if there were more? What if they
were poisonous? What if the woods were full of them? And of course they
were, the woods were full of everything you didn't like, everything you
were afraid of and instinctively loathed, everything that tried to
overwhelm you with nasty, no-brain panic. Why had she ever agreed to come?
Not only agreed but agreed cheerfully?
She snagged the strap of her pack in one hand and hurried on with it
banging against her leg, casting mistrustful looks back at the fallen tree
and the leafy spaces between the standing ones, afraid of seeing the snake,