"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

garage. If stalkers could get their hands on a map like that ... but it
wouldn't be of great use at night when the stars look down on your ass and
it's so dark you can't even see your own hands.
Tender made his entrance. He was red and out of breath. His daughter
was sick and he had gone for the doctor. Apologized for being late. Well, we
gave him his little present: we're off into the Zone. He even stopped
puffing and wheezing at first, he was so scared. "What do you mean the
Zone?" he asked. "And why me?" However, talk of a double bonus and the fact
that Red Schuhart was going too got him breathing again.
So we went down to the "boudoir" and Kirill went for the passes. We
showed them to another sergeant, who handed us special outfits. Now they are
handy things. Just dye them any other color than their original red, and any
stalker would gladly pay 500 for one without blinking an eye. I swore a long
time ago that one of these days I would figure out a way to swipe one. At
first glance it didn't seem like anything special, just an outfit like a
diving suit with a bubble-top helmet with a visor. Not really like a
diver's--more like a jet pilot's or an astronaut's. It was light,
comfortable, without binding any where, and you didn't sweat in it. In a
little suit like that you could go through fire, and gas couldn't penetrate
it. They say even a bullet can't get through. Of course, fire and mustard
gases and bullets are all earthly human things. Nothing like that exists in
the Zone and there is no need to fear things like that in the Zone. And
anyway, to tell the truth, people drop like flies in the special suits too.
It's another matter that maybe many many more would die without the suits.
The suits are too percent protection against the burning fluff, for example,
and against the spitting devil's cabbage.... All right.
We pulled on the special suits. I poured the nuts and bolts from the
bag into my hip pocket, and we trekked across the institute yard to the Zone
entrance. That's the routine they have here, so that everyone will see the
heroes of science laying down their lives on the altar of humanity,
knowledge, and the holy ghost. Amen. And sure enough--all the way up to the
fifteenth floor sympathetic faces watched us off. All we lacked were waving
hankies and an orchestra.
"Hup two," I said to Tender. "Suck in your gut, you flabby platoon! A
grateful mankind will never forget you!"
He looked at me and I saw that he was in no shape for joking around And
he was right, this was no time for jokes. But when you're going out into the
Zone you can either cry or joke--and I never cried, even as a child. I
looked at Kirill. He was holding up under the strain, but was moving his
lips, like he was praying.
"Praying?" I asked. "Pray on, pray. The further into the Zone the
nearer to Heaven."
"What?"
"Pray!" I shouted. "Stalkers go to the head of the line into Heaven."
He broke out in a smile and patted me on the back, as if to say don't
be afraid, nothing will happen as long as you're with me, and if it does,
well, we only die once. He sure is a funny guy, honest to God.
We turned in our passes to the last sergeant, only this time, for a
change of pace, it was a lieutenant. I know him, his father sells grave
borders in Rexopolis. The flying boot was waiting for us, brought by the