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

Suddenly the lights went out. The transmission squealed, the engine
roared, and the blue and red signal lights showed through the shrubs. The
patrol car tore away, accelerated wildly, and raced toward town. It
disappeared behind the wall. Redrick gulped and unzipped his jump suit.
"They've gone away." Burbridge muttered feverishly. "Red, let's go.
Hurry!" We shifted around, felt for and found his bag, and tried to get up.
"Let's go, what are you waiting for?"
Redrick was still looking toward the road. It was dark now, and nothing
could be seen, but somewhere out there he was stalking, like an automaton,
stumbling, falling, bumping into crosses, getting tangled in the shrubs.
"All right," Red said out loud. "Let's go."
He lifted Burbridge. The old man clamped onto his neck with his left
hand. Redrick, unable to straighten up, crawled with him on all fours
through the hole in the wall, grabbing the wet grass.
"Let's go, let's go," Burbridge whispered hoarsely. "Don't worry, I've
got the swag, I won't let go. Come on!"
The path was familiar, but the wet grass was slippery, the ash branches
whipped him in the face, the bulky old man was unbearably heavy, like a
corpse, and the bag with the booty, clinking and clanging, kept getting
caught, and he was afraid of running into him, who could be anywhere in the
dark.
When they got out onto the highway, it was still dark, but you could
tell that dawn was coming. In the little wood across the road, birds were
making sleepy and uncertain noises, and the night gloom was turning blue
over the black houses in the distant suburbs. There was a chilly damp breeze
coming from there. Redrick put Burbridge on the shoulder of the road and
like a big black spider scuttled across the road. He quickly found the jeep,
swept off the branches from the hood and fenders, and drove out onto the
asphalt without turning on the headlights. Burbridge was there, holding the
bag in one hand and feeling his legs with the other.
"Hurry up! Hurry. My knees, I still have my knees. If only we could
save my knees!"
Redrick picked him up, and gritting his teeth from the strain, shoved
him over the side. Burbridge landed on the back seat and groaned. He hadn't
dropped the bag. Redrick picked up the lead- lined raincoat and covered him
with it. Burbridge had even managed to get the coat out.
Redrick took out a flashlight and checked the shoulder for tracks.
There weren't too many traces. The jeep had Battened some of the tall
grasses as it came onto the road, but the grass would stand up in a couple
of hours. There were an enormous number of butts around the spot where the
patrol car had parked. That reminded Redrick that he wanted a smoke. He lit
one up, even though what he wanted more was to get the hell out of there and
drive as fast as he could. But he couldn't do that yet. Everything had to be
done slowly and consciously.
"What's the matter?" Burbridge whined from the car. "You haven't
spilled the water, and the finishing gear is dry. What are you waiting for?
Come on, hide the swag!"
"Shut up! Don't bug me! We'll head for the southern suburbs."
"What suburbs? Are you crazy? You'll ruin my knees, you bastard! My
knees!"