D A Novel (George Right) - By George Right Page 0,54
an important role in these legends, too.
Greg felt in the snow his fallen eyeglasses and put them back on his nose. Then, having sat astride the belly of the dying enemy, he clasped the knife handle with both hands, raised them high over his head and plunged the knife into the naked breast. The body under him convulsively jerked and uttered one more rattling. The boy with an effort pulled out his knife and struck once again. And then again, and again, and again...
Then there were policemen running through snow, led by sergeant Jills; and two strangers in FBI jackets; and a doctor who hastily examined and palpated him right on the scene and clicked his tongue with astonishment, looking at the red-and-white corpse; and mum who nearly fainted and to whom several voices simultaneously hastily explained that the boy was unscathed and all this blood was not his; and some guys with a microphone and a videocam at whom all others shouted and tried to banish them, while they shouted back about the right of Americans to the information...
Blood was cleaned off Greg (at least as much as possible on the first try ), and they embraced him, squeezed, tapped on his shoulder, shook his hands and all the time spoke, saying that everything was OK, that everything would be OK now, that he was a good brave boy, that he had done perfectly well and that he shouldn't blame himself for the death of this man because he was a very-very bad man who had killed many children already...
Gregory Prime didn't listen to all this chatter. He understood the main thing–the real Santa Claus does not exist and so harmony returned to his soul at last. The pleasant feeling of this harmony was only amplified by two circumstances. First, his plane, his battle trophy, which miraculously wasn't harmed during the fight–and whatever one may say, the bomber was excellent. And secondly, while lovingly moving his finger on its wings and fuselage, he continued recalling how warm blood fountained from his enemy's throat, how his groans choked with rattle, how the knife elastically stuck into the hated body and how it, clamped by Greg's legs, convulsed under the blows...
Fake Santa was right–he liked it.
Oh yes, he really liked it.
CAVE OF HORROR
“A carnival is in town,” joyfully exclaimed Jane.
Mike received this news without any enthusiasm. Even in his childhood he hadn't been a fan of carnival rides, especially those that fling their passengers upside down, back and forth, and in other bone-rattling directions. Once, when his classmates dared him to go for a spin on a roller coaster, he very painfully hit his tailbone in the bottom point of the trajectory. There were, of course, calmer rides but Mike found them just boring; actually, usually only little kids rode them. Even an early age he preferred playing board games or assembling model cars or airplanes to visiting an amusement park. All the more he didn't see any sense in visiting a carnival now, at his respectable age of twenty-two.
His girlfriend, alas, had the opposite point of view. And therefore, having indifferently muttered in reply, "So what?" Mike already knew perfectly well what was coming next.
"Let's go there Saturday!" Jane met his expectations.
"Maybe we could go to the movies instead?" Mike offered without any real hope.
"We always go to the movies. And besides, what's playing? Are they showing anything interesting this week?”
"I don't know. I haven't looked yet. Maybe something good is on.”
"I'm sure they're showing the same old junk. Mikey, don't be so boring! I want to go to the carnival! We can go to the movies anytime, but the carnival is here for only a little while.”
"Where are they from?”
"Dunno. From somewhere far away. They must have rides we've never been on!”
"Aha, that's it–'from far away.' These traveling carnivals are even worse than stationary amusement parks. In each new place they put together all these rides, then take them apart them again. As a result, at some point something becomes loose, a screw isn't tightened and... Last year the newspapers reported there was an accident on a ride in Connecticut. Three people were injured and about twenty more dangled on the very top for two hours, waiting until they could be rescued from there.”
"So what, traffic accidents happen much more often–does that mean we shouldn't drive cars?”
"If we don't go by car, we'll have to go on foot. But if we don't climb on some doubtful rotating machinery, we