End Program. James Axler

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Nine

      “The food here is so terribly bland, do you not agree?” Doc asked as he blew on a spoonful of soup to cool it.

      Doc was sitting at a beech wood table in a large room whose panoramic windows overlooked the river and the hydroelectric dam stretching across it like a stone cutlass. Across from him, Mildred, J.B. and Ricky sat eating from their own bowls of soup while Jak sat a space down from Doc, mopping his bowl with a bread roll from the pile that dominated the center of the table. Tasty or not, Jak ate the meal with gusto.

      Around the room, several other groups were eating. They were locals, dressed in plain overalls and coverings in muted colors, whites and pastels. They ate quietly in ones and twos, and mostly in silence.

      “I haven’t paid it much mind,” J.B. admitted distractedly. He had heard the argument before; they all had. The old man was nothing if not consistent.

      J.B. was gazing down at the dam and the two people who stood close to its edge on the raised river banks. Krysty was easily recognizable even from this distance with her vivid red hair, while Ryan’s huge frame made him easy enough to spot if you knew what you were looking for.

      “I have spoken to the chefs de cuisine about adding salt, spices and so on, but they seem ignorant of the whole concept of seasoning,” Doc espoused. “Alas it seems that humankind’s culinary knowledge has been forgotten along with so much else in these terrible times.”

      “Food is food, and free food tastes that much better,” J.B. said, his eyes flicking up to the white-haired old man over the rims of his glasses. “At least we didn’t have to hunt and chill anything to get this, and that’s a definite appetizer in my book.”

      “Quite,” Doc acknowledged, nodding.

      Mildred tore a chunk from a bread roll and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I’ve had worse,” she admitted. “Rat meat, leafy stew, boot—” She stopped abruptly, remembering the horrific moments when she had almost become a cannibal. Ryan had secretly promised to chill her then, if that’s what was needed, and so she had trusted him with her life until she could be cured. “I’ve had worse,” she finished lamely.

      Laughing, Ricky reached for another roll. “It won’t ever taste as good as my mama’s cooking,” he said, “but I’ll take it if it’s free.” Then he took a second roll and a third, and began juggling them with casual dexterity. “Anyone else want a roll?” he asked.

      Jak and J.B. told Ricky that they did, and both found themselves the recipients of juggled rolls that landed perfectly on their respective plates.

      “With an arm like that, he should have played baseball,” Mildred said, shaking her head.

      “Mayhap one day,” Doc told her, “when all of this horror is past.”

      J.B. chewed a corner of his roll thoughtfully and glanced back to the window. Ryan and Krysty could be seen there making their way gradually back up the paved street. “You think Ryan’s going to be okay?” he asked Mildred.

      “He’s got a new eye,” Mildred reasoned. “That’s going to take some getting used to. But it can only be beneficial for him, and for us too.”

      “I don’t know,” the Armorer said. “Ryan’s done pretty okay by us with just one eye. There hasn’t been an occasion I can think of where I’ve regretted the loss of his eye. Can you?”

      Doc and Jak shook their heads, while Mildred verbally agreed.

      “I have not known Ryan very long,” Ricky admitted, “but the man is a crack shot with his blasters. I never gave much thought to what it must be like for him, living with one eye.”

      “It messes with your depth perception,” Mildred told Ricky and the others, “but Ryan compensates well. He’s had a lot of time to get used to living like that. I just hope this new eye doesn’t throw off his rhythms.”

      “Ryan Cawdor is a survivor,” Doc reminded them all. “He will always win through. I suggest we accept the outcome of this visit—his new eye—as propitious and do not look the proverbial given horse in its mouth.”

      * * *

      OUTSIDE, RYAN HAD expressed feeling tired and so Krysty walked with him slowly back to the medical facility.

      “Any idea how many people live here?” Ryan asked, admiring the towers.

      “A hundred, maybe more,” Krysty told him.

      As they walked, Ryan assessed their surroundings. Everything looked newly built, even the street looked freshly paved, its stones shining a brilliant white. But here and there, Ryan spotted evidence of another world, the world before the nukecaust—a road sign, triangular metal on a pole that had been bent to one side; hints of the blacktop of an ancient road that had run along the same pattern as the streets.

      “I wonder what this place used to be?” Ryan said.

      Krysty pointed to a low building that ran crosswise to the others, poised at the end of the broad thoroughfare. It looked dirtier than the rest and older, despite some obvious attempts СКАЧАТЬ