Атлант расправил плечи
The Concerto of Deliverance
Hehadtimetodistinguishwavingarms,somewithclubs,somewithcrowbars,somewithrifles—theyellowflamesofburningwoodgushingfromthewindowofthegatekeeper’soffice—thebluecracksofgunfiredartingoutofthemobandtheanswersspittingfromtheroofsofthestructures—hehadtimetoseeahumanfiguretwistingbackwardandfallingfromthetopofacar—thenhesenthiswheelsintoashriekingcurve,turningintothedarknessofasideroad.
Hewasgoingattherateofsixtymilesanhourdowntherutsofanunpavedsoil,towardtheeasterngateofthemills—andthegatewasinsightwhentheimpactoftiresonagullythrewthecarofftheroad,totheedgeofaravinewhereanancientslagheaplayatthebottom.Withtheweightofhischestandelbowonthewheel,pittedagainsttwotonsofspeedingmetal,thecurveofhisbodyforcedthecurveofthecartocompleteitsscreaminghalf-circle,sweepingitbackontotheroadandintothecontrolofhishands.Ithadtakenoneinstant,butinthenexthisfootwentdownonthebrake,tearingtheenginetoastop:forinthemomentwhenhisheadlightshadswepttheravine,hehadglimpsedanoblongshape,darkerthanthegrayoftheweedsontheslope,andithadseemedtohimthatabriefwhiteblurhadbeenahumanhandwavingforhelp.
