Мгла
The End.
Theywereinmyjeanspocket;theyhadgottenclownunderthecoins,askeyssometimeswill.TheScoutstartedeasily.Attheconfidentroaroftheengine,Amandaburstintofreshtears.
Isatthere,lettingitidle,waitingtoseewhatwasgoingtobedrawnbythesoundoftheengineorthesmelloftheexhaust.Fiveminutes,thelongestfiveofmylife,driftedby.Nothinghappened.
"Arewegoingtosithereorarewegoingtogo?"Mrs.Reppleraskedatlast.
"Go,"Isaid.Ibackedoutoftheslotandputonthelowbeams.
Someurge-probablyabaseone-mademecruisepasttheFederalmarketascloseasIcouldget.TheScout’srightbumperhuntedthetrashbarreltooneside.Itwasimpossibletoseeinexceptthroughtheloopholes-allthosefertilizerandlawn-foodbagsmadetheplacelookasifitwereinthethroesofsomemadgardensale-butateachloopholethereweretwoorthreepalefaces,staringoutatus.
ThenIswungtotheleft,andthemistclosedimpenetrablybehindus.AndwhathasbecomeofthosepeopleIdonotknow.
IdrovebackdownKansasRoadatfivemilesanhour,feelingmyway.EvenwiththeScout’sheadlightsandrunninglightson,itwasimpossibletoseemorethansevenortenfeetahead.
Theearthhadbeenthroughsometerriblecontortion;Millerhadbeenrightaboutthat.Inplacestheroadwasmerelycracked,butinothersthegrounditselfseemedtohavecavedin,tiltingupgreatslabsofpaving.Iwasabletogetoverwiththehelpofthefour-wheeldrive.ThankGodforthat.
