Мгла
The End.
Ifwecangetgas-hereorfurtheralong-we’llkeepgoing.Ihaveadestinationinmindnow,yousee.It’sthatlastthingIwantedtotellyouabout.
Icouldn’tbesure.Thatisthething,thedamnedthing.Itmighthavebeenmyimagination,nothingbutwishfulfillment.Andevenifnot,itissuchalongchance.Howmanymiles?Howmanybridges?Howmanythingsthatwouldlovetotearupmysonandeathimevenashescreamedinterrorandagony?
ThechancesaresogoodthatitwasnothingbutadaydreamthatIhaven’ttoldtheothers...atleast,notyet.
Inthemanager’sapartmentIfoundalargebatteryoperatedmultibandradio.Fromthebackofit,aflatantennawireledoutthroughthewindow.Iturnediton,switchedovertoBAT.,fiddledwiththetuningdial,withtheSQUELCHknob,andstillgotnothingbutstatic-deadsilence.
Andthen,atthefarendoftheAMband,justasIwasreachingfortheknobtoturnitoff,IthoughtIheard,ordreamedIheard,onesingleword.
Therewasnomore.Ilistenedforanhour,buttherewasnomore.Iftherewasthatoneword,itcamethroughsomeminuteshiftinthedampingmist,aninfinitesimalbreakthatimmediatelyclosedagain.
Oneword.
I’vegottogetsomesleep...ifIcansleepandnotbehaunteduntildaybreakbythefacesofOllieWeeksandMrs.CarmodyandNormthebag-boy...andbySteff’sface,half-shadowedbythewidebrimofhersunhat.
Thereisarestauranthere,atypicalHoJorestaurantwithadiningroomandalong,horseshoe-shapedlunchcounter
