Мгла
The Coming of the Mist.
Onthepudgylittlefingerofhislefthandwasastar-sapphirering.TheFebruarybefore,hewonsomemoneyinthestatelottery.Heboughttheringoutofhiswinnings.IalwayshadtheideathatOlliewasalittleafraidofgirls.
"Idon’tdigthis,"hesaid.
"No.Billy,Ihavetoputyoudown.I’llholdyourhand,butyou’rebreakingmyarms,okay?"
"Mommy,"hewhispered.
"She’sokay,"Itoldhim.Itwassomethingtosay.
TheoldgeezerwhorunsthesecondhandshopnearJon’sRestaurantwalkedpastus,bundledintotheoldcollegiateletter-sweaterhewearsyear-round.Hesaidloudly:"It’soneofthosepollutionclouds.ThemillsatRumfordandSouthParis.Chemicals."Withthat,hemadeoffuptheAisle4,pastthepatentmedicinesandtoiletpaper.
"Let’sgetoutofhere,David,"Nortonsaidwithnoconvictionatall."Whatdoyousaywe-"
Therewasathud.Anodd,twistingthudthatIfeltmostlyinmyfeet,asiftheentirebuildinghadsuddenlydroppedthreefeet.Severalpeoplecriedoutinfearandsurprise.Therewasamusicaljingleofbottlesleaningofftheirshelvesanddestroyingthemselvesuponthetilefloor.Achunkofglassshapedlikeapiewedgefelloutofoneofthesegmentsofthewidefrontwindow,andIsawthatthewoodenframesbandingtheheavysectionsofglasshadbuckledandsplinteredinsomeplaces.
Thefirewhistlestoppedinmid-whoop.
Thequietthatfollowedwasthebatedsilenceof-peoplewaitingforsomethingelse,somethingmore.Iwasshockedandnumb,andmymindmadeastrangecross-patchconnectionwiththepast.
