Мгла
The Storage Area. Problems with the Generators. What Happened to the Bag-Boy.
Theydidn’twantanymorebadnews,anythingelsefrighteningoroff-kilter.Therewasenoughofthatalready.OnlyOllielookedasifhebelieved"Let’sgoinandstartherupagain,"thebag-boysaid,handingouttheflashlights.Ollietookhisdoubtfully.Thebag-boyofferedmeone,aslightlycontemptuousshineinhiseyes.Hewasmaybeeighteen.Afteramoment’sthought,Itookthelight.IstillneededsomethingtocoverBillywith.
Ollieopenedthedoorsandchockedthem,lettinginsomelight.Thebleachcartonslayscatteredaroundthehalf-opendoorintheplywoodpartition.
ThefellownamedJimsniffedandsaid,"Smellsprettyrank,allright.Guessyouwasrighttoshutherdown."
Theflashlightbeamsbobbedanddancedacrosscartonsofcannedgoods,toiletpaper,dogfood.Thebeamsweresmokyinthedriftingfumestheblockedexhausthadturnedbackintothestoragearea.Thebag-boytrainedhislightbrieflyonthewideloadingdoorattheextremeright.
ThetwomenandOlliewentinsidethegeneratorcompartment.Theirlightsflasheduneasilybackandforth,remindingmeofsomethingoutofaboys’adventurestory-andIillustratedaseriesofthemwhileIwasstillincollege.Piratesburyingtheirbloodygoldatmidnight,ormaybethemaddoctorandhisassistantsnatchingabody.Shadows,madetwistedandmonstrousbytheshifting,conflictingflashlightbeams,bobbedonthewalls.Thegeneratortickedirregularlyasitcooled.
Thebag-boywaswalkingtowardtheloadingdoor,flashinghislightaheadofhim.
