Мгла
The Storage Area. Problems with the Generators. What Happened to the Bag-Boy.
Butitwasn’tJim.ItwasOllie,hisroundfacedeadpale,exceptforthedarkcirclesaroundhiseyes-eyesthatwerestillshinyfromhistears."Don’t,David,"hesaid."Don’thithimanymore.Itdoesn’tsolveanything."
Jimwasstandingofftooneside,hisfaceabewilderedblank.Ikickedacartonofsomethingathim.ItstruckoneofhisDingobootsandbouncedaway.
"Youandyourbuddyareacoupleofstupidas**oles,"Isaid.
"Comeon,David,"Olliesaidunhappily."Quitit."
"Youtwoas**olesgotthatkidkilled."
JimlookeddownathisDingoboots.Myronsatonthefloorandheldhisbeerbelly.Iwasbreathinghard.ThebloodwasroaringinmyearsandIwastremblingallover.Isatdownonacoupleofcartonsandputmyheaddownbetweenmykneesandgrippedmylegshardjustabovetheankles.Isatthatwayforawhilewithmyhairinmyface,waitingtoseeifIwasgoingtoblackoutorpukeorwhat.
AfterabitthefeelingbegantopassandIlookedupatOllie.Hispinkyringflashedsubduedfireintheglowoftheemergencylights.
"Okay,"Isaiddully."I’mdone."
"Good,"Olliesaid."We’vegottothinkwhattodonext."
Thestorageareawasbeginningtostinkofexhaustagain."Shutthegeneratordown.That’sthefirstthing."
"’Yeah,let’sgetoutofhere,"Myronsaid.Hiseyesappealedtome."I’msorryaboutthekid.Butyougottounderstand-"
"Idon’tgottounderstandanything.Youandyourbuddygobackintothemarket,butyouwaitrighttherebythebeercooler.Anddon’tsayawordtoanybody.Notyet."
