policeman who got out of the car refuted this guarantee.
The top of his head was gone. The upper part of his skull had been blown away entirely, having left on its place a grinning hole, with everted edges of sharp bone shards to which shreds of hair were stuck. Lower down, whitish lumps of brain, similar to dead slugs, and black gore clots were caught in his remaining hair. The right eye had fallen somewhere inside the skull, leaving a dark pit in its place; the left eye had slid down the cheek and hung on it as a round drop spotted with bloody streaks, still held by a string of nerves stretched from the eye socket. From his nose something hung down like dense bloody snot–probably, also brain remnants. The upper jaw was broken up, and to the right, cracked teeth on bared gums stuck out from under a crooked upper lip. The lower jaw was intact, but powerlessly drooped and slightly rocked when the cop was moving. The chin was wholly covered in blood with small lumps stiffened in it.
But the uniform and the badge were in perfect order. At least, as much as it was possible to judge in the dark.
And the handle of a pistol–most likely the very same –stuck out from an unbuttoned holster.
"E-everything is all right, officer," Tony squeezed out of himself, moving back. But it was too late–the incarnate horror in an uniform stepped towards him. It moved quickly enough, con trary to zombies in movies.
And then the corpse started talking. It was not very good at it because of the condition of its jaws, so it had to help itself, propping up the lower lip with its left hand. Judging by how dex terously it managed to simulate an articulation, it already had had enough time to adapt to this manner of speech.
"You have the right to scream ," it said, putting its right hand on the holster. "And it can and will be used against you."
Having heard this version of the Miranda warning, Tony took one more step back. And at the very same time something cold and wet–he felt it even through his trouser leg–touched his leg from behind.
Tony shouted and jumped aside more than two yards; he had not known before that he was capable of such standing side jumps. But the landing was not so successful–under his foot was some slippery rubbish which caused Logan to fall to hands and one knee and tear his palms against the asphalt. In the next instant he understood that, stepping back, had simply bumped into a leaking fire hydrant. But he understood also something more important: the dead cop twisted his head around awkwardly, seemingly having lost his prey.
"His eye!" Despite the nightmarish situation, Logan's common sense nevertheless got into gear. "It isn't connected any more to the eye muscles, therefore, it can look only in one direction. And, to look around, it has to turn its head... or to turn its eye with its fingers..."
However the policeman, it seemed, had not figured out the last method of seeing and did not notice Tony on the ground. But Logan understood that this would grant him only a short respite. There was no place to hide on this street, so sooner or later this... this thing will manage to see him. And the farther Tony runs, the more likely he is to be seen. He did not know, of course, how ac curately the cop in his present condition could shoot... but he had no desire to test it.
Therefore Tony, with a heroic effort, overcame his in stinctive desire to get as far as possible from the cadaver. He rushed on all fours directly at it.
Several hours before, even in a ghastly dream, the idea of attacking a policeman would not have come to Logan's mind. But then even in a ghastly dream he could not imagine such a policeman... And no act in all his previous life had demanded even a tenth of such boldness–and not at all because it was necessary to overcome a taboo of a law-abiding citizen...
Tony had flung himself at the cop's boots (they were covered either with dirt or blood), still remaining out of its sight. And then he
The top of his head was gone. The upper part of his skull had been blown away entirely, having left on its place a grinning hole, with everted edges of sharp bone shards to which shreds of hair were stuck. Lower down, whitish lumps of brain, similar to dead slugs, and black gore clots were caught in his remaining hair. The right eye had fallen somewhere inside the skull, leaving a dark pit in its place; the left eye had slid down the cheek and hung on it as a round drop spotted with bloody streaks, still held by a string of nerves stretched from the eye socket. From his nose something hung down like dense bloody snot–probably, also brain remnants. The upper jaw was broken up, and to the right, cracked teeth on bared gums stuck out from under a crooked upper lip. The lower jaw was intact, but powerlessly drooped and slightly rocked when the cop was moving. The chin was wholly covered in blood with small lumps stiffened in it.
But the uniform and the badge were in perfect order. At least, as much as it was possible to judge in the dark.
And the handle of a pistol–most likely the very same –stuck out from an unbuttoned holster.
"E-everything is all right, officer," Tony squeezed out of himself, moving back. But it was too late–the incarnate horror in an uniform stepped towards him. It moved quickly enough, con trary to zombies in movies.
And then the corpse started talking. It was not very good at it because of the condition of its jaws, so it had to help itself, propping up the lower lip with its left hand. Judging by how dex terously it managed to simulate an articulation, it already had had enough time to adapt to this manner of speech.
"You have the right to scream ," it said, putting its right hand on the holster. "And it can and will be used against you."
Having heard this version of the Miranda warning, Tony took one more step back. And at the very same time something cold and wet–he felt it even through his trouser leg–touched his leg from behind.
Tony shouted and jumped aside more than two yards; he had not known before that he was capable of such standing side jumps. But the landing was not so successful–under his foot was some slippery rubbish which caused Logan to fall to hands and one knee and tear his palms against the asphalt. In the next instant he understood that, stepping back, had simply bumped into a leaking fire hydrant. But he understood also something more important: the dead cop twisted his head around awkwardly, seemingly having lost his prey.
"His eye!" Despite the nightmarish situation, Logan's common sense nevertheless got into gear. "It isn't connected any more to the eye muscles, therefore, it can look only in one direction. And, to look around, it has to turn its head... or to turn its eye with its fingers..."
However the policeman, it seemed, had not figured out the last method of seeing and did not notice Tony on the ground. But Logan understood that this would grant him only a short respite. There was no place to hide on this street, so sooner or later this... this thing will manage to see him. And the farther Tony runs, the more likely he is to be seen. He did not know, of course, how ac curately the cop in his present condition could shoot... but he had no desire to test it.
Therefore Tony, with a heroic effort, overcame his in stinctive desire to get as far as possible from the cadaver. He rushed on all fours directly at it.
Several hours before, even in a ghastly dream, the idea of attacking a policeman would not have come to Logan's mind. But then even in a ghastly dream he could not imagine such a policeman... And no act in all his previous life had demanded even a tenth of such boldness–and not at all because it was necessary to overcome a taboo of a law-abiding citizen...
Tony had flung himself at the cop's boots (they were covered either with dirt or blood), still remaining out of its sight. And then he
Similar Books
