such advertising–either one, or another variant of it...
And now go and look at other side of the billboard.
"What for?" Tony objected to himself. He knew, yes, knew already that it was the same picture which he had seen approaching the stop. Because anything else is simply impossible. So, there is no need, absolutely no need to look there. Only he will not wait for the bus at this stop. (Tony once again looked askance at the wheelchair.) No, he will not.
He wiped his hand against a glass wall. Despite the dark ness, long traces of bloodstained fingers appeared quite distinctly. And now he noticed that they were not the first on this wall. And it was unlikely that all his predecessors simply wiped soiled hands. Some, seemingly, limply fell with bloody palms against the bus stop wall, and some vainly tried to catch hold of smooth glass when they were dragged...
"Perhaps, it is just ordinary paint," Tony told himself. "Local guys having fun..." Nevertheless, he quickly walked farther along the street without looking back. The bus still could come from ahead–if indeed there was one-way traffic and if the M13 bus operated at night...
"That's the wrong question," a malicious internal voice noted. "Certainly it operates at night. The question is whether this bus operates in the daytime..."
Ahead in the gloom two shining eyes appeared. Yellow. Round. Unblinking.
"Headlights," Tony told himself. "This must be the bus. But it stops only at bus stops."
But one could not say that Logan regretted it. To tell the truth, with each second he desired even less to meet this bus, whether it intended to stop or not. Partly because again he did not hear any engine noise. And also because he could not even dis cern a silhouette. The headlights–if they were headlights–were approaching absolutely silently.
Tony understood that if he turned back and ran, this thing would overtake him somewhere right near the stop. But ahead one more crossroads loomed. If he managed to get there first, he would have a chance to turn...
But he still did not run. He yet remained too sane a person to run away from a bus. He just quickened his pace. Even so, the headlights neared not as quickly as could be expected of a bus. But also not so slowly as he would like.
As he walked closer, he felt he wouldn't be in time to reach the crossroads.
"What nonsense," he told himself, "this just a bus, or, well, maybe, some other vehicle... And even if there are any nasty guys inside, they hardly have any business with me..." But at the same time, another voice in his brain named an absolutely different reason not to run: he should not show that thing that he is afraid.
Now he discerned a vague silhouette in the darkness and fog. It really seemed to be the bus. Without any light, except the headlights–without even a route indicator in front. And still ap proaching completely silently, without even a garbage rustle under its wheels.
Only several yards remained to the crossroads. And only a few more–to the bus. Tony broke down and ran.
They reached the crossroads simultaneously. Logan jerkily darted round the corner, quickly moving to the left. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the long dark frame (unlike usual New York buses, this one obviously was not white), square holes of black windows, dimly glowing symbols "M13" on one side, and lower–an inscription along the side: "ARE YOU FREE FROM SIN?" The bus was so close that Tony felt a wave of warm air coming from it. For a moment Logan was certain that the irreparable had happened, he had given himself away, and now this thing would turn and pick up his trail...
No. It just passed by. Of course, it is simply a bus follow ing its route, and it is silly to addle his brain with any nonsense... Curiously enough, the stern inscription on the side of the bus convinced him more than anything else: it was simply an advertising of some religious organization. Tony had seen it several times in the daylight, in a
And now go and look at other side of the billboard.
"What for?" Tony objected to himself. He knew, yes, knew already that it was the same picture which he had seen approaching the stop. Because anything else is simply impossible. So, there is no need, absolutely no need to look there. Only he will not wait for the bus at this stop. (Tony once again looked askance at the wheelchair.) No, he will not.
He wiped his hand against a glass wall. Despite the dark ness, long traces of bloodstained fingers appeared quite distinctly. And now he noticed that they were not the first on this wall. And it was unlikely that all his predecessors simply wiped soiled hands. Some, seemingly, limply fell with bloody palms against the bus stop wall, and some vainly tried to catch hold of smooth glass when they were dragged...
"Perhaps, it is just ordinary paint," Tony told himself. "Local guys having fun..." Nevertheless, he quickly walked farther along the street without looking back. The bus still could come from ahead–if indeed there was one-way traffic and if the M13 bus operated at night...
"That's the wrong question," a malicious internal voice noted. "Certainly it operates at night. The question is whether this bus operates in the daytime..."
Ahead in the gloom two shining eyes appeared. Yellow. Round. Unblinking.
"Headlights," Tony told himself. "This must be the bus. But it stops only at bus stops."
But one could not say that Logan regretted it. To tell the truth, with each second he desired even less to meet this bus, whether it intended to stop or not. Partly because again he did not hear any engine noise. And also because he could not even dis cern a silhouette. The headlights–if they were headlights–were approaching absolutely silently.
Tony understood that if he turned back and ran, this thing would overtake him somewhere right near the stop. But ahead one more crossroads loomed. If he managed to get there first, he would have a chance to turn...
But he still did not run. He yet remained too sane a person to run away from a bus. He just quickened his pace. Even so, the headlights neared not as quickly as could be expected of a bus. But also not so slowly as he would like.
As he walked closer, he felt he wouldn't be in time to reach the crossroads.
"What nonsense," he told himself, "this just a bus, or, well, maybe, some other vehicle... And even if there are any nasty guys inside, they hardly have any business with me..." But at the same time, another voice in his brain named an absolutely different reason not to run: he should not show that thing that he is afraid.
Now he discerned a vague silhouette in the darkness and fog. It really seemed to be the bus. Without any light, except the headlights–without even a route indicator in front. And still ap proaching completely silently, without even a garbage rustle under its wheels.
Only several yards remained to the crossroads. And only a few more–to the bus. Tony broke down and ran.
They reached the crossroads simultaneously. Logan jerkily darted round the corner, quickly moving to the left. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the long dark frame (unlike usual New York buses, this one obviously was not white), square holes of black windows, dimly glowing symbols "M13" on one side, and lower–an inscription along the side: "ARE YOU FREE FROM SIN?" The bus was so close that Tony felt a wave of warm air coming from it. For a moment Logan was certain that the irreparable had happened, he had given himself away, and now this thing would turn and pick up his trail...
No. It just passed by. Of course, it is simply a bus follow ing its route, and it is silly to addle his brain with any nonsense... Curiously enough, the stern inscription on the side of the bus convinced him more than anything else: it was simply an advertising of some religious organization. Tony had seen it several times in the daylight, in a
Similar Books
