Sachar: переводы

→Shane grabbed her by the arm, hauled her up, and pulled her along. Claire looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the biker guy, the one who’d been following them. Where had he—

→Her foot caught on something, and she toppled forward, hit the floor, and rolled. Shane’s flashlight bounced a ball of light toward her, lighting up scarred linoleum tile, stacks of leaning boxes…

→There were things on the stairs; Claire couldn’t see them very well, even in the glow of Shane’s flashlight, but they smelled dead, sickly rotten. She tried not to breathe, avoided the sticky puddles of dried—whatever that was, she couldn’t think of it as blood—and kept running up the steps. First landing, then another set of stairs, these clear except for some broken bottles she vaulted over.

→Claire didn’t think more than half the vampires had made it successfully across the sun-drenched parking lot, but those who’d been strong enough were inside now, and it was nice and dark for them. No contest.

→Shane waved to a big guy in black leather as they passed, and the three of them ran down the second-floor hallway. It was dark, filthy, and scary, but not as scary as the sounds coming from the lobby behind them. Shane had a flashlight, and he switched it on to pick out obstacles in the way—fallen IV stands, an abandoned, dust-covered wheelchair, a gurney tipped over on its side. “Faster,’” she gasped, because she heard a final crash from the lobby.

→Claire let him tow her along, and looked back over her shoulder to see the desks shuddering under the impact of bodies. They slid across the tile with another groan, and one of them cracked in half, drawers spilling out in a noisy clatter.

→“We’d better move,’” Shane said. “Come on.’”

→Behind them, the battering at the doors strengthened. The desks blocking access grated across the floor, one torturous inch at a time. She could see daylight spilling inside.

→It smelled like dead things—worse, it felt that way, like terrible things had been done here over the years. Claire was reminded of the Glass House, and the energy stored inside of it…. What kind of energy was stored here? And what had it come from? She shuddered even thinking about it.

→There was a clatter of metal off to the side, and Claire’s world gradually expanded past the miracle of seeing Shane again to take in the room where she stood. It was a big lobby, floored in scarred, ugly green plastic tile. What little furniture remained in the room was mostly bolted down, like the reception desk; the walls were black and furry with thick streaks of mold, and lights hung at odd angles overhead, clearly ready to fall at the slightest jolt. There was a creaky-looking second floor overlooking the lobby, and around it dented filing cabinets blocked the windows.

→“I heard you the first time,’” Oliver said mildly. “My, you do make friends in strange places, Claire. I suppose you’ll have to tell me all about that later.’” He raised his voice. “Time’s up! Claire Danvers, do you swear your life, your blood, and your service to me, now and for your lifetime, that I may command you in all things? Do say yes, my dear, because if you don’t, I’ll simply close my hand. It’s a very messy way to go. Takes minutes for you to choke to death, and Shane gets to watch the whole thing.’”

→Amelie didn’t seem to have much of a use for her, Claire reflected, but she didn’t argue about it. Couldn’t, in fact. Couldn’t do much of anything but stand on tiptoe, gag for each breath, and hope that somehow, she’d figure a way out of this stupid situation that she’d gotten herself into. Again.

→“Because Amelie has some use for you,’” he said. “And I am not accustomed to giving Amelie what she wants. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with history. But, sadly, I’m making it your problem. Cheer up; if your boyfriend swears on your behalf, I’ll keep him alive. Let you see him from time to time. Star-crossed lovers are so entertaining.’”

→The mayor looked more than just annoyed now, at this minor rebellion in the family ranks. “Son, I know that you may feel some gratitude toward these girls, but—’”

→From the glare he threw Eve, the mayor really didn’t find that funny. “If you hadn’t put them in danger in the first place, none of this would have happened,’” he said. “Consider yourselves lucky that I don’t toss you in jail for aiding and abetting a vampire hunter. Now, if you want my advice, go home.’” He kissed his daughter’s filthy hair. “Come on, princess.’”

→It did sound stupid, when he put it that way. She drank her water silently, wiping sweat from her forehead and then grimacing at the sooty mess.

→Michael nodded and gulped some down. Claire cracked her own bottle and swallowed, nearly moaning in ecstasy. Nothing had ever tasted so good in Claire’s entire life as that lukewarm, flat water washing away the smoke from her throat.

→When Richard got out, as well, the policewoman gulped. “Jesus. Sorry, sir. Hang on, I’ll get someone here.’” The policewoman got on her radio and passed on information; while they waited, she passed out bottled water from her squad car. Claire took two bottles and ducked back into the patrol car’s backseat, where Michael was sitting, eyes shut tight. He stirred and looked at her when she called his name. He didn’t look good—paper pale, burned in places, and apparently sick, too. She handed him the water. “I don’t know if it’ll help, but…?’”

→Founder’s Square was insane. Richard had to stop the car almost a block away, just outside of a cordon of police cars with flashing lights. Claire got out and had another coughing fit, bad enough that Eve patted her nervously on the back and did the talking for her to the grim-faced uniformed policewoman standing guard at the barricade. “We need to see Mayor Morrell,’” she said.

→Claire rolled painfully to her feet. There were burned patches in her clothes, and she smelled burned hair, too. She was going to hurt later, but for now, she was just glad to be alive.