missLiR: переводы

→They’d placed Stalker in a different foster home, where he could do valuable work—therefore, they apprenticed him to the blacksmith—and Stalker said he didn’t mind learning how to make weapons and ammunition. Tegan stayed with Doc Tuttle and his wife; it was a long month while she fought infection. I stayed with her as much as I could, though after the first few days, they made me go to school. Three weeks ago, she joined us in the schoolhouse. In the afternoons, she assisted Doc with patients, cleaned his instruments, and generally made herself useful. As for Fade, he went to live with Mr. Jensen, the man who ran the stables, and he cared for creatures like the ones that towed Longshot’s wagon.

→Stalker glided down the ladder with the grace that made him such a phenomenal fighter at close range. We took every opportunity to keep our skills sharp because, deep down, I couldn’t believe the guns would last forever. Life down below had taught me to believe in nothing as much as my own abilities; Stalker’s upbringing in the Topside gangs had given him a similar philosophy.

→“Appreciate it.” Longshot kept his eyes fixed on the trees.

→Not for the first time, I envied the birds’ freedom. “Thanks. We’ll get out of your way before someone catches us here.”

→He always had the utmost patience for my questions, and this was no different. “Nightjar. They come for the summer before heading south again.”

→“What is that?” I asked Longshot.

→For some time, we listened to the gunfire, until the bell stopped tolling death. Gradually the night noises resumed—and that was another way you could tell Freaks had retreated. When all the animals went still and silent, an attack had to be imminent. Now the hush filled with the peculiar churring of a bird whose name I didn’t know.

→It was true … but here, physical strength didn’t matter. Neither did training. They wanted us to learn new roles and forget that we’d once led different lives. I found it tough, as I’d loved being a Huntress. Yet Salvation offered no similar role for girls; I couldn’t even wear my own clothes.

→Yes. You’re strong.

→I’d replied, You mean a Hunter?

→You, you’re like me.

→That was the only thing Salvation had in common with College, the enclave where I had been raised. Up here on the safety of the wall, my knives couldn’t do any damage, and I hated being useless. Stalker took no better to being cut out of the action. He had a valid point when he’d said, months ago:

→Then he took the second shot, so the other died beside the first. Afterward, Longshot rang the bell once, paused, and then once again, reporting his kills. The townsfolk had learned to sleep through the racket. This information was for the guards, so they could track how many bodies surrounded the town. In the morning, they would send an armed crew to drag away the corpses, far enough that if they attracted other Freaks, they could feed without the good folks of Salvation having to watch. I approved of the practice; fortunately, the people here didn’t have to be lectured on the importance of proper hygiene.

→Sometimes I’d rather go back down below.

→“Sometimes they sound like they have minds in their rotten heads,” he said, as if to himself.

→It’s a shadow, playing tricks.

→As I watched, the surviving Freak knelt beside its fallen friend and then shrieked as if we were the monsters. The sound echoed in the trees, full of grief and loathing. I glanced at Longshot, who was holding fire. The thing didn’t run, although it could have. Its eyes glittered in the lamplight, showing madness and hunger, certainly, but tonight I saw something more. Or thought I did.

→That didn’t clarify anything, but before I could ask, movement in the perimeter caught my eye. As two Freaks ran toward the wall, Longshot sighted with Old Girl and dropped the first. It didn’t seem sporting when the creatures had no ranged weapons, but most of the citizens here weren’t trained to fight, either. A breach in security would be disastrous.

→“Twelve or so,” he answered, raising his weapon. “It’s based on some kind of old military language, dots and dashes.”

→“How many signals are there?” I asked Longshot.