Читать книгу Clash of the Worlds - Ned Vizzini - Страница 32

The three Walker children and the Storm King spilled into the empty attic of Kristoff House, sloshing inside a tidal wave of warm and smelly Fat Jagger spit. They slid across the wooden floor like freshly caught fish being dumped on to a dock.

Eleanor climbed to her feet, slipped a few times, and then rushed over to the attic window. She watched in horror as Fat Jagger slumped over on to the driveway.

“He’s dead!” Eleanor screamed. “They killed Fat Jagger!”

Guilt and grief ripped into her heart, as she realised that his death was on her hands. She was the one who insisted that they summon Fat Jagger that night. It was her idea to bring him to the surface. He had been safe and sound inside the bay, and now he was dead, and it was all her fault.

Her plan was mostly forgotten now, washed away by an overwhelming sense of sorrow. Eleanor fell to her knees and sobbed, crying harder than she had since she was two years old.

She looked over at Cordelia for support, but saw that her sister was just as distraught by the death of their friend as she was. Brendan, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content.

He was chewing on a pigeon.

“Brendan, get that out of your mouth,” Cordelia commanded.

Zombie Brendan looked up, opened his mouth, and the pigeon escaped, flying away through the hole in the roof.

Eleanor probably would have stayed there crying, unable to move, right up until the moment the National Guard soldiers (who were currently breaking down the front door) rushed upstairs to find them. But her sister’s chilling scream brought Eleanor rushing back to reality.