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- Ричард Морган
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The
screaming
runs
on
and
on
,
higher
and
louder
than
I
ever
believed
a
human
throat
could
render
,
shredding
my
hearing
.
Traceries
of
red
streak
across
my
vision
.
Innenininennininennin
…
Jimmy
de
Soto
staggers
into
view
,
Sunjet
gone
,
gory
hands
plastered
to
his
face
.
The
shrieks
peel
out
from
his
stumbling
figure
,
and
for
a
moment
I
can
almost
believe
it
’
s
his
contamination
alarm
that
’
s
making
the
noise
.
I
check
my
own
shoulder
meter
reflexively
,
then
the
half
-
submerged
edge
of
an
intelligible
word
rises
through
the
agony
and
I
know
it
’
s
him
.
He
is
standing
almost
upright
,
a
clearcut
sniper
target
even
in
the
chaos
of
the
bombardment
.
I
throw
myself
across
the
open
ground
and
knock
him
into
the
cover
of
a
ruined
wall
.
When
I
roll
him
onto
his
back
to
see
what
’
s
happened
to
his
face
,
he
’
s
still
screaming
.
I
pull
his
hands
away
from
his
face
by
main
force
and
the
raw
socket
of
his
left
eye
gapes
up
at
me
in
the
murk
.
I
can
still
see
fragments
of
the
eye
’
s
mucous
casing
on
his
fingers
.
"
Jimmy
,
JIMMY
,
what
the
fuck
…
"
The
screaming
sandpapers
on
and
on
.
It
’
s
taking
all
my
strength
to
prevent
him
going
back
for
the
other
undamaged
eye
as
it
wallows
in
its
socket
.
My
spine
goes
cold
as
I
realise
what
’
s
happening
.
Viral
strike
.
I
stop
yelling
at
Jimmy
and
bawl
down
the
line
.
"
Medic
!
Medic
!
Stack
down
!
Viral
strike
!
"
And
the
world
caves
in
as
I
hear
my
own
cries
echoed
up
and
dawn
the
Innenin
beachhead
.
