Kitobni o'qish: «Alice in Zombieland / Алиса в Стране зомби»

© Willie Banks, рукопись, 2025

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2025

ONE
A Most Unusual Afternoon

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the field where Alice reclined beside her sister. A pressed flower journal lay open in her lap, its pages filled with poorly labeled blooms, but her gaze wandered to the meadow's edge, where wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze. Her sister's voice droned on – something about self-discipline and obedience – but Alice paid no heed. She sighed, propping her chin in her hand, and let her thoughts drift.

A whisper, faint and peculiar, tickled her ears. “Oh dear… oh my ears and whiskers… if only someone could help…”

Alice sat up, her brow furrowing. The voice wasn't her sister's, and it certainly wasn't the wind. She scanned the field, and there, just at the tree line, she saw him – a white rabbit, dressed impeccably in a waistcoat and clutching a gleaming pocket watch. His fur, though snowy at first glance, was strangely uneven, with faint patches of discoloration that reminded her of mildew or ash. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself in a voice that sounded both urgent and hollow, his movements hurried yet oddly stiff, as though one leg resisted bending altogether.

Alice's gaze fixed on the distant figure of the Rabbit, his peculiar attire and pacing captivating her more than any of the eerie old tales her granny used to whisper about talking animals and cursed woods. “Did you see that?” she asked her sister.

Her sister barely glanced up from her book. “See what, Alice?”

But Alice was already stepping away, her attention fixed on the Rabbit. As she moved closer, she noticed more peculiarities. His glassy eyes reflected the sunlight unnaturally, almost as if they belonged to a doll. His waistcoat, though finely tailored, was frayed at the edges, with faint stains she couldn't quite identify.

The Rabbit stopped his pacing and turned toward her, his gaze locking onto hers. For a moment, he looked desperate, as though he'd been waiting for her all along. Then, with a sharp jerk of his head, he muttered, “No time to waste, no time at all,” and began hobbling toward a hollow tree at the meadow's edge.

As he hurried forward with uneven steps, something shiny slipped from his pocket and landed in the grass, unnoticed by the Rabbit in his haste. Alice knelt and picked it up: a pocket watch. The glass face was cracked, and the hands ticked erratically, spinning forward and backward as though unable to decide the time. Inside the casing, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection, but it wasn't quite right. Her face appeared slightly distorted, her eyes wide and glassy, and the image seemed to shift unnaturally before snapping back to normal. Alice shook her head.

“Wait!” she called, clutching the watch. The Rabbit paused at the base of the hollow tree and glanced back at her, his glassy eyes catching the light again. He extended his hand toward her, not with the politeness of a request but with the expectation of someone who knew he would be obeyed.

“You'd better hurry, miss,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “There isn't much time.”

Without waiting for a response, he disappeared into the hollow tree. Alice hesitated, the pocket watch ticking madly in her hand. The sound was unnervingly loud, each tick resonating deep within her chest, almost as if it matched the rhythm of her own heartbeat. It was hypnotizing, pulling her focus entirely, and for a moment, she couldn't tell if she was still in the meadow or somewhere else. Her sister's voice called faintly from the distance, but it sounded so far away now, so unimportant.

The hollow tree loomed before her, dark and inviting. She felt a pull, not just of curiosity but something deeper, something she couldn't quite name. And so, clutching the Rabbit's peculiar watch, Alice stepped forward and crawled into the tree.

At first, the hollow seemed like a simple tunnel, but then the ground gave way, and Alice was falling. She let out a gasp as the sensation of weightlessness consumed her. Down and down she went and, as she fell, the walls around her seemed to blur and warp, as though the hollow was stretching into infinity. Objects floated past her, some familiar and others utterly bizarre: a child's toy horse that galloped in mid-air, a picture frame displaying a couple she didn't recognize, and a silver bell that chimed without sound. Alice reached out instinctively toward a leather-bound book, its cover etched with shifting golden symbols. When she opened it, the pages were completely blank, as if waiting for words that had long been forgotten. The emptiness sent a shiver down her spine, and she quickly let it go, watching as it floated out of reach.

The descent seemed endless, the sensation of falling both exhilarating and terrifying. Every so often, she thought she saw shapes moving in the shadows – tall, spindly figures with glowing eyes watching her silently. She shook her head, trying to convince herself it was a trick of her imagination. Yet, the deeper she fell, the more the world around her seemed to hum with a strange, otherworldly energy, pulling her ever downward.

She thought of her sister – not as she was now, sitting calmly with her book in the meadow, but as she had been back when they used to play together. The two of them clasping hands and spinning in circles under the sun, dizzy with laughter. They'd let go all at once and fall into the grass, giggling and breathless, the world still spinning around them. Now she was falling too, yet endlessly, hopelessly. Why did falling always go down, anyway? Never up, never sideways. Always down-down-down, like the sand in a clock. Maybe she was the sand. Or a speck of it. A grain tumbling through a world that didn't bother to catch her.

She liked the clocks that ticked more. She remembered one in their sitting room – how calm it used to make her feel, the soft, orderly rhythm of it while Dinah purred and the fire snapped. But not this watch. No, this one in her hand ticked like it didn't know what it wanted. Its hands spun unevenly, as though they couldn't decide if time was coming or going. It was trying to trick her, maybe. Or it was broken. Or it was laughing.