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Death wore the seeming of a battered Chevrolet. The child's scream and the screech of rubber on concrete knifed through two seconds of time before snapping, like a celery stalk of sound, into aching silence. The silence of limbo, called into being for the space of a slow heartbeat. Then the thud of running feet, the rising hubbub of many voices. "Give her air!" "Keep back. Don't try to move her." "Somebody call an ambulance." "Yeah, and somebody call a cop, too." "I couldn't help it." It was the driver of the ramshackle Chevvie. "She fell off the curb right. | The Cuckoo Clock feedboo is The Cuckoo Clock Barefoot Wesley Published 1954 Categorie s Fiction Science Fiction Short Stories Source http www.gutenberg.org etext 29623 1 Copyright Please read the legal notice included in this e-book and or check the copyright status in your country. Note This book is brought to you by Feedbooks http www.feedbooks.com Strictly for personal use do not use this file for commercial purposes.
