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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

A burst of dog adrenaline. But I believe that when you crashed that police car I sustained an injury. Or perhaps it was a lucky shot from one of their guns. Yes, I believe I was hit. Now I seem to be fading out, like a candle in the wind. You’re going to have to take over, Jack. I know you can do it. You are our beacon of hope.

Take over what? Why do you need a beacon of hope? We saved the oceans, right? Gisco, I can’t work this thing.

Find a way. We’re running out of power. I always liked the song “We all live in a yellow submarine,” but I have no desire to die in one. Now I need to sleep.

Dog, don’t do this to me.

Gisco’s telepathic voice weakens. If I never wake, into the hands of the Great Dog God I commend my soul.

Gisco? You useless coward. Stop praying to the Great Dog God, get back up, and help me!

I grab him. Yuck. He’s covered in muck.

No, wait. That’s not slime. It’s warm and smells salty. It’s blood! Gisco really is seriously injured!

I stroke his head very gently. He’s out cold.

It’s dark and very quiet. I can hear his shallow canine respiration. Poor fellow.

I’m all alone. At the bottom of a river. With a dying dog. In a futuristic submarine that’s rapidly losing power. What could possibly be worse?

As if in answer, I hear something. A faint, cheerful musical whisper. Buzz, buzz.

Maybe it’s an insect that will keep me company as I try to figure a way out of this. A friendly firefly. A lighthearted ladybug. Buzz, buzz, buzz.

No, wait, not buzz, buzz, buzz.

Drip, drip, drip.

Water! Dripping from the bubble ceiling.

We’ve got a leak!

9

9

I grew up near the Hudson. Went swimming in it. Fished in it. Used to make out with P.J. in a car parked high above a scenic river lookout. But I never wanted to die in it, or rather under it. Never had a desire to personally contribute to the sediment on the river bottom.

Dark sub. Unconscious canine. Tons of water above us, slowly leaking into craft. All in all, not such a great situation.

I step over prone Gisco to miniature control panel. Always been good with new technologies. Pick up new computer skills the way babies catch the sniffles in winter. Expose me to something once and I’ve got the hang of it forever.

But this isn’t like any computer I’ve ever seen before. And whoever put this dinghy together didn’t bother to stick an operating manual in the glove compartment.