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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

At least I settled the question of whether I can ever go home again. Hadley is gone for me. The people I grew up with, my childhood friends, my parents. All out of bounds forever more.

Strange to give up on the concept of home.

I shut my eyes and try not to feel so awfully lonely.

But sleep will not come for someone as miserable as I am. I could sit here and count Dark Army ghouls jumping over fences from now to doomsday, and I wouldn’t sleep.

Then I feel the cloud. Soft as a child’s security blanket. It settles around me. Not a fluffy white cloud. It’s reddish and flame-like. The dinghy.

It’s trying to heal Gisco, and it’s also taking care of me. It senses that I need to sleep. It’s looking out for me. Worrying about me. So it reaches out gently. Invites me back, to merge with it again. Not because it needs me to help steer or to solve a navigational problem.

It just wants to alleviate my loneliness and misery.

I accept the offer. Sink into the flame till I’m no longer a boy sitting with my back against the wall of a boat, but rather I’m the boat moving through a dark river.

I feel the cold density of the water as we nose our way through the depths. The hostile embrace of the pressure from tons of water above us. Like tentacles wrapped around us. A constant octopus squeeze. But we’ll be all right. We were built to withstand far worse than this.

Nice to be a machine without worry.

Circuits humming. Power supply low but everything still functioning perfectly.

I sink into the strangest sleep of my life.

11

11

This can’t be a dream. Dreams come to you in your safe, warm bed, woven from the delicate gauze of sleep.

This is vivid, visceral, brutal.

I feel myself being ripped out of my own body. Borne aloft at furious speed. What part of me is being taken? My mind? My spirit? I can’t resist. Pulled as if captive on a magic leash. Spun as if caught up by a whirlwind.

And then plunked down suddenly, in a strange new place, like Dorothy crash-landing in Oz.

My God, I’ve been transported. Moving down a river in twilight. No, not the Hudson. This makes the Hudson seem like a pathetic, trickling stream.

The size of this river! The thrumming aliveness of it! Green all around me. A greener green than exists in New York State. This is the emerald of children’s fairy tales, of the giant leaves that shade Jack’s beanstalk.

I drift off into that magical green canopy. A giant snake slithers through the water. Its spade-shaped head trowels the surface. Its body unspools and recoils.