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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

Where? I ask. Who are you, old man? How do you know my name? Who is time running out for? I need a little bit to work with on my end. Who’s chasing me? Is P.J. there?

No answer. But something has drastically changed. I’m not in a canoe anymore. No longer in a steaming jungle. It’s cool now.

Cold, even. Dreams shouldn’t feel chilly.

Music gone. Birdcalls muted.

Silence.

Also, I’m not moving upriver anymore. Or downriver.

Cold. Quiet. Stuck fast.

Dream over. I open my eyes. The dinghy has surfaced and its bubble ceiling has retracted. I’m now in a shabby yellow boat, scraping against a dark and pebbly bank, near some power lines.

What are we doing here, where the Dark Army may spot us at any moment? Why did the dinghy steer us to this Hudson River beach?

It’s a smart machine—smarter than I am in many ways. There must be a logical reason.

I glance up at the power cables. They’re bowing slightly toward the boat, as if being pulled by an invisible force. The reddish button on the dinghy’s control panel is pulsing wildly, and it occurs to me that the boat may be renewing its power supply after the previous night’s adventures.

I realize to my horror that the dinghy is now completely silent.

I don’t hear Gisco’s labored breathing. Did my furry friend pass away during the night? I wheel around and spot the big dog lying silent and still.

12

12

For a long moment I fear the worst. Then I see Gisco’s massive chest heave in and out, and he gives a little snore. I realize the big dog is sleeping normally.

I reach over and gently shake him. Gisco, can you hear me? Are you still in pain? Can you open your eyes?

Gisco yawns and his eyes pop open. Boy, do I feel a hundred times better. Must be the spring air. The only thing I need to complete my recovery is a hearty country breakfast. Eggs. Scrambled, I think. A slab of honey ham. And perhaps some hot biscuits slathered with gravy. He sits up and looks around. Where are we, by the way?

Somewhere upstate. The dinghy pulled over while I was sleeping. I think it may have run out of power, and it’s recharging from those cables. Maybe you should worry less about breakfast options, and more about the Dark Army finding us. They could be closing in while you fantasize about ham and eggs.

Try not to worry so much. It’s bad for the digestion. The Dark Army will never figure out my brilliant ploy of heading upriver. So let’s go find the local doughnut shop and see if they make a honey-glazed—

Gisco never gets to finish the thought because at that moment there’s a distant thud followed a few seconds later by an earth-shattering BOOM.