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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

In you go, Mr. Butt-ugly. I give Gisco a boost into the back of the pickup and climb in after him. The truck rumbles away down the winding gravel road at a fast clip, bumping wildly at every turn of the wheel.

16

16

They’re coming. I sense it.

Gisco feels it, too. I can tell by the way he lies flat in the bed of the pickup, groaning each time we hit a bump. This truck does not have new shock absorbers. It doesn’t seem to have any kind of shock absorbers at all. We’re taking a pulverizing beating.

The gravel path twists like a corkscrew next to the Hudson. Blue water flashes at every bend.

I watch the skies above the river and soon spot jet-black helicopters swooping low. Gisco!

They’ll locate the wreckage from the explosion first, the dog predicts glumly. Then they’ll summon help and sweep both banks, and start searching for us inland.

Sure enough, the helicopters slow in tandem and begin to circle, right above the spot where the dinghy committed nautical hara-kari. In minutes three gray hovercraft glide like wraiths up the Hudson, zeroing in on the patch of rotor-wash-stirred water beneath the copters.

They’ll be after us in minutes, Gisco warns.

It was a big explosion, I point out. Maybe they’ll assume we were blown to bits and give up the chase.

You don’t know who you’re up against, the dog sniffs.

Because you won’t tell me. If he was the leader of the Dark Army, why has he come back in time? What score does he have to settle with me?

You’ll find out soon enough.

He can’t be worse than Dargon, I speculate, remembering the chimeric nightmare of my Firestorm quest.

This guy makes Dargon look like a teddy bear.

Do you have any good news?

We’re about to turn away from the river on a paved road, which may make this primitive vehicle tolerable.

Sure enough, the pickup reaches a turnoff, slows, and veers onto a two-lane road that heads west. We drive smoothly for a few miles, through forest and farmland.

Suddenly I hear music, and bright colors flash through the web of tree branches. Tents with banners! Carnival rides! A spinning red-and-blue Ferris wheel twirls like a giant pinwheel in the morning breeze.

The pickup turns into an enormous parking lot that is filling up fast. This fair is clearly the big local attraction. We chug into an empty space and pull to a stop, and Gisco and I hop out.

“Thanks,” I say to the father.

“Don’t mention it,” he responds. “Come on, Sally. Want to try that Ferris wheel?”

“Ferris wheels make me puke,” the little girl says. “Goodbye, doggy. Sorry I said you were butt-ugly.”

Apology not accepted. Scram, brat.

Off they go, through the gate.

We linger outside. What now, shaggy shanks?