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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
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  11. 10
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  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

I’m a beam of light swimming through a river of air. Feel its currents and eddies. Ride the wind.

Dog plunging through the air right next to me, making a valiant effort to spread his bulk flat, like a giant flying squirrel who has eaten a few too many doughnuts.

But Gisco’s doing it! He’s riding the air currents. And I’m also moving slightly sideways. The bad news is that we’ll never get ourselves far enough over in the few heartbeats we have left.

The carnival rushing up at us. Garish colors, squeaky voices, blaring music. My life flashing. P.J., sorry I couldn’t save you. I would have gone to the ends of the earth. God forgive me for getting you into this. Eko, wherever you are, farewell. I should have listened to your flying lessons a bit more closely.

The face of death appears, mouth opening wide to swallow me. It’s an aristocratically handsome face, austere, and familiar. It reminds me of Dargon, the villain of my Firestorm quest. But this is an older face. Stronger. Wiser. Crueler. Cold, merciless eyes watching me. Waiting to escort me to hell.

Crash, I come down on the merry-go-round. Bash my head open on a sleigh. A steel pole impales me. It’s agonizing. I feel myself die and …

Swoosh, no, it’s a giant pillow. At the very last second I moved myself the final few feet and landed on the tentlike roof of the kids’ jumping booth! Gisco and I fall on the plastic top and bring it crashing down. The trampoline below is like a massive marshmallow. We hit it together, and it bounces us right back up into the air.

Down we come again. The whole kiddy trampoline contraption is cracking apart from the force of our fall. Wooden base splintering. Support poles giving way.

Kids waiting on line are loving it. They shriek with laughter. “Look, it’s Dumbo! No, he’s not an elephant. It’s a fat flying dog!”

Their mothers are less pleased. Screaming and yanking them away. Calling the police on cell phones. The FBI. The Terror Hotline.

A fire alarm goes off. A sprinkler switches on. Foam is sprayed by an automatic extinguisher system. The kids hoot and bellow. Toss foam around like snowballs. Christmas in April. It’s pure pandemonium.

Gisco, come.

I’m right with you. What’s your brilliant plan?

We’re off the busted trampoline, darting between rides. I saw this part of the fair from the air, so I have some idea where we’re going. Around the Sidewinder. To the left of the Tilt-a-Whirl.

I spot its shadow first, looming, ominous, globular, pregnant. There, dog! That’s our only way out.

The Tilt-a-Whirl? Are you nuts?

No, not down there. Look up!

Gisco raises his head and sees the orange-and-black balloon. A hot-air balloon? You’re kidding, right?

We’re out of options. Let’s go.