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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

Give them the kid, Jack. It’s the only moral thing to do. You tried to save him. You’ve been heroic. Now to hell with him. Our duty is to future generations.

For a moment I’m tempted to let go of the boy. Maybe Gisco’s right. Maybe there does come a time when logic dictates sheer self-preservation.

The boy has stopped struggling. He’s also watching the caimans come on.

I can feel his scared heart fluttering in his chest.

No, I tell the dog. You swim for it—you’re a faster swimmer than I am anyway. If I have to end up as caiman snacks, I’d rather not die a coward and traitor.

Suit yourself. Gisco takes a few quick dog paddles away and then stops and circles back. Damn you for shaming me into this. But then again, I can’t outswim them either. So we’ll stand and fight, or rather drown and be eaten.

At least we can draw some blood in return! I point out with as much bravado as I can muster.

Cold blood, Gisco responds miserably.

The boy seems to have sensed our decision, and he doesn’t agree with it. He’s pointing in the opposite direction, urging us to swim for it.

I wish I could explain to him that there’s no place to go.

He thrusts again with his arm.

I shake my head. “Sorry I brought you here. Running away is not an option. We’re going to stand and fight.”

He implores me with those big brown eyes. Jabs the air with his finger.

I look back at him for a second. Recall that this is a kid who’s been surviving by his wits for years. I follow the direction of his pointing arm.

Nothing. Silver-green water. A few lily pads.

The caimans are thirty feet away now. They never change speed or expression. They just come on, slow and steady, as they have for millions of years.

The boy grabs my hair and uses it to turn my head. I peer over the lily pads and see a dark shape.

Gisco, the kid has spotted something!

Where?

There! A tree. Or at least a log. It’s submerged. Covered with moss. Do you see it?

The dog doesn’t respond because he’s already swimming for the floating log at top speed, using a hysteria-driven four-pawed dog paddle that turns him into a furry Jet Ski.

I follow as fast as I can in his wake, pulling the boy along like an overburdened tugboat on overdrive.

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