BooksBarbecue
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

They seem to be soldiers of the Brazilian Army, stationed in a remote regiment in the Amazon. They were the ones who shot down our balloon. Then they located us in the swamp, under orders from their commander. Now they’re taking us to their base.

Why go to so much trouble?

Maybe they didn’t appreciate us ballooning over their stretch of rain forest.

I feel woozy again. Who’s their commander?

They call him Colonel Aranha. Are you okay?

Bam, bam, bam. It feels like my head is going to come off my shoulders. What does this colonel have against us?

Who knows? But “aranha” is Portuguese for “spider.”

I can feel myself slipping down, sinking away. Did I fall out of the canoe? I reach for something to cling to.

Don’t go away again, Jack. Gisco tries to hold on to me telepathically. Stay conscious. If you go to sleep, you may never wake up.

But darkness has me. I slip down to the bottom of the river and find a quiet spot, deep in the river mud.

No tarantulas down here. No jackhammers allowed.

I stay down a long time. Feel the sun moving above me. Distant voices. The pull of the current.

No, not a current. Currents are smooth. We’re bouncing and grinding along.

And we’re not in a canoe anymore. This is louder and faster than a canoe. A car? No, bigger. A jeep?

Whatever it is, its engine isn’t exactly muffled. But except for that mechanical roar, all around me it is quiet.

Dead silent. The constant buzz and chirrup of the birds and insects of the rain forest has disappeared.

I crack my eyes open. Mistake. Blinding sunlight floods in. We’re in the open. No shade of any kind.

What happened to the trees? I peer out through one half-closed eye. We’re in a desolate place. A wasteland.

Charred stumps. Rocks. An occasional empty streambed. All covered by a funereal shroud of cinders.

Gisco, where are we?

Back from the dead, are you? That must have been one hard crack on the noggin. How are you feeling?

These bumps don’t make it any easier. What is this place? What happened to the rain forest?

Colonel Aranha is no friend of the trees.

How’s the boy?

I don’t know. He can’t speak and he’s not telepathic. He is feisty, though. He tried to bite the arm of the guy who clubbed you, and got knocked down pretty hard for it.

How come you didn’t try to bite the guy’s arm?

Could it be because he was carrying a submachine gun? Gisco asks rhetorically. Yes, I believe that was the reason. Then, excited and frightened: Jack, look!

What?

Over there! The gates of hell. And they’re opening!

38

38