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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

Her head moves quickly. Jerks up. Her mouth opens wide to scream, but her words come out softly, more of a prayer than a plea. It’s as if she’s afraid of believing that she’s heard what she’s heard, and that I’m really here. “Jack? Jack Danielson?”

I take a few running steps toward her before three burly guards grab me. Together they must weigh more than six hundred pounds, but they can’t hold me back. I drag them forward like a tackling sled. “P.J., it’s me. I’ve come for you!”

And now she believes. I know it because her voice is no longer a prayer. It’s a full-throttle wail of desperation. “Jjjaaaaaccckkkk!”

I’m just outside the door, dragging what feels like the Brazilian national rugby team. They’re holding my feet, pinning my knees, clinging with their full weight to my arms and shoulders, but they still can’t stop me. For a moment I’m sure I’m going to drag them all right into that cell. Then something soft and foul-smelling is clamped over my face. A towel. Soaked in a noxious chemical.

The acrid smell crawls into my nose and mouth. My knees go weak. I surge forward one final time and then I fall, and as the blackness covers me, I hear P.J.’s voice bellowing out a very reasonable request: “Save me!”

45

45

Snow—a thick blizzard of it, billowing in the wind. Someone is watching me keenly from beneath the white drifts. Two glinting black eyes study me with tremendous concentration and intelligence. I feel dizzy and can’t think clearly, but I sense deep down that something is terribly wrong. Then I recall the isolation cell and P.J.’s desperate scream, and I try to struggle to my feet. Strong hands grip me tightly and a soft, musical voice commands: “Don’t move.”

It’s a voice used to being obeyed, and I find myself sitting back down and trying to focus my blurry vision and clouded thoughts. It’s not a blizzard, but rather a man with flowing white hair. He’s wearing glasses with thick black frames and surgical gloves and tending to me like a skilled doctor. I smell disinfectant. There’s an orange flame as he lights something and holds it under my nose. “Breathe through your nose and exhale out your mouth.”

I inhale and the bitter stench makes me cough from the pit of my stomach. Almost instantly my vision sharpens, and the fog clouding my thoughts dissipates. I look back with curiosity and undisguised hatred at the old man who just revived me.