Read Online The Forever Man: A Near-Future Thriller by Pierre Ouellette - Free Book Online
Authors: Pierre Ouellette
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against the current.
“You mean we won’t get back?” Johnny asks with a quiver in his little voice.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” puffs Lane. “Now shut up so I can row!” He checks theshore, desperately searching for a reference point to measure their progress. He spots a bit of broken branch, then centers himself to maximize his rowing power. The great tidal current surges under the keel of the skiff with a soft but relentless rush.
Lane waits for what seems the longest of times, and rechecks the position of the broken branch on shore. They’ve gained maybe a foot, if they’ve gained anything at all.
“I’m scared, Lane,” comes the sob from Johnny behind him. “I’m really, really scared.”
“I know,” Lane responds as calmly as he can. He digs the oars in even deeper. His arms ache, his shoulders hurt, his belly burns. He checks the branch again. They’ve gotten nowhere. Sick with fear, he rows on, prolonging the inevitable.
He is down to his final reserves of will and strength when he hears the motorboat approaching. His arms and shoulders throb in agony as the people on the boat throw a rope to Johnny. He barely notices.
It’s over. Their lucky day wasn’t quite so lucky after all.
Lane turns away from the billboard and the boat and looks back into the interior of his apartment. Fuller Bay recedes into the distant past.
He has the sound down on the Feed, but it visually screams about some kind of airplane crash. The Feed loves disasters. He’s not interested, especially this evening. He turns it off and fixes himself a whiskey and soda.
Chapter 5
Prince Vegas
Northeastern Oregon—Desert Country
“You really didn’t need to come along,” Arjun tells Zed. “I can handle it.”
“Handle it, huh?” Zed spits back. “If things were being handled, we wouldn’t even be here.” The old man looks out into the night through one of the van’s armored windows. The dim outline of a flat, arid plain rolls by as they travel eastward. Road signs creep up, then vanish in brief flashes of brilliant green and white.
“Let me get this straight,” Zed says. “First, he got off the plane. Second, he slipped in up on Tabor. Third, he left with proof positive. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“So how in the hell did he get past the gate and up and into the lab?”
“A procedural error. Before we arranged the crash, he had a Type A security clearance on his access card. We had no idea that he’d survived, and he managed to get in and out with the van before we canceled it.”
Zed scans the road ahead through the windshield. Black, empty, devoid of headlights. Nobody takes casual nighttime trips out here. The law ends at sundown. “So now what?”
“We know he stopped for gas about twenty miles back. We intercepted his lobe scan and confirmed the license number on the van. It’s definitely the same vehicle that he loaded up before he left Mount Tabor. Anyway, we’re closing in. The next town is La Grande, and we already have assets on the ground there.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Yes, we will.”
***
Frank Turner hunches over the wheel of his old Ford pickup and stares out at the spray of his headlights on the freeway ahead. He pushes his face even farther toward the windshield, as if it will somehow improve the view. It’s just too damn dim for him to go any faster. He simply can’tsee well enough. Too bad. When he was young, he once tracked a rabbit by moonlight.
Frank checks the speedometer. Fifty-five. Pitiful. But it’s the best he can do. Damn! He shouldn’t have fallen asleep at his daughter’s place back in Hermiston. When he woke up, they’d gone to bed, so he just took off.
Oh well, he’d phone her in the morning. A preemptive call, so he could defuse some of her scolding. He wasn’t a little kid. He just wished she could understand that. But how could she? Like all farmers, he has a fatalistic streak that rapidly sorts the impossible from the possible and
“You mean we won’t get back?” Johnny asks with a quiver in his little voice.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” puffs Lane. “Now shut up so I can row!” He checks theshore, desperately searching for a reference point to measure their progress. He spots a bit of broken branch, then centers himself to maximize his rowing power. The great tidal current surges under the keel of the skiff with a soft but relentless rush.
Lane waits for what seems the longest of times, and rechecks the position of the broken branch on shore. They’ve gained maybe a foot, if they’ve gained anything at all.
“I’m scared, Lane,” comes the sob from Johnny behind him. “I’m really, really scared.”
“I know,” Lane responds as calmly as he can. He digs the oars in even deeper. His arms ache, his shoulders hurt, his belly burns. He checks the branch again. They’ve gotten nowhere. Sick with fear, he rows on, prolonging the inevitable.
He is down to his final reserves of will and strength when he hears the motorboat approaching. His arms and shoulders throb in agony as the people on the boat throw a rope to Johnny. He barely notices.
It’s over. Their lucky day wasn’t quite so lucky after all.
Lane turns away from the billboard and the boat and looks back into the interior of his apartment. Fuller Bay recedes into the distant past.
He has the sound down on the Feed, but it visually screams about some kind of airplane crash. The Feed loves disasters. He’s not interested, especially this evening. He turns it off and fixes himself a whiskey and soda.
Chapter 5
Prince Vegas
Northeastern Oregon—Desert Country
“You really didn’t need to come along,” Arjun tells Zed. “I can handle it.”
“Handle it, huh?” Zed spits back. “If things were being handled, we wouldn’t even be here.” The old man looks out into the night through one of the van’s armored windows. The dim outline of a flat, arid plain rolls by as they travel eastward. Road signs creep up, then vanish in brief flashes of brilliant green and white.
“Let me get this straight,” Zed says. “First, he got off the plane. Second, he slipped in up on Tabor. Third, he left with proof positive. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“So how in the hell did he get past the gate and up and into the lab?”
“A procedural error. Before we arranged the crash, he had a Type A security clearance on his access card. We had no idea that he’d survived, and he managed to get in and out with the van before we canceled it.”
Zed scans the road ahead through the windshield. Black, empty, devoid of headlights. Nobody takes casual nighttime trips out here. The law ends at sundown. “So now what?”
“We know he stopped for gas about twenty miles back. We intercepted his lobe scan and confirmed the license number on the van. It’s definitely the same vehicle that he loaded up before he left Mount Tabor. Anyway, we’re closing in. The next town is La Grande, and we already have assets on the ground there.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Yes, we will.”
***
Frank Turner hunches over the wheel of his old Ford pickup and stares out at the spray of his headlights on the freeway ahead. He pushes his face even farther toward the windshield, as if it will somehow improve the view. It’s just too damn dim for him to go any faster. He simply can’tsee well enough. Too bad. When he was young, he once tracked a rabbit by moonlight.
Frank checks the speedometer. Fifty-five. Pitiful. But it’s the best he can do. Damn! He shouldn’t have fallen asleep at his daughter’s place back in Hermiston. When he woke up, they’d gone to bed, so he just took off.
Oh well, he’d phone her in the morning. A preemptive call, so he could defuse some of her scolding. He wasn’t a little kid. He just wished she could understand that. But how could she? Like all farmers, he has a fatalistic streak that rapidly sorts the impossible from the possible and
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