The Impossible Future: Complete set by Frank Kennedy (mini ebook reader .txt) 📕

from point-blank range, only to have Walt slam an arm against the pistol or duck his head a split second before the bullet could do him in. Ben tried to snatch control of the wheel and lost his gun, which fell to the floor. They fought with determined grunts, but they weren’t prepared for the road’s sudden right-angle bend. The car continued straight, took flight and landed with an uncivilized thump in low brush.

The SUV broadsided an ancient birch, a shattering jolt that crushed the cargo section, sent glass flying and turned metal into a mad, contorted sculpture that wrapped around the base of the tree. There was nothing in front of them but Lake Vernon, its shore at least fifty feet below. Ben fell face-first into the dashboard and briefly descended into darkness.

When he awoke, surprised to be alive, Ben found himself crumpled against the passenger door, his body stretched toward the steering wheel, where Walt was slumped, arms dangling to his sides. Blood stained Walt’s forehead. Ben pressed his shoulder against the glove compartment to provide leverage and groaned. He felt fresh blood from the bullet wound in his right shoulder, which must have torn.

After Ben righted himself, his eyes fell upon the GPS hand-held, which lay at Walt’s feet. The beacon signaling Jamie’s location was strong. His brother reached land, by best guess at the mouth of what must have been Ginny’s Creek. Ben studied the geography and plotted his own approximate location. He examined the wreckage once more, realized the SUV was inches from the edge of the bluff, and laughed at himself.

“You couldn’t wait, Sheridan? Just had to pull out the gun. Idiot.”

Ben glanced at his watch. 6:25 a.m. He examined Walt and was not pleased to see the hulking Chancellor’s chest rising and falling. He saw no way out other than the driver’s side.

He could not find his pistol but remembered the assault rifles in the back. He twisted about and spied an M16 on the opposite side against a crumpled passenger door. Ben contorted his body, grabbed the rifle, and squirmed back into the front seat. His left leg kicked Walt, who slipped off the wheel and fell to his side, his right arm dangling between the seats.

Ben was ready to finish this, his vengeance for fifteen stolen years consuming him.

“You bastards ruined me,” Ben whispered as he cocked the rifle.

Ben’s finger was poised on the trigger, his aim square. Then he heard rustling outside the car, saw human movement in the morning light and a flashlight hitting him in the face. He dropped the rifle to his lap, shielded his eyes, and made out the form of a police officer.

A deputy, his hair perfectly parted, and his baby face a dead giveaway of inexperience, shouted through the driver-side window.

“Help is on the way, sir.” The deputy flashed his light throughout the battered car. “I’ve got backup coming, and an ambulance, too. Stay right where you are. Hear? You make any sudden movements, I think she’s going over the edge. How bad is your friend? Can you tell?”

Ben shook his head as if clueless, but new movement out of the corner of his eye said differently. Walt’s head continued to hang limp, facing the floor, his eyes not visible. Ben, however, saw a subtle shift in the man’s right arm, a slight twist of his forearm muscles … as if he were reaching for something. Ben lowered his right hand and gripped the rifle. The deputy’s flashlight followed his movement and fell upon the M16.

The deputy drew his weapon, which he cocked.

“Don’t you move,” he yelled. “Hear me? You so much as blink, I swear I’ll shoot.” The deputy grabbed a two-way mike strapped over his shoulder. “Julius, what’s your status? I’ve got trouble.” Ben didn’t hear the static-laden reply, but he knew his options were running out. “I think it’s them,” the deputy shouted. “The ones who killed the ranger.”

Walt opened a pair of vengeful eyes and drew a smug smile.

He rose like a burst of wind, whirled the pistol across his body and fired two shots through the window, shattering the glass. The deputy gasped and fired an indiscriminate shot as he fell backward into the brush.

Ben grabbed his rifle and fired. Walt growled as a hole opened in his side. The giant Chancellor slung about, kicked at the M16 and lunged toward Ben, who fell back against the passenger door.

Flames in his eyes, Walt leaped upon Ben and fired the pistol. Ben used his best moves to dodge the bullet, which nicked his ear lobe and continued through the passenger window.

“You can’t stop this, Sheridan,” Walt said. “Help is on the way. I made sure of it. James will be protected until he awakens.”

Ben felt an emptiness. “Help? What did you do?”

Ben thought he heard the pistol fire again, but he had no reckoning of whether he was hit. He felt a sudden descent.

The Chancellors caught the blood in each other’s startled eyes when they realized, too late, that the SUV lost its mooring around the tree and was falling to the tattered shoreline below.

Life stopped for a flicker before a spectacular crunch of metal filled their ears as the car smashed into the shore. Both men fell into the dash and against the shattered windshield, which was giving way as the car, briefly standing upright on its engine, swayed, whined and tipped forward.

Upside down, the car’s disjointed cargo section lay in the water’s edge. Inside, the men lay spread-eagle on their backs, moaning as they rested on what was once the roof.

Ben kicked out the windshield. He grabbed the rifle, which lay between the men, and squirmed outside. Ben smelled gas, but he paid it no mind.

Before he rose to his feet, Ben saw Walt move without purpose.

“What did you do?”

He