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

“So it’s hopeless?” Christian asked. “I don’t believe that, Mom. Sheridan is out there. Hell, we know where he is. The police have him. Won’t be hard tracking him down. Might have to take out a few badges to get to him, but we’re Chancellors. We don’t …”

“Surrender? No, son. We don’t. But if we keep going, if we try again ...” She paused. “Either way, all this ends in an hour and a half. We cannot just kill the Jewel with bullets. We must burn the host body to be certain. We would not likely have time or opportunity to escape. Do you understand the implication?”

“Look, Mom. I’ve always wanted the chance to go back home. I don’t remember much about it; Father was always off-planet on duty. I’d love to see him again. But fact is, I just want to be wherever you are. I know I haven’t always been the most respectful son.” He nodded with confidence. “I’m prepared for whatever happens.”

Agatha felt more than pride. She sensed genuine love.

Turning to Arthur, who was driving, she asked, “And you?”

“The cause is no less just than it ever was, Agatha. There are still four of us, counting Jennifer. Austin Springs is the closest town. That’s where they’ll take him. We’ll have to be fast and lucky, but it can be done. We still have not seen any sign of Shock Units coming through the fold, a point in our favor. I recommend we turn around, get out of this traffic jam and head north, the long way around the lake. We’ll still have means and opportunity. Into the fire, Agatha.”

Christian pumped a fist. “That’s the spirit. Into the fire. What do you say, Mom?”

A new spirit of hope rose inside the car, but Agatha could not get past the humiliation of it all. She felt old and tired. The notion of returning to the Collectorate no longer appealed to her.

Fate provided a different path.

“There’s only one course for us,” she said. “Into the fire.”

48

J AMIE NEVER SAID a word – not as he was cuffed, not as the officers rushed him from the woods, not as they hauled him into the back of a white van in the middle of Highway 39 and interrogated him. Jamie heard their questions, which straddled the line between sincere concern for a boy whom they wanted to help and suspicion of a young man whom they almost shot. They asked him whether he was thirsty; a deputy offered him bottled water, but Jamie refused even though his throat felt like sandpaper.

He saw no reason to fight on. As the deputies dragged him through the woods, he heard additional shots from the north, where he left Sammie and Michael. Once they were free of the woods, a deputy turned up his shoulder-harnessed radio, and Jamie heard another officer report finding a body. Moments later, as he sat in the van listening to questions he refused to answer, Jamie heard another voice report on discovering two more bodies.

He was lost in a haze, staring at the van’s floor, when someone new sat beside him. All Jamie saw were a woman’s feet, covered with low black shoes and hose. She spoke in hushed tones.

“Here’s where we stand, young man,” she said. “Many people have died this morning for no apparent reason. So far, all those who might know anything have been shot to death or blown to pieces. Now along you come, running through the woods, playing cowboys-and-Indians. Only problem is, the other guy has an M16 and you’re packing a .45. Tough odds, huh?”

The woman grabbed him by the chin and turned Jamie until they made eye contact. Her dark, searching eyes pierced Jamie, so he looked away.

“You are either a victim, or you are involved in this madness. But you’re alive, and that makes you valuable. I am Special Agent Janice Bronson, director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Birmingham. I don’t trust teens and I have no patience for the silent treatment. I’m no shrink, and I will not mother you because you’re a minor. Nor am I currently considering your constitutional rights. My thoughts are for the people whose families are grieving today.”

She let go of his chin. Jamie stared at the floor. Her heard the same cold, wicked arrogance in her as he did in Agatha Bidwell.

“If you are a victim, I’ll apologize. If you are connected, don’t seek mercy. I’m sold out.”

She stood in the open doorway. From the corner of his eye, Jamie saw her waving for someone else. Then she faced Jamie.

“Innocent men rarely help their case by keeping quiet. You’re thirsty. Drink the water the next time it’s offered. Then answer our questions. If you think you’re in a bad place now …”

Jamie shifted his hands inside the cuffs behind his back and blew hair from the corner of his mouth. He looked her in the eyes.

“You won’t believe me,” he said.

“Ah. The ability to communicate. Young man, you might be amazed by what I’ll believe. But everything starts with a name. I don’t have yours.”

Jamie shriveled inside. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You’re somebody’s kid. They’ll be glad to know you’re OK.”

“There’s nobody left.”

She grabbed his chin again and lifted until their eyes met.

“Suspects usually say those words right before they tell us where the bodies are buried. Do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

He jerked away and stared at the floor.

“Hmm,” she mumbled. “Truth is your only option. We’ll scour those woods and piece together every footstep that’s taken place this morning. If you’re guilty, there’s no escape. But if you’re innocent, we can help. What you need to do is come clean.” Her cell phone rang. She studied the screen and sighed. “I’m going to send