Read Online The Stolen Gospels by Brian Herbert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brian Herbert
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dashboard.
“Seven minutes,” the system’s metallic voice said. “All is ready.”
“Will they have a doctor?” Lori asked.
Dixie Lou didn’t answer.
“Damn it, I asked you a question. Answer me!” Lori leaned forward and put an arm-lock on Dixie Lou’s neck.
But the stocky woman hit Lori in the forehead with the handgun, stunning her and causing her to lose her grip. Reaching back, Dixie Lou struck another blow, this one on the temple and even harder.
Lori fought to remain conscious, but felt it slipping. She wanted to help her mother but could no longer control her muscles. With vision fading, she saw her mother’s face next to hers, as the two of them slumped together.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” Lori murmured.
She tried to envision Dixie Lou’s despised face, but instead an intense darkness consumed her and she passed out.
* * *
Dixie Lou was determined to escape.
She looked around nervously as the van took an exit ramp that wound down to a surface street. At the stoplight it turned left and drove by a row of one-story buildings that were occupied by flying services and aircraft parts suppliers. It turned right, passed between two buildings.
A guard at a gate waved the vehicle through, and it accelerated onto a road that ran parallel with a private airfield. Small planes were parked on the tarmac, with larger craft visible in pools of light on the opposite side of the field.
The van came to a stop by a sleek black private jet that was as shiny as the van. No people were in evidence, no waiting doctor or medical technician for any of the injuries, including her own.
Pointing her hand-held transmitter at the plane, Dixie Lou pressed a button. A wall slid aside on the fuselage, and a staircase slid down, so that the bottom of it was only a few feet from the front of the van. Inside the plane, lights blinked, green and orange.
She stepped out of the van and was about to leave Lori and her mother behind, but hesitated. On impulse, she opened the rear door and stared hard at the unconscious teenager, who lay on the carpeted floor beside her mother. The girl, while rebellious, had been helpful, driving the vehicle for Dixie Lou when it was out of signal range for some reason. They should have been able to operate on automatic from the beginning, drawn by the aircraft’s homing signal, but that had not been the case, not until they crossed over the bridge.
Touching the mother’s temple, she felt a pulse—very slow and barely perceptible. Hardly any life there, but the woman might survive if she was hooked up to one of the two life support compartments at the rear of the plane.
Lori Vale saved my life, so I owe her and her mother something .
She reached in and lifted the mother out, who was small and relatively easy to carry. Inside the plane, she connected her to one of the life support systems, then went back to the van and pulled Lori out. Though Dixie Lou remained strong despite her own injury, the girl was tall, and weighed more than she’d expected—considerably more than the mother.
And as she touched the teenager, Dixie Lou felt an odd sensation, a peculiar feeling of déjà vu, that she had known her before. She could not place where, or when, but something told her it was important. With considerable difficulty the dark, stocky woman dragged the girl up the steps into the plane and laid her across a seat that folded back, with a pillow under her head and a blanket over her. She swung a safety strap over her and activated a security restraint mechanism on it.
The aircraft’s interior was pale gold, with eight black leather passenger seats. On the forward bulkhead was the UWW’s bright green-and-orange sword-cross symbol, which Dixie Lou focused on momentarily to give her some comfort.
There was no pilot for this aircraft, and no one with whom Dixie Lou had spoken when she called ahead. She’d been talking to the artificial-intelligence core of the plane itself, her
“Seven minutes,” the system’s metallic voice said. “All is ready.”
“Will they have a doctor?” Lori asked.
Dixie Lou didn’t answer.
“Damn it, I asked you a question. Answer me!” Lori leaned forward and put an arm-lock on Dixie Lou’s neck.
But the stocky woman hit Lori in the forehead with the handgun, stunning her and causing her to lose her grip. Reaching back, Dixie Lou struck another blow, this one on the temple and even harder.
Lori fought to remain conscious, but felt it slipping. She wanted to help her mother but could no longer control her muscles. With vision fading, she saw her mother’s face next to hers, as the two of them slumped together.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” Lori murmured.
She tried to envision Dixie Lou’s despised face, but instead an intense darkness consumed her and she passed out.
* * *
Dixie Lou was determined to escape.
She looked around nervously as the van took an exit ramp that wound down to a surface street. At the stoplight it turned left and drove by a row of one-story buildings that were occupied by flying services and aircraft parts suppliers. It turned right, passed between two buildings.
A guard at a gate waved the vehicle through, and it accelerated onto a road that ran parallel with a private airfield. Small planes were parked on the tarmac, with larger craft visible in pools of light on the opposite side of the field.
The van came to a stop by a sleek black private jet that was as shiny as the van. No people were in evidence, no waiting doctor or medical technician for any of the injuries, including her own.
Pointing her hand-held transmitter at the plane, Dixie Lou pressed a button. A wall slid aside on the fuselage, and a staircase slid down, so that the bottom of it was only a few feet from the front of the van. Inside the plane, lights blinked, green and orange.
She stepped out of the van and was about to leave Lori and her mother behind, but hesitated. On impulse, she opened the rear door and stared hard at the unconscious teenager, who lay on the carpeted floor beside her mother. The girl, while rebellious, had been helpful, driving the vehicle for Dixie Lou when it was out of signal range for some reason. They should have been able to operate on automatic from the beginning, drawn by the aircraft’s homing signal, but that had not been the case, not until they crossed over the bridge.
Touching the mother’s temple, she felt a pulse—very slow and barely perceptible. Hardly any life there, but the woman might survive if she was hooked up to one of the two life support compartments at the rear of the plane.
Lori Vale saved my life, so I owe her and her mother something .
She reached in and lifted the mother out, who was small and relatively easy to carry. Inside the plane, she connected her to one of the life support systems, then went back to the van and pulled Lori out. Though Dixie Lou remained strong despite her own injury, the girl was tall, and weighed more than she’d expected—considerably more than the mother.
And as she touched the teenager, Dixie Lou felt an odd sensation, a peculiar feeling of déjà vu, that she had known her before. She could not place where, or when, but something told her it was important. With considerable difficulty the dark, stocky woman dragged the girl up the steps into the plane and laid her across a seat that folded back, with a pillow under her head and a blanket over her. She swung a safety strap over her and activated a security restraint mechanism on it.
The aircraft’s interior was pale gold, with eight black leather passenger seats. On the forward bulkhead was the UWW’s bright green-and-orange sword-cross symbol, which Dixie Lou focused on momentarily to give her some comfort.
There was no pilot for this aircraft, and no one with whom Dixie Lou had spoken when she called ahead. She’d been talking to the artificial-intelligence core of the plane itself, her
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