Read Online Things Beyond Midnight by William F Nolan - Free Book Online
Authors: William F Nolan
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was wrong about that.
A chopping blow numbed his left shoulder. Morgan hit ground, rolled, brought up the fuser, fired. His assailant fell back, grunting in pain. Morgan whipped up the pistol in a swift arc, catching a second enemy at chin-level, firing again. Which did the job.
Morgan rubbed circulation back into his numbed shoulder, his body pressed close in against the night-chilled gravel at the edge of the road. Behind him, in a flare of orange, the Iandcar continued to burn. He listened for further movement. Were there more of them out there, ready to attack him?
No sound. Nothing. No more of them. Only two, both dead now.
He took their beamers, checked the bodies. Both young, maybe fifteen to seventeen. Probably brothers, but Morgan couldn’t tell for sure, since the face was mostly gone on the smaller one. At close range, a fuser is damned effective.
Morgan recharged the pistol and inspected the beamguns, breaking them down. They were fine. He could use them.
It was too late to find another car. Better to sleep by the lake and go on in the morning.
The lake would be good. It would cool him out, ease some of the tension which knotted his muscles. He’d grown up near lakes like this one, fishing and swimming with Jim Decker. Ole Jimbo. Poor unlucky bastard. The police got him in Detroit, lasered him down in a warehouse. Jimbo never believed he could die. Well, thought Morgan, we all die—sooner or later.
Lake Lotawana lay just ahead, less than a mile through the trees. Morgan threaded the woods, slid down the leaf-cloaked banking to the edge of the water. The lake flickered like a soft flame, alive with moonlight. Morgan bent to wash his face and hands; the water rippled and stirred as he cupped it, cold and crystalline.
He drew the clean air of September into his lungs. Good autumn air, smelling of maple and oak. He savored the smells of Missouri earth, of autumn grass and trees. A night bird cried out across the dark lake water. Morgan hoped he would live long enough to reach Kansas City and do what he was sent to do. He could easily have been killed in the Iandcar explosion—or in Illinois, Ohio, Pennsylvania, or a few nights ago in Kansas. They’d been close on his tracks most of the way.
He prepared a bed of leaves, spreading dry twigs in a circle around it for several feet in each direction. The twigs would alert him to approaching enemies. Morgan lay down with a beamer at his elbow. Tomorrow, he would find another car and reach Kansas City. The girl and the money would be waiting there. He smiled and closed his eyes.
Morgan was sleeping deeply when they came down the bank, shadows among shadows, moving with professional stealth. They knelt beyond the circle of twigs and began scooping the branches away quietly. They planned to use blades, and that meant close body contact.
Morgan heard them at the last instant and rolled sideways, snatching up the beamer as he rolled. Too late. They were on him in a mass of unsheathed steel.
He broke free, stumbled, dropped the useless weapon, blood rushing to fill his open mouth. Morgan folded both hands across his stomach. “I...” He spoke to them as they watched him. “I’m a dead man.”
And he fell backward as the dark waters of the lake, rippling, accepted his lifeless body.
-4-
DAVID
“I hate bookstores,” said David.
“You’re still a child,” his Guardian told him. “As an adult, you II see the value in books.”
David, who was eleven, allowed himself to be guided into the store. You don’t get anywhere if you argue with a Guardian.
“May I be of service?” A tall old man smiled at them, dressed in the long gray robe of Learning.
“This is David,” said the Guardian, “and he is here to rent a book.” The old man nodded. “And what is your choice, David?”
“I don’t have one,” said David. “Let Guardian decide.”
“Very well, then...” The Bookman smiled again. “Might I suggest some titles?”
“Please do,”
A chopping blow numbed his left shoulder. Morgan hit ground, rolled, brought up the fuser, fired. His assailant fell back, grunting in pain. Morgan whipped up the pistol in a swift arc, catching a second enemy at chin-level, firing again. Which did the job.
Morgan rubbed circulation back into his numbed shoulder, his body pressed close in against the night-chilled gravel at the edge of the road. Behind him, in a flare of orange, the Iandcar continued to burn. He listened for further movement. Were there more of them out there, ready to attack him?
No sound. Nothing. No more of them. Only two, both dead now.
He took their beamers, checked the bodies. Both young, maybe fifteen to seventeen. Probably brothers, but Morgan couldn’t tell for sure, since the face was mostly gone on the smaller one. At close range, a fuser is damned effective.
Morgan recharged the pistol and inspected the beamguns, breaking them down. They were fine. He could use them.
It was too late to find another car. Better to sleep by the lake and go on in the morning.
The lake would be good. It would cool him out, ease some of the tension which knotted his muscles. He’d grown up near lakes like this one, fishing and swimming with Jim Decker. Ole Jimbo. Poor unlucky bastard. The police got him in Detroit, lasered him down in a warehouse. Jimbo never believed he could die. Well, thought Morgan, we all die—sooner or later.
Lake Lotawana lay just ahead, less than a mile through the trees. Morgan threaded the woods, slid down the leaf-cloaked banking to the edge of the water. The lake flickered like a soft flame, alive with moonlight. Morgan bent to wash his face and hands; the water rippled and stirred as he cupped it, cold and crystalline.
He drew the clean air of September into his lungs. Good autumn air, smelling of maple and oak. He savored the smells of Missouri earth, of autumn grass and trees. A night bird cried out across the dark lake water. Morgan hoped he would live long enough to reach Kansas City and do what he was sent to do. He could easily have been killed in the Iandcar explosion—or in Illinois, Ohio, Pennsylvania, or a few nights ago in Kansas. They’d been close on his tracks most of the way.
He prepared a bed of leaves, spreading dry twigs in a circle around it for several feet in each direction. The twigs would alert him to approaching enemies. Morgan lay down with a beamer at his elbow. Tomorrow, he would find another car and reach Kansas City. The girl and the money would be waiting there. He smiled and closed his eyes.
Morgan was sleeping deeply when they came down the bank, shadows among shadows, moving with professional stealth. They knelt beyond the circle of twigs and began scooping the branches away quietly. They planned to use blades, and that meant close body contact.
Morgan heard them at the last instant and rolled sideways, snatching up the beamer as he rolled. Too late. They were on him in a mass of unsheathed steel.
He broke free, stumbled, dropped the useless weapon, blood rushing to fill his open mouth. Morgan folded both hands across his stomach. “I...” He spoke to them as they watched him. “I’m a dead man.”
And he fell backward as the dark waters of the lake, rippling, accepted his lifeless body.
-4-
DAVID
“I hate bookstores,” said David.
“You’re still a child,” his Guardian told him. “As an adult, you II see the value in books.”
David, who was eleven, allowed himself to be guided into the store. You don’t get anywhere if you argue with a Guardian.
“May I be of service?” A tall old man smiled at them, dressed in the long gray robe of Learning.
“This is David,” said the Guardian, “and he is here to rent a book.” The old man nodded. “And what is your choice, David?”
“I don’t have one,” said David. “Let Guardian decide.”
“Very well, then...” The Bookman smiled again. “Might I suggest some titles?”
“Please do,”
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