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litany of random thoughts, observations and questions into the little device. |
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Click. Who is this so-called Emissary? One of the locals? An out-of-towner? Is there such a thing, or am I dealing with some kind of cult hysteria? About the Emissary, what does he, she or it do? Click. |
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Click. Why doesn't old Glenna trust young Kelto? Better yet, do I trust Kelto? Is Kelto's version of things as they really are or how his Battle-Harbor-twisted mind perceives them? Click. |
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I lingered for a moment on the so-called Book of Comprehensions, wondering if the library back at Saint Francis had or could get hold of one for me. Maybe it was too late to help me sort through this mess, but the old girl had tweaked my curiosity. Click. Call Lucy and see if she can hustle up this so-called Bible of Sate. Click. |
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The gravel had quit crunching. Damn! |
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I sucked up my gut, held my breath and cautiously opened the door. With a firm grip on the Mauser, I crawled out and my feet hit the solid surface of the asphalt blacktop. Percy's truck was sitting crosswise in the middle of the road and clear of the gravel lane. |
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I jumped back in, hoping against hope that some other clown wasn't foolish enough to be out driving in this soup and about to plow blindly into my exposed flank. I could already see it in big print in |
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