The Forever Hero Read Online Free
Author: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
bother him.
Though not counting his steps, he had gone beyond what numbers he knew, far beyond, when he saw the silvery arc above the grubushes.
He slowed his trot and began to slip from bush to bush, from bush to hummock, and from hummock to bush as he angled toward the object that had dropped from the sky.
The smoldering grubushes, the charcoal smell mixing with the faint odor of grubush oil, both told him of the heat the object had created. His feet told him of the rumbling in the clay underfoot, and his ears could sense vibrations he could not hear.
As he neared the silvery object that towered higher than a shambletown wall, he slid behind a mound of clay that reeked of old brick and corroded metal. Beyond the mound, the bushes and other cover were too sparse for a safe approach, not to mention the steaming ground heat.
He waited, but the whining and the vibration did not stop.
Finally, the golden-haired boy peered over the mound again at the source of the sounds. After looking at the shining mass of metal, he blinked. Though the whining sound had not changed, a section of the metal wall had peeled back, and a ramp had been extended.
Thud .
He could feel the force with which the ramp settled onto the ground, and flattened himself as well as he could behind the mound, trying to keep himself above the ground fog while not letting the plume of his breath show in the increasing light of dawn.
He shivered, wondering what the metal machine on the desert plain meant. Was it one of the ships that the shambletowners always talked about?
Ships. He shrugged and snorted faintly, ignoring the white plume that trailed behind him. Always there were the ships that would come to save them. Even his parents had wondered. But no ship had come to save them from the shambletowners.
If the metal machine was a ship, or from the ships, would it spend the time to save anyone, devilkids or shambletowners?
The whining sound stopped, and the boy peered back over the top of the mound.
Rrrrrrrrrrr .
The sound echoed across the emptiness as a smaller object positioned itself on the top of the ramp and began to move down toward the ground, tracs clanking on the metal of the ramp.
No sooner was the armored tractor clear of the ramp than the whining began again as the ramp lifted and began to retract.
The tractor began to roll directly toward the mound which shielded the boy.
He scuttled sideways to another mound that barely covered him, but he could tell from the sound that the tractor had shifted direction and still headed toward him.
He looked left, then right, for another cover, making a quick dash to the left, scampering as low as he could, even breathing the ground fog that caught in his lungs like fire.
The roaring increased, louder, and he darted a glance from his hiding place.
Once more, the tractor had switched directions and was headed toward him, now less than a hundred body lengths away from him.
He ran, ran as fast as he could, with the practice of years and the spur of fear.
The pitch of the roaring increased, and the armored tractor increased its speed.
Could he make the gully he had passed earlier, the dry one where the poisons and fog were thinner?
He turned directly east and increased his stride.
In turn, the tractorâs roar increased.
Although he refused to look back, concentrating on avoiding the grasp of the grubushes while staying ahead of the machine, he knew that the gap was narrowing, bit by bit.
His breath came raggedly, and the cold air he inhaled tore through his throat, burning like fire. His breath plumes trailed him like banners as he felt the ground begin the gradual rise before the drop-off that was the gully ahead.
Thrumm!
He felt a tingling sensation as something sleeted past his left shoulder, but refused to stop, forcing his legs to keep moving. He could see the drop-off just ahead.
Thrummm!
The strange energy barely cleared his head as he ducked just before the sound. Only a handful
Though not counting his steps, he had gone beyond what numbers he knew, far beyond, when he saw the silvery arc above the grubushes.
He slowed his trot and began to slip from bush to bush, from bush to hummock, and from hummock to bush as he angled toward the object that had dropped from the sky.
The smoldering grubushes, the charcoal smell mixing with the faint odor of grubush oil, both told him of the heat the object had created. His feet told him of the rumbling in the clay underfoot, and his ears could sense vibrations he could not hear.
As he neared the silvery object that towered higher than a shambletown wall, he slid behind a mound of clay that reeked of old brick and corroded metal. Beyond the mound, the bushes and other cover were too sparse for a safe approach, not to mention the steaming ground heat.
He waited, but the whining and the vibration did not stop.
Finally, the golden-haired boy peered over the mound again at the source of the sounds. After looking at the shining mass of metal, he blinked. Though the whining sound had not changed, a section of the metal wall had peeled back, and a ramp had been extended.
Thud .
He could feel the force with which the ramp settled onto the ground, and flattened himself as well as he could behind the mound, trying to keep himself above the ground fog while not letting the plume of his breath show in the increasing light of dawn.
He shivered, wondering what the metal machine on the desert plain meant. Was it one of the ships that the shambletowners always talked about?
Ships. He shrugged and snorted faintly, ignoring the white plume that trailed behind him. Always there were the ships that would come to save them. Even his parents had wondered. But no ship had come to save them from the shambletowners.
If the metal machine was a ship, or from the ships, would it spend the time to save anyone, devilkids or shambletowners?
The whining sound stopped, and the boy peered back over the top of the mound.
Rrrrrrrrrrr .
The sound echoed across the emptiness as a smaller object positioned itself on the top of the ramp and began to move down toward the ground, tracs clanking on the metal of the ramp.
No sooner was the armored tractor clear of the ramp than the whining began again as the ramp lifted and began to retract.
The tractor began to roll directly toward the mound which shielded the boy.
He scuttled sideways to another mound that barely covered him, but he could tell from the sound that the tractor had shifted direction and still headed toward him.
He looked left, then right, for another cover, making a quick dash to the left, scampering as low as he could, even breathing the ground fog that caught in his lungs like fire.
The roaring increased, louder, and he darted a glance from his hiding place.
Once more, the tractor had switched directions and was headed toward him, now less than a hundred body lengths away from him.
He ran, ran as fast as he could, with the practice of years and the spur of fear.
The pitch of the roaring increased, and the armored tractor increased its speed.
Could he make the gully he had passed earlier, the dry one where the poisons and fog were thinner?
He turned directly east and increased his stride.
In turn, the tractorâs roar increased.
Although he refused to look back, concentrating on avoiding the grasp of the grubushes while staying ahead of the machine, he knew that the gap was narrowing, bit by bit.
His breath came raggedly, and the cold air he inhaled tore through his throat, burning like fire. His breath plumes trailed him like banners as he felt the ground begin the gradual rise before the drop-off that was the gully ahead.
Thrumm!
He felt a tingling sensation as something sleeted past his left shoulder, but refused to stop, forcing his legs to keep moving. He could see the drop-off just ahead.
Thrummm!
The strange energy barely cleared his head as he ducked just before the sound. Only a handful
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