The Future Door Read Online Free

was another series of loud cracks. Griffin automatically ducked as a round of bullets thudded into the wooden carriage walls behind him.
    â€œUncle, get down!” Griffin shouted.
    Rupert, who was still stunned from the first explosion, was busily brushing glass from his hat and vest. Griffin leapt from his seat and tackled his uncle to the floor.
    And it was a good thing he did. The next round of bullets hit the seat right where Rupert’s chest had been a fraction of a second earlier.
    Toby, who had been sleeping next to Griffin, yelped and dove beneath the seat. The hound whimpered as bullets continued to thump into the splintering wood of the carriage walls.
    Griffin felt the carriage lurch forward as the driver whipped the horses to greater speed. “Out of the way!” the cabbie yelled. Bystanders screamed and dove for cover as the cab weaved back and forth through the crowded streets.
    Daylight streamed into the cab from a myriad of holes, and Griffin fancied that he could hear the air whistle through them as they thundered down the road.
    With his face pressed to the floor, he had no idea where they were heading or if the shooter was still beside them. He was thankful that the driver hadn’t kicked them out of the cab, and assumed that the only reason for this must have been that he was as scared as they were.
    â€œWhere’s your Stinger, boy?” Rupert shouted from where he crouched beside him.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYour Stinger!” For emphasis, Rupert made the fingers of his right hand into the shape of a gun.
    Griffin suddenly remembered what his uncle was talking about. Rupert’s inventions ranged from incredible crime-solving devices to futuristic pistols that could fire an array of different ammunitions, including beams of light and different types of plasma. Griffin had been given one of the weapons on their last adventure, a gun called the Snodgrass Stinger that shot an immobilizing green goo at its intended target. With an inward groan, he realized that he’d left it in his carpetbag, which the driver had loaded on top of the carriage.
    â€œI d-don’t have it,” Griffin stammered. “It’s in my bag on the roof !”
    The cab made a sharp right turn, and Griffin felt it tilt, the momentum lifting the left wheels entirely off the ground. He and his uncle were thrown across the floor, and Griffin felt his shoulder bang into something hard. The door that he’d hit flung open, and he felt himself sliding out of the carriage.
    â€œHelp!” he cried.
    His uncle’s hand shot out and just managed to grab hold of Griffin’s shoe. The boy dangled outside of the racing cab, hanging upside down with his head poised just inches above the cobblestone street.
    Whether it was because of the danger or an increased sense of anxiety, Griffin’s mind went into overdrive, processing everything around him with intense clarity as if he were taking a series of photographs.
    Two alley cats, one with eyes of green, the other yellow .
    Flash!
    Shop windows with the names T. Quane, Tanner, Long’s Publick House, Saint Hour’s Timepieces, and Hopper’s Haberdashery .
    Flash!
    A discarded boot lying next to three barrels of mackerel .
    Flash!
    A beggar with one eye and no socks .
    Flash!
    A second carriage with a woman wearing goggles and holding a Gatling gun . . .
    And in that unique way that he processed things, Griffin saw for the first time that it wasn’t a man but a woman who pursued them. Her long hair was deep red and streamed from beneath her broad-brimmed hat. She was dressed like a man, wearing not only the industrial goggles he’d seen earlier but a green silk cravat and ruby red waistcoat. Her lips were bloodred, and her perfect rows of white teeth stood out in sharp contrast as she lowered her sights on Griffin and flashed him a malicious grin.
    And in that beautiful smile Griffin could see very clearly that he was about to