Away Is a Strange Place to Be by H M Hoover

Author:H M Hoover
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Published: 1990-03-26T05:00:00+00:00

9

Being in the driver’s seat somehow changed Bryan; Abby could feel the difference in him, if not put a name to it. He seemed to know by instinct which way to go across plazas, down bikeways, between buildings. He drove confidently at a speed she would not have dared to try. “This sure beats running,” he said at one point as they whipped around a curve.

She had to agree. Even riding backward with her back to his, jammed into the freight box, and bouncing up and down was better than running. As well as much faster. Not only was she tired, but the longer she sat in this position, the more aware she became of having hurt her knee when she ran into Mr. White. Her hand and both knees throbbed, and she dreaded having to run again, not sure that she could.

The buildings were bigger now, and more starkly designed. Little space had been left for decoration, and what lawns existed had been planted with coarse ground cover. They turned another corner, and Bryan said: “There’s the port. And there’s a door!”

When she tried to twist around to see, he nudged her with his elbow. “Stop that! You’re my prisoner,” he reminded her. While she felt a flash of resentment, she had to admit he was thinking. “Besides, the door’s closed,” he said.

When the roadway turned, she could just see around the windscreen to the end of the plaza, where a high, domelike structure rose. The door Bryan referred to looked like a warehouse entrance. The plaza ended on a broad thoroughfare separating the buildings from the port dome. There Bryan paused before turning right and racing along as fast as the cart would go.

“Are we being chased?” she asked, alarmed by this speed.

“Not yet. But there are two carts on the shuttleway above, and Mr. Blue is driving one. I’m trying to get inside before he sees us.”

Ahead the thoroughfare forked, the right side continuing on, the left disappearing into the dark mouth of a tunnel. As Bryan veered left, Abby looked for the sky painters and found them—pink dots high up and to the right. Then the tunnel roof blocked out her view.

In the dimness the little scootercart’s tires echoed back from unseen walls. There were no lights, and she couldn’t see much except what looked like walls of glass that gave back no reflection. Bryan slowed to a crawl, and she swung around in her freight box.

“Is this the concourse?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I never saw one with a vehicle entrance.”

“Can you see in here?”

“No, but if I turn on the head lamp, they’ll see us.” Like a perverse illustration of how quickly hope could fade, a light beam flashed past them. Abby looked back. A car was silhouetted against the arch of the tunnel opening. A second one came speeding in from the left, driven by Mr. Blue. His head lamp came on, the two beams crossing in a dusty X.

“Where’s White?” a voice called.

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