The Weatherman by Greg Krojac

Author:Greg Krojac [Krojac, Greg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Yes, I would have loved to drive the Skidoo. It was much faster and much more fun than the tandem that I’d ridden in Sector C, though I knew that with my lack of experience I’d have probably driven us into the nearest tree. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to control the vehicle in the way that Sestra was doing.

We must have been travelling well over 40kph – that’s the fastest I’d ever travelled and that was on a bus – weaving in and out of trees as if they were made of hollow cardboard and not solid wood that could turn these beautiful machines into twisted lumps of metal, with equally twisted lumps of flesh and bone if we were to collide with one. Whilst marvelling at Sestra’s hand-eye coordination (and, by proxy, Lars’s too) and simultaneously being thrown from side to side, hanging on for grim death, I found it terrifying that only maybe ten metres behind us was the Weatherman. How could he run so fast? It was difficult enough for me to walk on the snow, and he was treating it as if it were a running track. He cut a bizarre figure, being dressed neither for the extremes of Sector C’s environment nor for a sports track event – an incongruous sight. Who was he?

I peered over Sestra’s shoulder and looked at the speedometer. 120kph. Surely we were going to die – the forest was too thickly populated with trees for us to ride our luck for much longer. I turned back to look behind us. That infernal Weatherman was gaining on us. I saw him raise his cane and instinctively ducked, remembering what had happened the last time he did that. My right hand almost slipped off the grab-rail and my left foot lifted into the air as Sestra pitched the Skidoo to the right with no warning, allowing the bullet to whistle harmlessly past my ear. Hoping not to distract Sestra too much, I shouted into her ear, forgetting that my words might well be snatched by the wind rushing past our heads.

“Why is he shooting at me? What have I ever done to him?”

She heard me and shouted back.

“Because it’s you he wants. Sven was collateral damage. Lars – if he shoots him – will be too. And he’s not allowed to kill me. That leaves you as the only target.”

Those words rang in my ears as I was thrown to the other side of the Skidoo and another bullet narrowly missed me. Sestra had said, He’s not allowed to kill me. What could she have meant by that? Why was she off-limits? Sestra was turning into quite the enigma. There was certainly so much more to her than just a lost young woman that I stumbled across in the fog.

Lars was riding parallel to us, driving with just as much agility as Sestra, but being ignored by the chasing Weatherman. It would appear that Sestra was correct – I was the target.

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