disoriented. Am I being rescued? She blinks hard, her mind unable to grasp what her eyes are seeing.
The tire is caught in the wake of a great beast, its dark, imposing head plowing the surface somewhere up ahead. The brutish silhouette is circling, and now she can see what looks like its eyes, glowing crimson beneath an enormous wake that washes over the monster’s face.
Oh my God …
The mountainous bow wave tosses the surviving crewmen of the Ronald Reagan from their rafts, their limbs flailing like those of surfers thrown by a breaking wave.
High above, an air wing organizes. Four fighters plunge toward the monster, each enraged pilot intent on slaughtering it. Eight JDAM missiles launch as one, the wave of projectiles homing in on the brute’s exposed back.
From the creature’s spine, a dozen surface-to-air missiles zoom skyward, blasting apart the Joint Strike Fighters in the blink of an eye—even as the evening sky erupts with the metallic whine from two antimissile guns, positioned behind the sea creature’s head like horns on a devil. A sheer wall of steel—four thousand 20-mm shells—meet the JDAMs head-on.
Rocky instinctively ducks, registering the heat from the explosions as she shields her eyes from the inferno.
The remaining fighters race out of range, clearly outmatched.
Unchallenged, the steel nightmare laps its killing field one last time before disappearing beneath the waves, leaving little more than a ripple.
Rocky presses her face against the cold surface of the helicopter wheel, her shattered mind screaming a single thought.
Goliath …
Like a tortured animal in a trap, she is gripped by a wave of anger. Purple lips whisper the cursed name of Gunnar Wolfe, her voice rising until she is yelling like a banshee, screeching her venom into the deepening twilight.
“I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. I will not refuse to do the something I can do.”
—Helen Keller
“I have no regrets. I acted alone and on orders from God.”
—Yigal Amir, assassin of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin
CHAPTER 2
2 October 2009
State College, Pennsylvania
The main campus of Pennsylvania State University and its bordering town of State College lie in the Nittany Valley, a serene countryside of flowing hills, rural neighborhoods, outdoor malls, and dairy farms, enveloped by the mountains of central Pennsylvania. The name “Nittany” comes from the Indian words meaning “protective barrier against the elements,” and may have originated from the tale of a mythical princess, “Nita-Nee,” who led her people to safety within the Pennsylvania valley. Upon her death, Mount Nittany itself is said to have risen to mark the princess’s grave.
Gunnar Wolfe shuts down the lime green tractor and stares at the mountain range stretched out before him on the distant northeastern horizon. The fading afternoon sun has bathed the sloping landmark in shades of purple.
Closing his eyes, he draws in a deep, intoxicating breath.
The serenity of the mountains soothe Gunnar’s soul as the sea once had, long before it had become a battlefield. Resting his arms on the wheel, his chin on his forearms, he gazes at the hills, imagining them to be a series of majestic tsunamis, their cresting fury threatening to wipe out the valley—and what little sanity his existence has been clinging to over the last seven years, four months, ten days, fourteen hours … .
Gunnar had grown up on the dairy farm back when its borders encompassed more than a hundred acres. He and his cousins had milked the cows by hand back then—sixty pure Holsteins—each animal twice a day. Looking back, he sees it as a happier, simpler time—long before his father had purchased the milking machines—long before his mother had died. Gunnar
closes his eyes, refocusing his mind, this time counting the years since the accursed drunk sophomore had run into her as she walked home from
The tire is caught in the wake of a great beast, its dark, imposing head plowing the surface somewhere up ahead. The brutish silhouette is circling, and now she can see what looks like its eyes, glowing crimson beneath an enormous wake that washes over the monster’s face.
Oh my God …
The mountainous bow wave tosses the surviving crewmen of the Ronald Reagan from their rafts, their limbs flailing like those of surfers thrown by a breaking wave.
High above, an air wing organizes. Four fighters plunge toward the monster, each enraged pilot intent on slaughtering it. Eight JDAM missiles launch as one, the wave of projectiles homing in on the brute’s exposed back.
From the creature’s spine, a dozen surface-to-air missiles zoom skyward, blasting apart the Joint Strike Fighters in the blink of an eye—even as the evening sky erupts with the metallic whine from two antimissile guns, positioned behind the sea creature’s head like horns on a devil. A sheer wall of steel—four thousand 20-mm shells—meet the JDAMs head-on.
Rocky instinctively ducks, registering the heat from the explosions as she shields her eyes from the inferno.
The remaining fighters race out of range, clearly outmatched.
Unchallenged, the steel nightmare laps its killing field one last time before disappearing beneath the waves, leaving little more than a ripple.
Rocky presses her face against the cold surface of the helicopter wheel, her shattered mind screaming a single thought.
Goliath …
Like a tortured animal in a trap, she is gripped by a wave of anger. Purple lips whisper the cursed name of Gunnar Wolfe, her voice rising until she is yelling like a banshee, screeching her venom into the deepening twilight.
“I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. I will not refuse to do the something I can do.”
—Helen Keller
“I have no regrets. I acted alone and on orders from God.”
—Yigal Amir, assassin of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin
CHAPTER 2
2 October 2009
State College, Pennsylvania
The main campus of Pennsylvania State University and its bordering town of State College lie in the Nittany Valley, a serene countryside of flowing hills, rural neighborhoods, outdoor malls, and dairy farms, enveloped by the mountains of central Pennsylvania. The name “Nittany” comes from the Indian words meaning “protective barrier against the elements,” and may have originated from the tale of a mythical princess, “Nita-Nee,” who led her people to safety within the Pennsylvania valley. Upon her death, Mount Nittany itself is said to have risen to mark the princess’s grave.
Gunnar Wolfe shuts down the lime green tractor and stares at the mountain range stretched out before him on the distant northeastern horizon. The fading afternoon sun has bathed the sloping landmark in shades of purple.
Closing his eyes, he draws in a deep, intoxicating breath.
The serenity of the mountains soothe Gunnar’s soul as the sea once had, long before it had become a battlefield. Resting his arms on the wheel, his chin on his forearms, he gazes at the hills, imagining them to be a series of majestic tsunamis, their cresting fury threatening to wipe out the valley—and what little sanity his existence has been clinging to over the last seven years, four months, ten days, fourteen hours … .
Gunnar had grown up on the dairy farm back when its borders encompassed more than a hundred acres. He and his cousins had milked the cows by hand back then—sixty pure Holsteins—each animal twice a day. Looking back, he sees it as a happier, simpler time—long before his father had purchased the milking machines—long before his mother had died. Gunnar
closes his eyes, refocusing his mind, this time counting the years since the accursed drunk sophomore had run into her as she walked home from
Similar Books
Emily
Jilly Cooper
BLYSS (Blyss Trilogy #1)
J. C. Cliff
Until I Found You
Victoria Bylin
Revel
Maurissa Guibord
Shredder
Niall Leonard
Oceans of Fire
Christine Feehan
Dead Surge
Joseph Talluto
What Mr. Mattero Did
Priscilla Cummings
Emily Windsnap and the Land of the Midnight Sun
Liz Kessler