Allegiance: A Jackson Quick Adventure by Tom Abrahams Page B
Authors: Tom Abrahams
Tags: Politics, UT, Texas, president, Assassination, Houston, Election, Health Care, Environment, David Baldacci, austin, alternative energy, Nanotechnology, texas aggies, income taxes, second amendment, brad thor, oil, texas chl, tom abrahams, gubernatorial, petrochemicals, post hill press, big oil, rice university, bill of rights, aggies, living presidents, texas politics, healthcare, george h w bush, texas am, taxes, transcanada, obamacare, wendy davis, gun control, rice owls, campaign, george bush, texas governor, ted cruz, rick perry, 2nd amendment, right to bear arms, vince flynn, keystone pipeline, chl, keystone xl, longhorns, phones, clean fuel, ipods, university of texas
Ads: Link
intervention, but realize God knows it would be an empty offer. I haven’t really kept my end of the deal with Him through most of my life. Then again, I long believed He failed me when he took my parents. I blamed Him for a long time and never really moved past agnosticism after that.
Now, in the midst of what could be the last moments of my life, I am suddenly moved to ask for help. I’m desperate. If he’s listening, he sees right through me, I’m sure.
“Praying?” George asks me.
“Uh,” I am surprised by the question. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Me too,” he says without taking his eyes off the road. “It can’t hurt.”
We’re driving through the intersection with Polk Street, about to pass the House of Blues ahead on the right when…
Boom ! Wham !
My neck snaps to the left and then right. My head impacts with something, maybe the window. The SUV spins, and my whole body slams into George, who is pressed into the driver’s side door. The Lexus stops when we hit a car parallel parked on the left side of the one-way street. I’m a little disoriented, but I gain focus in time to see two men walking toward the car. In the distance behind them is their black sedan, its front end smashed. They’re maybe twenty-five yards from the car. I fumble with my seatbelt to unlatch it, but I can’t find the button. My door is crushed.
“George! Are you okay?”
He moans and shakes his head. At least he’s conscious.
“George!” I repeat. “We gotta go!”
I finally locate the button on the seatbelt and unhook myself. Scrambling into the back seat of the Lexus I stay low and manage to open the back door. I slide to the street, stumble to my feet and start running.
“Hey!” someone yells from behind me. “Hey, Quick! Stop running!”
I’m running aimlessly, not sure of where I am going. My head is pounding. My vision is a little blurry. I’m having trouble breathing as I run, but I’m not stopping.
“Quick!” It’s a second voice. Both men are following me.
I turn around, continuing to run, looking over my shoulder. Both men are standing at the Lexus. I can’t see George. He may still be in the car, I can’t tell. One of the men, gun in hand, starts to trot toward me. I can see a crowd starting to gather near the intersection, people getting out of their cars.
I turn back around, still a little dizzy, and keep running. My legs feel heavy. I’m limping on my right leg. I can’t stop. If they catch me, I am dead. I’m on a sidewalk now, running along Polk. I can feel people looking at me as I run past. My right side is starting to hurt. One of the dark suited men is jogging after me. He’s not in an all-out sprint like me, but seems to be keeping pace. Maybe he doesn’t want to call too much attention to himself. Ahead is the Hyatt Hotel. I dig a little deeper and run across Louisiana to the hotel entrance.
Straight ahead is a bank of glass elevators. I speed walk to the back of the atrium lobby and turn the corner to find the row of elevator doors. Still breathing hard, feeling bruised and exhausted, I press the UP button followed by the DOWN button. Whatever opens first, I’m taking.
The elevator rings and the door closest to me opens. I get in and press the button to close the door. It takes an eternity, but it shuts and I consider my options. The arrow above the door is pointing down. One button is labeled T. I don’t know what that means, but I push it.
The elevator lurches downward and stops. The doors open to a sign on the wall directly opposite the elevator. HOUSTON TUNNEL SYSTEM. SOUTH LOUISIANA. There is an arrow pointing to the right directing me to the TUNNEL LOOP. I decide that’s my best option. I turn right and start jogging down a long wide hallway.
I’d forgotten Houston has a massive underground tunnel system running ninety-five city blocks. It’s two stories under downtown and is full of restaurants and shops. The city built it to keep downtown workers out of the
Now, in the midst of what could be the last moments of my life, I am suddenly moved to ask for help. I’m desperate. If he’s listening, he sees right through me, I’m sure.
“Praying?” George asks me.
“Uh,” I am surprised by the question. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Me too,” he says without taking his eyes off the road. “It can’t hurt.”
We’re driving through the intersection with Polk Street, about to pass the House of Blues ahead on the right when…
Boom ! Wham !
My neck snaps to the left and then right. My head impacts with something, maybe the window. The SUV spins, and my whole body slams into George, who is pressed into the driver’s side door. The Lexus stops when we hit a car parallel parked on the left side of the one-way street. I’m a little disoriented, but I gain focus in time to see two men walking toward the car. In the distance behind them is their black sedan, its front end smashed. They’re maybe twenty-five yards from the car. I fumble with my seatbelt to unlatch it, but I can’t find the button. My door is crushed.
“George! Are you okay?”
He moans and shakes his head. At least he’s conscious.
“George!” I repeat. “We gotta go!”
I finally locate the button on the seatbelt and unhook myself. Scrambling into the back seat of the Lexus I stay low and manage to open the back door. I slide to the street, stumble to my feet and start running.
“Hey!” someone yells from behind me. “Hey, Quick! Stop running!”
I’m running aimlessly, not sure of where I am going. My head is pounding. My vision is a little blurry. I’m having trouble breathing as I run, but I’m not stopping.
“Quick!” It’s a second voice. Both men are following me.
I turn around, continuing to run, looking over my shoulder. Both men are standing at the Lexus. I can’t see George. He may still be in the car, I can’t tell. One of the men, gun in hand, starts to trot toward me. I can see a crowd starting to gather near the intersection, people getting out of their cars.
I turn back around, still a little dizzy, and keep running. My legs feel heavy. I’m limping on my right leg. I can’t stop. If they catch me, I am dead. I’m on a sidewalk now, running along Polk. I can feel people looking at me as I run past. My right side is starting to hurt. One of the dark suited men is jogging after me. He’s not in an all-out sprint like me, but seems to be keeping pace. Maybe he doesn’t want to call too much attention to himself. Ahead is the Hyatt Hotel. I dig a little deeper and run across Louisiana to the hotel entrance.
Straight ahead is a bank of glass elevators. I speed walk to the back of the atrium lobby and turn the corner to find the row of elevator doors. Still breathing hard, feeling bruised and exhausted, I press the UP button followed by the DOWN button. Whatever opens first, I’m taking.
The elevator rings and the door closest to me opens. I get in and press the button to close the door. It takes an eternity, but it shuts and I consider my options. The arrow above the door is pointing down. One button is labeled T. I don’t know what that means, but I push it.
The elevator lurches downward and stops. The doors open to a sign on the wall directly opposite the elevator. HOUSTON TUNNEL SYSTEM. SOUTH LOUISIANA. There is an arrow pointing to the right directing me to the TUNNEL LOOP. I decide that’s my best option. I turn right and start jogging down a long wide hallway.
I’d forgotten Houston has a massive underground tunnel system running ninety-five city blocks. It’s two stories under downtown and is full of restaurants and shops. The city built it to keep downtown workers out of the
Similar Books
