As she hung up the phone, Sarah realized that the train had
left the repair facility and was on its way to its first stop. Quickly, she checked her ticket and saw that
she was flying out of Gate C1. Terminal C—I was just there, briefly!
Maybe this trip had some order to it. To Sarah, it seemed like she was going in one
big, elaborate circle. Philadelphia—to
Baltimore—to Atlanta—now to Omaha—where would it end?
Don’t worry, Sarah. Everything will make sense when it’s supposed
to.
Maybe so, Sarah thought to herself, but it’s obviously not supposed to make
sense yet! Oh, well.
The train made its first stop, and Sarah almost jumped as two
travelers got on. Nervously she watched
them, wondering if one of them could be a spy—or one of the three who got on at
the next stop—or the man who slipped in at the third stop.
However, none of the passengers paid the slightest bit of
attention to her, and Sarah realized that she was watching them more carefully
than they were watching her. Remember, they got Firefly, she reminded
herself. Reinforcements haven’t arrived yet.
I hope they’re right.
Once she reached Terminal C, Sarah wasted no time getting to
the elevator. She realized, for the
first time, that she’d lost her carry-on.
I must have left it on the plane
when I was getting away from Mrs. Hayes!
An inconvenience, yes, but the last thing Sarah wanted to do
now was go look for it. Especially when
there were people looking for her—people who wanted to kill her.
She made her way to the appropriate gate, arriving just as
the announcement was made: “All first class passengers may now board.”
Oh, that’s me! Sarah got in line, handed her ticket to the stewardess, and
went to find her seat. Again, she had an
aisle seat, but the person sitting next to the window hadn’t arrived yet.
Sarah stared worriedly at the empty seat. Uh-oh,
who’ll it be this time? she asked herself.
Another spy?
She didn’t have long to wait.
A kid who looked about college age, in a T-shirt and jeans, came up to
her row and plunked his bag in the overhead bin. “Piedodiet!”
he said, making his way through. Sarah
didn’t know what language that was, but she moved over, deducing from his
actions that he meant, “Excuse me.”
“Paldies!” he said
[which Sarah correctly interpreted as, “Thank you!”]. He leaned back in his chair, put headphones
in, and started looking drearily out the window. By the time the plane was in the air, he was
dead asleep. Sarah started to feel more
relaxed.
Unless they’ve got someone in some
other seat, she
suddenly thought, and she looked around.
Nobody else appeared to be paying the slightest attention, though.
After all, what could they possibly
do aboard a plane,
thought Sarah. She settled back and
relaxed too.
Atlanta to Omaha was a longer flight than Baltimore to
Atlanta had been, but Sarah didn’t mind.
She found herself wishing it would never end. She’d been staring out the window for a half
hour, watching the clouds go by, when suddenly, the screen flickered in front
of her.
“Oh, a show!” she murmured to herself. Six TV shows came up, and she was about to
pick M*A*S*H when she realized that the Annie Oakley one was again a choice.
Another message?, she wondered, and she promptly
pressed that one.
As it turned out, though, it was the exact same episode she’d
seen last time. The same bank was
robbed, the same fake money was recovered, and Annie made the same comments
about going to Omaha (“you’ll have to cross it to get there from Iowa —remember
the advice I gave you about travelling?”)
Sarah never liked to watch the same TV episode twice in a row, and she
was just nodding off when the show reached the part where the words on screen
stopped lining up with Tracy’s mouth.
Remembering that, Sarah glanced at the screen, waiting to hear Tracy’s
message again.
“Charles Follett.
Charles Follett. Charles Follett.”
“Huh?” Sarah had started paying attention again as soon as
she realized the message was different. That
was Tracy’s voice, but all she was doing was repeating a name—over, and over,
again. Worse, Sarah had never heard it
before. Charles Follett? Who in the
world is Charles Follett?
“Charles Follett.
Charles Follett. Charles
Follett.” Tracy droned on, her voice
sounding like a hypnotist putting someone into a trance. No other words were spoken before the show
went off the air.
Oh, my goodness! What kind of a clue is that?
As the plane neared Nebraska, Sarah prayed her friend would
be waiting for her at the airport. If
Tracy wasn’t there, Sarah had no idea what would happen.
But she suspected it wouldn’t be all that
great—for her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THEIR MOST MOVING ADVENTURE YET!
Two friends of the Andersons had a father who’d just
gotten out of jail. He didn’t treat them
well, and he wasn’t a nice guy, but that didn’t make him a suspect—until a
grandfather clock went missing the night he heard about it. Then, the police picked him up—only to let him
go because of an unimpeachable alibi.
Did the Andersons have the wrong suspect, or were they making some other
mistake? Either way, they’d have to
watch their step, for someone would soon be—
OUT OF TIME
Available at https://www.amazon.com/Out-Time-Anderson-Family-Mystery/dp/1976154715/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1506942743&sr=1-1&keywords=Out+of+Time+Zisi
Read it! It is good!
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