Chapter Ten
Two hours later, his arm weak but free of bandage, sling, and pain, Art rode with Melissa in an electric truck over a road that was little better than a roughly cleared path in the forest. The truck banged and crashed as though about to disintegrate every time it hit a bump—and the road seemed to have nothing but bumps. “I’d better warn you, Javik’s—different,” Melissa shouted above the din. “But he’ll help you, I’m sure of it.”
Art was too busy hanging on to reply, but he wondered, as a hitherto hidden compartment in the control console burst open and dumped assorted nuts, bolts, and bits of paper into his lap, what Melissa meant by ‘different.’
He found out a few minutes later when they groaned to a halt in the overgrown, litter-strewn yard of a house that made the Kymbals
