Psion Beta Read Online Free PDF

closer. On his left was a row of seats and on his right was a small wooden railing. As he put his hand down to support his weight, the carpet––no, the floor itself––disappeared, and he nearly fell through a hole almost a meter square.
    Had his situation not been so dire, Sammy might have laughed out loud. A staircase went straight up to the stage from the level below. Going down head first, he used his hands for support as he half-crawled and half-slid down the stairs. As soon as his hands touched the cold concrete of the floor below, he stood up and peered around the tiny room.
    By searching and feeling his way around the room, he guessed that he was in the winery. He found a door and cracked it open to listen. The dim light shining through momentarily blinded him.
    When he felt safe enough to leave the room, he pulled out his shockers and pointed them in front of himself. The shockers felt heavy and awkward in his hands; his inexperience at weapon-handling was painfully obvious. He saw himself as he was: a stupid kid delaying the inevitable. It was the Elite looking for him, not his friends, not the Shocks. He navigated through the hall, passing doors both marked and unmarked. Where is an exit? Behind him a door opened and closed, and he broke into a half run.
    Sounds from somewhere ahead told him to hide. He spotted a niche in the wall for a drinking fountain. He slipped into the niche to the left of the fountain and pressed himself against the wall. Then he ducked his knees beneath the fountain to lower his body and prayed he would not be seen by whoever was about to pass. Though he held his breath, his chest heaved and his heart pounded.
    In almost unnatural silence, a dark figure passed Sammy, giving him enough time to see the high black combat boots and black pants with red skull markings. Sammy’s father had told him how those red skulls put despair in the minds of terrorists during the earliest days of the New World Government.
    The Elite, the NWG’s most feared operatives, had earned their distinction with merciless efficiency. The presence of the symbol of the red flaming skull, not only worn on their suits, but burned into their vehicles and weapons, was usually more than enough to end negotiations or hostage crises. The Elite were the very best. And everyone knew it.
    Without warning, the Elite turned and with a gloved hand, snatched Sammy by his hair, yanking on him so brutally that his scalp burned. Sammy tried to reach up and dislodge the man’s grip, but he had shockers in both hands. One of them fired and caught the exposed wrist of the Elite. The Elite swore at Sammy in a stammering grunt and fell back hard. The shockers in Sammy’s hands trembled as he watched the Elite soldier hit the wall and slide to the floor. He wanted to just scream and scream, but forced himself to let out a long slow breath. It had a slightly calming effect.
    I can find a way out , he told himself several times to regain his composure. He squeezed out of the niche and went the opposite direction of the Elite until he found a flight of stairs. Like a heavenly message, the green, glowing letters of an exit sign hovered above a door.
    The door opened with hardly a noise, and he looked out onto the east grounds of the cathedral. As his shoes touched the grass, hope kindled inside his chest. He could hide in a tree until the Elite left. Since they hadn’t seemed to be looking for Feet, maybe they would leave him there. It was a good plan; the best he had at the moment.
    He was not more than a few meters onto the grass when the door slammed open behind him. Sammy turned to see two Elite coming out of the church. “Target in sight,” one of them said with an annoyed scowl.
    “ Don’t move, you little bastard,” the other called out.
    Sammy stopped running. His heart thundered in his chest and his stomach sank. Tears formed in his eyes. He did not dare try to run yet. The Elite had their boomguns trained on him as they