Dillon Hunt And The Desert Oasis Resort - Chad Stewart (best ereader for students TXT) 📗

Dillon was amazed at the clear dividing line between where the Oasis ended and the desert started. He noticed it on the way in, but it had a different impact on him now that he was biking through it. It was almost as though there was some sort of invisible wall between the lush green ground and the rocky, sandy, sterile land. As Dillon rode across “the line” he looked up and down the distance of the lush green land. The Oasis was huge! It went in each direction for quite a few miles he estimated and then turned back toward the way he came. And it wasn’t just a straight line, it zigged and zagged, but everywhere it turned there was definitely a clear line of separation between the Oasis and the desert.

As he continued down the rocky trail on his BMX he remembered reading that the really weird thing about the Oasis is that it never grew or diminished in the few years it had been around. This information came directly from personal testimony of the people who lived here. Of course no one who was an outsider really knew for sure as the tribal owners had been pretty protective of letting others on their land in order to conduct tests. As a matter of fact the books Dillon was reading seemed to indicate that John Taylor Sebastian was the only one with almost unlimited access to the resort in order to carry out his investigations. It wasn’t really clear why John Taylor Sebastian was the only one with this kind of access. What was clear was that he, and members of his team, were the only ones to have gone missing. Dillon’s gut told him that there was a connection to this; he just didn’t know what that was yet.

The trail to the information center was just as awesome as the boy at the rental place said it would be. The suspension on the BMX was put to the test as Dillon pounded over the hard rocky surface and dipped down into the low gullies. He got air more than enough. And the speed he could get at certain points was amazing! He was truly in his element.

As he flew over the next jump he started to picture himself riding a futuristic motorcycle that used antigravity technology to keep it just above the ground. The desert track suddenly turned into a concrete highway in his mind’s eye. He found himself cruising by other cars and bikes at 250 miles per hour. The rush was incredible!

He looked to his belt and noted the MX1500 machine pistol strapped there. For now, he was Agent Dexter Malone of the Twilight City Central Police Department (TCCP). He looked forward again and saw the woman he was hunting down: Deborah Gale, also known as The Night Hawk.

The TCCP had been trying to catch The Night Hawk for months as she was wanted for multiple charges of robbery and murder, most notably the robbery of Princeton Techs newest invention, a super soldier serum known as Weapon 10. Word was that she was going to sell it to the highest bidder on the dark web. With that serum in the wrong hands, the world would be plunged into chaos.

Malone couldn’t let that happen.

He jammed the bike into a higher gear and hit the accelerator to max. His bike roared and took off. The Night Hawk looked back and saw Malone catching up. She reached down, drew her gun from its holster, and started firing at the daring Agent.

Malone swerved and veered, all the while keeping his eye on the target. He ducked in and out of traffic with deadly precision.

“Put the weapon down, and surrender,” Malone said, his helmet amplifying his voice so that she could hear him. “You have one chance,” he warned.

The only response he received was her jamming down on the accelerator and pulling away from him.

He smiled. “Good. This should be fun,” he said to himself.

With lighting speed he pulled his MX1500 and fired a single shot. The bullet grazed The Night Hawk’s hand and drove into the accelerator. Her bike started to slow instantly as she retracted her hand, obviously in pain. As Malone quickly neared her he leaped from the seat, keeping both his hands on the handle bars, and spun both his legs around, kicking her in the side which sent her flying from her bike.

He smiled again, knowing that there was no way The Night Hawk was getting away from him.

Before Dillon could finish his imaginary adventure he came into view of the back side of the info center. He cleared his head, and came back to reality, parking his bike off to the side and went right to the front door. He stopped for a moment and looked around. It was eerily quiet as there didn’t seem to be anyone around. He noted two vehicles in the parking lot but other than that there was not a trace of anyone, or anything else, except for the odd tumble weed here and there blowing across the highway. He shrugged it off and pushed on the door. It didn’t open. He tried again but realized that it was locked. He looked at the hours of operation sign and noted that the place should be open right now.

Dillon got a shiver down his back. He knew something was wrong. He looked around for a moment and pressed his face up against the glass, trying to get a look of what was going on inside if he could. Everything seemed quiet.

Maybe I’m overreacting? he thought to himself. Right … In the middle of the day with two vehicles parked out front when the store hours clearly indicate that it’s supposed to be open and it’s not even lunch yet. It’s all just a little too suspicious.

He moved to the side and around the building searching for another way in. He found a side door but that too was locked. As he moved around he noticed a window about six feet off the ground that was wound open about ten inches. It was clearly too small an opening for most people, but fortunately Dillon was still only twelve and hadn’t filled out yet. He figured he could fit through if he could get a boost. He searched around a little more and found a garbage can that would be perfect for him use.

Before he proceeded any further he decided that he should probably look up the phone number and see if anyone would pick up first. He wasn’t keen on breaking and entering and figured he should try this first. The phone rang and rang until the voicemail engaged.

“Hi. Thanks for calling the Desert Oasis Information Center,” a woman’s voice said. “Our hours of operation are from 8 AM to 8 PM, Monday to Friday, and 8 AM to 5 PM on Saturday and Sunday. If you would like to leave a message please do so after the tone. Thank you.”

Dillon hung up. It should be open right now. That knowledge gave Dillon a sinking feeling. He didn’t want to believe it, but he started to think that something was wrong. He needed to get inside.

After positioning the trash can, he hoisted himself up. Before entering he took off his backpack and squeezed it through the window. He kept a firm hold on the bag as he squirmed through, not wanting