“Got a go-bag?” Eunice asked. “I haven’t had my own place for the past year…Living out of a bag. That count?”… — William Gibson
“Got a go-bag?” Eunice asked.
“I haven’t had my own place for the past year…Living out of a bag. That count?”
“We had go-bags in our go-bags,” Eunice said, “depending.”
“On what?”
“Where we were going,” Eunice said.
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Netherton said nothing, something he’d only recently been learning to deliberately do.
“Turkey and Syria weirding you out?…Folks in Frankfurt made me feel like the Cold War never really went away. Somebody shoots down a couple of Russian jets, wham, it’s Cold War Atlantis, risen from the depths.”
“What’s going on?” asked Manuela, eyeing the container’s door. “Is this a cult? Kidnapping people and telling them somebody’s after them?”
“Let me think about it,” Verity said.
“You’re kidnapped too? Let’s fucking escape!”
