By Scott Smith
All of it appeared So Simple...
Two brothers and their pal bump into the wreckage of a plane—the pilot is useless and his duffle bag includes 4 million cash in funds. the boys comply with disguise, preserve and percentage the fortune. yet what started out as an easy plan slowly devolves right into a ugly nightmare none of them can keep an eye on.
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All of it appeared So easy. ..
Two brothers and their good friend bump into the wreckage of a plane—the pilot is useless and his duffle bag comprises 4 million money in funds. the boys comply with cover, maintain and proportion the fortune. yet what started out as an easy plan slowly devolves right into a grotesque nightmare none of them can keep an eye on.
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From the bones of the useless, and from an extended buried mystery. .. they upward push to kill. the unique Golem used to be molded from riverbed clay centuries in the past, enchanted by way of spells to guard the blameless. yet now a diabolical layout has perverted the traditional, mystical rites to forge new Golems that stalk the evening.
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Additional info for A Simple Plan
He gave a deep, theatrical sigh, more for Lou's benefit than mine, but nevertheless shuffled off toward the front of the plane. I started to squeeze my way in through the doorway. I turned sideways and slipped my head and shoulders inside, but when I got to my chest, the opening seemed suddenly to tighten, gripping me like a hand. I tried to pull back, only to find that my jacket and shirt were snagged. They bunched up under my armpits, exposing the skin above my pants to the cold air. Jacob's bulk darkened the windshield, and I heard him start to scrape at the ice with his glove.
I came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. " I whispered. His arms hung down at his sides, his fingertips just barely brushing the floor. His hands were swollen, impossibly large, like inflated rubber gloves, their fingers curling slightly inward. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and I could see the hair on his forearms, dark black against the ghostly whiteness of his skin. I grasped his shoulder and pulled him away from the dashboard. His head fell back heavily against the seat, and I flinched at the sight of it, jerking myself up and banging my own head against the plane's low metal ceiling.
I was pushing and pulling now, not even sure which way I wanted to go, just trying to get free, my feet digging into the snow outside, the weight of my body rocking the plane, when there was a sudden flash of movement up front. I couldn't tell what it was at first. There was the sense of the pilot's head being tossed to the side, then something exploding upward, rising and pounding frantically against the inside of the windshield. Not exactly pounding, I realized slowly, but fluttering. It was a bird, a large black crow, like the ones sitting in the apple trees outside.