Dead Water Zone Read Online Free Page B

nearby. Surely he’d brought more equipment than this! Where was it? And what about a sleeping bag? Food? He’d been down here for weeks. What was he living off?
    “Looks like he cleared out,” Monica said behind him.
    But then he saw his brother’s glasses, lying on the floor. Sam was almost blind without them. He’d never leave them behind.
    There were endless possibilities here. You could slip from a pier, dash your head to pieces onthe timbers below. You could drown, get mugged, murdered for an empty wallet. But none of these things explained the glasses. Sam would have been wearing them. Broken equipment, clothes all over. Signs of a struggle? Maybe. With whom? Sam, what happened here?
    “Maybe he’s planning on coming back.”
    Paul slipped the glasses into his pocket.
    “No. He’s not coming back.”
    What was Sam doing down here, holed up in a deserted boathouse with test tubes and beakers, like some kid on a demented school field trip? Maybe if he’d come right after Sam’s phone call, instead of waiting a few days. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe, maybe. He took a deep breath. There was nothing else to see here.
    He gathered up the clothes. They still smelled of Sam. He brushed past Monica and headed down the steps, numb.
    “We should have come last night,” he muttered, knowing it was unfair.
    “You saw what the waters are like around here,” she said dispassionately.
    “Something’s happened to him!” he shouted. “He could be dead! And you didn’t want to scratch your crappy boat!”
    “Paul, I’m sorry! But it’s not my problem!”
    “Not your problem! That’s great, that’s just—”
    He hit the last step and felt it give way. The crack of splintering wood sounded in his ears as he lurched headlong toward the water, the bundle of clothes spilling out ahead of him. Suddenly Monica’s hand closed around his right arm, snapping him back. He was less surprised by the strength of her grip than by its coldness—an uncanny chill through the fabric of his sweatshirt.
    He toppled clumsily to the deck, wrenching his foot free from the rotted wood. Sam’s clothing floated atop the filthy water, already sodden. He started snatching it out with furious determination, slapping it against the deck. He hardened his face, biting back tears.
    Monica knelt beside him and fished out a few T-shirts and socks. Paul couldn’t look at her. He felt like a fool. He was captain of the track team, he could bench-press his own weight and more, and here he was, tripping on steps. She’d had to pull him back like a mother grabbing a little kid who’d wandered too close to the deep end! It wasn’t his fault. This whole stinking place was rotting under his feet.
    They carried the clothes back to the boat in silence.
    “Thanks,” he said grudgingly. “I’m sorry.”
    “You missed something up in the loft.”
    “What?”
    She handed him a small square of plastic. It was a computer diskette. He blew off the dust and examined the label: S. B. Sam.
    “Where was it?”
    “Jammed against the wall.”
    The motor shuddered to life. Her pale hands tapped the steering wheel as she stared straight ahead. “Look, I hope you find your brother, really I do. Where do you want to go? I’ll dump you anywhere you want.”
    Paul was still looking at the diskette. “Do you have a computer?”
    “Paul, this is really none of my business.” She hesitated, then said evenly, “What I mean is, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
    He couldn’t blame her. He was a total stranger and she’d already done a lot. He rubbed his arm. It was sore where she’d grabbed him.
    “Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”
    She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Where do you want to go?”
    “Can you take me back to the main pier?”
    “Done. Get in.” She started backing the boat out but then flipped it into neutral. “What are you going to do at the main pier?”
    “I’ll