Growth Read Online Free Page B

the glass slivers in his palms.
    He turned back and wasn’t gentle about dragging Slade through the shards. If the old fuck got cut, then he deserved it.
    Slade was tough enough to keep quiet and not complain. They pushed through the glass and dirt, cracking cornstalks as they crawled deeper into the greenhouse. The temperature wasn’t much different from outside. If anything, it was cooler.
    They slid over a wooden partition, landing in an aisle of some kind. Rows of corn stretched into the gloom, lit only by the spinning red lights high above. The deep, throbbing buzz of the alarm reverberated through Bob Jr., rattling his bones. He caught sight of his bleeding hands and knees and whirled on Slade. “Where’s that goddamn staircase, old man?”
    Slade wiped soil and cobwebs from his eyes. “Down . . . down there. I think.”
    â€œYou better be fucking right,” Bob Jr. said, hauling Slade to a standing position.
    Their leather soles scraped concrete as they struggled down the aisle. The greenhouse was full of corn and nothing else. Most seemed to be healthy, mature stalks, bursting with nearly ripe ears of corn. The only thing that felt out of place was the abundance of cobwebs, glistening in the spinning red lights. Husks of caterpillars hung in the strands. The webs stretched everywhere, even across the walkway, and the two men had to plow through the intricate designs as they shuffled along.
    Bob Jr. didn’t think much of it. Fucking spiders. Nothing more. He was focused on the boat.
    And so he didn’t notice the movement along his arms, his back, his hair.
    â€œWhere? Where!” Bob Jr. demanded. His tongue felt dry and thick, too big for his mouth. There was a tickle in the back of his throat.
    For the first time, Slade looked like he was about to panic. “They told us . . . it’s supposed to be around here.”
    Bob caught a glimpse of some dark insect, a spider of some kind, creeping through Slade’s silver hair. He ignored it and spun them in a circle. Webs encircled their bodies. “There’s nothing here. They lied to you, old man. They lied.”
    â€œThere!” Slade shouted, his voice full of triumph. Bob Jr. followed his finger and saw a metal door, crusty with rust, sunk into the wall. There was no traditional door handle; instead, a two-foot iron pipe crossed the door, waist-high. A number pad enclosed in a greasy-looking plastic cover waited next to the door.
    Slade said, “It runs off a different system. It’s an older grid, not on the books anymore.”
    Bob Jr. decided that the old man was getting one chance to get the fucking code right. If the door didn’t open immediately, he was going to ditch the old fart and get out of this awful greenhouse. No doubt the alarms had drawn the fake lab tech with the automatic weapon. And there was no way in hell he was going to sit around and wait to get shot.
    Slade broke the seal on the plastic cover and hit six digits. He waited a moment, then pushed two more.
    A solid chunk came from behind the door.
    Bob Jr. wrenched the handle out of the locked position and slammed it down. They heard a dusty click inside the doorframe and glanced at each other.
    Bob Jr. swung the door out, opening it on a fire escape and the sky. He could smell salt water. Below, hungry waves lunged against the rocks. When he saw the black Zodiac tied and secure, bobbing around in a tidal pool at the bottom of the fire escape, he couldn’t help himself and blurted, “Sweet fuck.” He went back and slung Slade around his shoulders again. They left the greenhouse and started down the steep steel steps.
    Bob Jr. shook out his free arm and pulled webs out of his hair. They stuck and broke, leaving a tacky net across the left side of his head. He felt something crawl under his collar near his tie and slapped at it, feeling it pop, almost like a rotten pea. He spit again, just to get the taste of the