Half the Day Is Night Read Online Free

orient, he wasn’t sure how far he had turned or what direction Bennet had gone, what direction was the dome, from here no way to even guess direction, he was fucking well lost in the night and the amber lights of the indicator were flickering as his respiration went up; slow down, slow down, slow down. Think. He could turn off his headlamp. With his off he would stand a better chance of catching sight of Bennet’s light—if Bennet’s was still on. With his on he was visible to Bennet. He reached up and tapped his headlamp twice, had to do it a couple of times. His light finally went off.
    Instantly, the black rushed in at him. He saw movement in the nothing, things, shapes, shells, bullets, streams coming at him, his mind making something out of the absence of sensory information, son of a bitch, he couldn’t handle the dark, even if it made good sense he couldn’t do it, the amber letters of the telltale going up and up, his respiration climbing, he fumbled for the lamp, cold fingers missing the plate while the only light, the amber letters of the telltale told him he was approaching hyperventilation, he used both hands and the light came on and shapes swirled only at the periphery of his vision. Panic, frigging anxiety attack, come on, he thought, be calm, you can die if you aren’t calm. He whirled again, circling to find someone, nothing, but hanging there in the water his headlamp was a beacon, he was vulnerable, a still target, he had to think, think think think, think about the dark. Don’t think about the dark. What would orient him? Nothing around but water, 250 meters of water between him and the sun above, below, below there was ground. Bottom. Under water ground was called bottom, swim down, folding in the water, not sure if this direction was really down but it must have been because almost instantly he saw sand and rock. The indicator said his breathing was down a little. He touched bottom, solid bottom, hard and rocky, not much sand, like the Kalahari which really had very little sand at all, groped and found a rock as big as his fist, hefted it, feeling how heavy it was, how slow he would move it in the water.
    A headlamp came on close by and he turned to face it, his rock held ready, slightly behind his body, because he’d have to get real close to Bennet to use it. Bennet said matter-of-factly inside his mask, “That’s exactly what you should do if you’re ever lost, head for bottom.”
    David held the rock, waited for the other to come closer, he would be slower in the water, he would have to wait until the other was very very close. And he did not know if Bennet was armed.
    â€œAround here you can always switch to band eleven,” Tim said. “Somebody will be on the band, around here there’s always someone. Of course, I was close. Sorry about that, but that’s the way I was taught, you don’t forget a lesson like that. You ready to go home?”
    David nodded.
    He dropped the rock about halfway back. Later he realized that if he’d brained Tim he’d never have been able to find his way anyway.

2
    Funeral Games
    Mayla did not read about Danny Tumipamba’s murder in the paper because that morning she didn’t get a chance to finish it.
    Most mornings Mayla got into the kitchen before Tim. She made her coffee and listened for signs that he was awake. She hated to admit that she ordered her life around Tim, but there it was. She hated when he was there, and the quiet time before he came down was ruined by anticipation.
    She heard his feet on the stairs from the loft. She looked at her paper.
    â€œMorning gorgeous,” he said. Some mornings he came downstairs furious, some chipper. He touched the side of the coffee pot. “Cold. Christ, Mayla,” he said, “how can you drink this stuff?”
    â€œPractice,” she said. No one really drank coffee at boiling, not even in Los Etas. Tim had a special