Swans Landing #1 - Surfacing Read Online Free

slung my camera around my neck and climbed back down the ladder. An old rusted bike lay mixed in with all the other junk on the side of the house. I didn’t know if Lake would get mad at me for going through his things and I didn’t really care. The bike groaned at first, but eventually most of the rust worked out of it and it pedaled without much complaint.
    An eerie quiet settled over the island as I pedaled down the narrow streets. Back home, cars and trucks always rumbled by, among the normal sounds of life. Here there was only the soft roar of the ocean in the background, a few cries of seagulls, wind rustling through the grass and trees. Every now and then I heard voices or a car went by at a snail’s pace, but it was never loud enough to drown out the silence.
    Shops of every color imaginable, from deep red to brilliant turquoise, lined Heron Avenue, the main street of the island. Most had signs on the doors that read, “Closed until summer.” Some looked as if they had been boarded up for years, the dry grass and bushes in front of them overgrown and the paint faded and peeling. The island looked like a ghost town where a person could be forgotten forever.
    I didn’t have any particular destination in mind when I’d set out, but I found myself traveling southeast until eventually the shops along the street gave way to open beach. I hopped off the bike and wheeled it past sand dunes that looked like little bald heads with wisps of grassy hair. As I emerged from between the dunes, I got a full view of the Atlantic. The sky had become even more overcast and the choppy water foamed into waves all the way out into the horizon. Far off in the distance, a ship slid across the water while closer to the shore, a few birds skimmed over the surface to catch fish.
    I breathed in the salt air, savoring the taste on my tongue. I’d always had a weird obsession with salt. I liked my water with a little salt added to it. I poured enough of it on my food to give most people high blood pressure. My tastebuds reveled in the hint of it in every breath I took and I felt more alive than I had in a long time.
    The beach wasn’t deserted, despite the weather. An older couple walked hand in hand near the water and a few teenagers gathered next to a sand dune, a couple of them on ATVs. Their voices and laughter floated toward me, but they didn’t glance in my direction.
    “Oh, gross!” one of the girls shrieked as a boy lunged at her with a handful of dripping seaweed. Her friends laughed as she ran in a circle around them to avoid the boy.
    My breath caught in my throat as I remembered the times I used to hang out with my own friends, way back before Mom got so sick. I felt a thousand miles away from the people my own age and I didn’t know if I had the energy to ever make it back toward something resembling normalcy.
    If this was such a deserted island during the off season, then there should be a little private corner where I could sit in peace. Tucking my head down, I steered my bike across the sand and followed parallel to the water, keeping a safe distance from the rough and likely frigid sea.
    The voices behind me faded and blended into the sound of the ocean until I couldn’t hear them anymore as the beach curved away from them. A long way down the beach, after it felt like I’d walked for miles, I passed over a row of sand dunes and found a thick grove of trees. The evergreen trees were smaller than they would have been if they had grown in Tennessee and the branches twisted in low-hanging crooked limbs, giving the forest a creepy appearance. Creepy was good. Creepy would keep giggling girls who were afraid of seaweed out of my hideout. I edged my way into the cove, skirting the wet sand where the water crashed onshore and found a quiet, isolated stretch of beach.
    My bike fell soundlessly into the sand at my side. I closed my eyes and breathed in the salt air. It felt good, being here on the edge of the world with no