Dead Water Zone - Kenneth Oppel [0]
Kenneth Oppel
This book is for Philippa
Contents
1
PAUL DREAMED machinery.
2
THE SMALL motorboat humped across the water. Paul felt every…
3
WHAT HE NOTICED first about her was the pallor of…
4
PAUL GAZED DOWN at the opaque green water swelling against…
5
SHE WAS WORKING in the engine hatch of the cabin…
6
“YOU AREN’T THE first person to ask me about this…
7
THE BOAT’S ANCIENT engine gushed heat and noise into the…
8
SOMETHING WONDERFUL is going to happen. His brother’s fevered words…
9
PAUL KNOCKED ASIDE the ragged curtains and peered out into…
10
“YOU SNAKE!” spat Monica as the motorboat came alongside. Armitage…
11
WITH A RUSTY SHRIEK, the gate swung slowly back.
12
THICK METAL HOOPS had been shackled to his ankles and…
13
“HOW DOES IT feel to be shackled?”
14
HE SHOULD HAVE paid more attention earlier. Which way? Right…
15
THE HULK WAS burning and sinking.
About the Author
Other Books by Kenneth Oppel
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
PAUL DREAMED machinery.
The oiled push of steel pistons, the rustle of rubber hosing, the low roar of a powerful furnace.
He walked into his brother’s room. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, curling barbells in toward his chest—right arm, left arm, one, two. Impossible. Sam was too weak to be lifting them.
“I’m getting stronger,” Sam said. One, two, one, two, effortless.
“But how?” Paul asked.
“Secrets are subatomic,” Sam replied with an enigmatic smile.
“What does that mean?” Paul demanded. How typical of Sam to say something clever and not explain it. “What does that mean?”
“Look.”
Sam lowered the barbells to the floor and began peeling off his layers of clothing, one sweatshirt, then another, then another—all the time getting skinnier and skinnier.
“You don’t have to do this,” Paul said anxiously. “You don’t have to, Sam. Stop!”
But Sam kept stripping off his shirts, until he came to the very last one. Paul knew what was underneath.
“Don’t!” he shouted. “Sam, please, I’m sorry!”
“Paul,” his brother said, “watch.”
There was a blinding flash of skeletal white, but something else, too, something metallic.
“No!” Paul shouted. “No, no, no!”
He clamped his eyes shut, but the scalding brightness filled his dream vision, white and intense as a camera’s flash, then slowly faded to the dark color of deep water.
2
THE SMALL motorboat humped across the water. Paul felt every wave through the thin metal hull, as if they were riding over a corrugated rib cage. He wasn’t used to boats, and he didn’t feel particularly safe in this one. The oily pool quivering at his shoes had expanded since they’d started out. And once, when he’d looked back over his shoulder at the pilot, he’d seen him scooping up some water with an old coffee mug and flinging it hurriedly over the side. Paul grimaced. He’d been too eager; he’d just hopped into the first boat he’d seen for hire.
He could make out Watertown’s low sprawl in the distance now, the vast shantytown suspended on a rickety webwork of pilings and piers. He’d seen pictures, but he’d never traveled down here before. He didn’t know anyone who had. If his parents found out—but they wouldn’t. That part had been easy. He hadn’t even lied, not really.
He couldn’t help feeling a sense of accomplishment. Everything so far had gone off smoothly: the commuter train from Governor’s Hill through the Outer Neighborhoods, then the stinking subway, which had slung him down into the City and dumped him at the docklands. From there, boat was the only way. He glanced at his watch. Still plenty of time.
There was a sudden tightness across his chest, and he felt short of breath. He told himself he’d been sitting too long, letting his muscles cramp; he told himself he was getting out of shape. But he knew it was nervousness. Push-ups. That always did the trick. Got the body working again. He flexed the powerful muscles in his thighs and upper arms and felt vaguely reassured.
He could see the outer reaches of Watertown clearly now. Boats dotted the water—small blackened things,