Dead Water Zone - Kenneth Oppel [3]
He wasn’t certain, but he couldn’t ignore his instincts. “Sam?” He called out the name softly.
The shape jerked back from the roof’s edge. Paul ran down the alley after it, pushing himself hard.
“Sam?”
Why was he running away? Paul could see the dark figure, now far ahead of him, crisscrossing the alley, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in huge, weightless strides. It couldn’t be Sam! At the end of the alley he caught another glimpse of it. Waiting for me to catch up, Paul thought. Was that it? He jogged closer. Still the figure didn’t move.
“Hey!” he panted. “Sam, that you?”
The figure kept slipping in and out of shadow. Then it took a few steps back, made a running start, and jumped. The night swallowed it up.
Paul swore and charged ahead, but the alley dead-ended at a broad canal, separating him from the buildings on the far side. He dumped his knapsack to the ground and bent over to catch his breath.
Then he saw the slim figure crouched at the end of the pier, facing the water.
Paul’s heart jumped.
“Sam,” he said, walking closer, feeling such relief.
Sam turned around to face him, but it wasn’t Sam.
3
WHAT HE NOTICED first about her was the pallor of her skin. Her narrow face almost seemed to gleam in the darkness. A shadowy mane of curly hair was pulled back from her forehead and gathered in a careless braid. She wore several baggy sweatshirts and canvas pants lined with clasped pockets. Bone-thin wrists and long, tapered hands poked through the cuffs of the army-surplus overcoat that hung loosely about her.
Paul stepped nervously back.
“Sorry. From behind you looked—”
He could feel the pinprick of her eyes slowly summing him up. He thought he saw the trace of a smile. So pale, there was something almost vampiric about her.
“So you thought I was someone else,” she said. Her voice was languid with a softly sarcastic edge. No fangs at least.
Paul nodded awkwardly. His words spilled out to fill the silence.
“We were supposed to meet. At Jailer’s Pier.”
The girl held her hands aloft in an exaggerated shrug. “This is it. And here I am. Ain’t no one else.”
“This is Jailer’s Pier?” He couldn’t believe it—a complete fluke. “You didn’t see anybody; you’re sure?”
“No one lives around here. It’s deserted.”
“Listen,” he said, trying to sound firm, “I saw someone—”
“Wasn’t me, pal,” she broke in, shaking her head.
“I was following him. He was running on the roofs, fast, and it was like he jumped right across that—” He jerked his head at the canal and the looming buildings on the far side.
The girl stiffened. “You saw someone go in there?”
Paul hesitated. Looking at the canal, he saw that it was very wide. Surely no one could jump that! The buildings opposite formed a dark, unbroken wall.
“It looked like it. He jumped—the light’s no good; how could I tell really?”
She turned away with a dismissive grunt. “Shadow play maybe,” she muttered. “You get weird shapes on the water at night. Seen them myself a hundred times. Doesn’t mean anything.”
He felt chastised. Maybe he’d just wanted it to be Sam, and his mind’s eye had done the rest.
“But there was someone,” he mumbled. There was no mistaking that much.
“Who were you supposed to meet?”
“My brother.”
Her eyebrows arched slightly. “And he’s ditched you here, the middle of Watertown?”
“It seems so.”
“Nice brother.” She muttered something else, shaking her head. What a fool he must seem.
“No place to stay, right?” she said.
Her question caught him off guard. He’d just assumed he would meet Sam, and something would be worked out. But the girl was right—he was stranded.
“I don’t suppose you could recommend someplace nearby. A reasonable motel?” He forced a smile. It was the best he could do, given the circumstances.
“You’ll get taken apart if you stay out here,” she said without much concern.
“Oh.”