Dead Water Zone - Kenneth Oppel [35]
Paul hurried up the ladder after Monica. But the third rung gave way beneath his foot, and he plunged back to the landing stage, knocking Decks in a heap.
He helped Decks up. “I should have learned by now,” he said, mortified. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, fine.”
Paul was about to try the ladder again when he saw something lying on the ground at Decks’s feet. His heart raced. He heard Decks’s grunt of surprise and knew he was staring at it, too.
“What’s the gun for, Decks?”
“Just a precaution.”
“Against what? Cityweb?”
“That, too. Now listen, Paul. When I last saw David, he was violent, dangerous. He nearly killed me.”
“You said he was dead.”
“I believe he is.”
“It’s for Sam, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t say that. But when you see him—if you see him—you might be glad I brought this.”
“No,” said Paul, shaking his head dazedly. “No.” The idea that Decks had a gun and was willing to use it on Sam sparked a short circuit of pure panic through him. He kicked at the gun, hoping to knock it into the water, but it just skittered farther down the landing stage, and Decks ran after it. Paul heaved himself up the ladder, frantically smashing out the rungs behind him.
“No one’s going to hurt him!” Paul yelled, kicking at the side struts.
“Helicopter!”
Paul stood still. Seconds later he heard the angry beat of rotor blades.
“Come on,” Monica hissed, tugging at his arm.
Up ahead, Paul could see the bridge spanning the canal. The helicopter’s pulse thumped through the mist, as if from all directions. He staggered up the steeply arched bridge, his feet slipping against the planks. It seemed the helicopter would break through right overhead. On the other side of the canal, he threw open the door of a derelict house. Pigeons panicked all around him, fluttering to sagging rafters, lifting through large gaps in the ceiling.
Just inside, he sank to the floor, peering back out into the mist. “Can you see it?”
The rhythm of the rotor blades was gradually slowing, the noise duller.
“I think it’s landed,” she said. “On some other pier maybe.”
Paul looked toward the hulk. “We can run for it.”
“What about Decks?”
“I don’t trust him. I’ve got to get there before he does, before anyone does.” He suddenly felt exhausted, but he had to get up, had to move. He would not let his body fail him.
“Look,” Monica said in a whisper.
He followed her gaze to the hulk’s deck. There was scarcely a silhouette against the bright mist: a thin figure standing near the prow, bony arms taut against the railing. A large head rested atop a spindly neck. The figure turned and moved across the deck, disappearing down a hatchway. It was a stick figure in the distance, but Paul couldn’t mistake it. Sam.
Still no sign of him.
The floor of the passageway was slanted slightly, and Paul kept his balance by pushing off the wall with his hand every few seconds. Beams of light shafted through the cracks. After the cool of the morning, the hulk was surprisingly hot and foul smelling. There was a faint but constant ring in his ears.
“I can hear it,” he whispered. “The water.”
Monica nodded. “We must be so close.”
The corridor opened out into a deep chamber. Chains and iron manacles dangled from the walls. Bits of straw lay scattered about among tattered blankets and broken wooden spoons and plates. Something thick and fast brushed his ankle, and he looked down to see a rat scuttling into a hole.
“This must be where they kept the convicts,” Monica whispered. She’d paused, her eyes lingering over every corner of the huge room.
“There’s no one here,” he said impatiently. “Let’s go.”
“I’m looking for someone, too, Paul,” she said with a new dangerous hardness in her voice.
“I’m sorry.” He nodded. Of course he wasn’t the only one looking. But not ten minutes ago he’d seen his brother on the deck! How could she expect him to slow down now?
“You think she’s still alive?”
“Maybe. It’s not just that.”
“What else?”
“The water,” she said softly. “I want to know about the water.