Dead Water Zone - Kenneth Oppel [49]
He glanced down at his bandaged hands. “They’re fine. You did a good job. Thank you.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I saw Armitage a few hours ago,” Paul said, “with a bunch of other guys.”
“They went back to Rat Castle to sink the helicopter. Armitage doesn’t want any traces.”
Paul’s eyes scanned the dark outlines of the shantytown. “I wonder where Sam is.”
Monica shook her head, smiling sadly.
“He got out all right,” Paul said, almost to himself. “We just missed him in all the smoke.” He felt only a weary resignation.
“He could be anywhere now,” she said.
“Do you think he’ll drink it?”
“He might.”
“He wanted us to be equals so badly. I wonder if he thinks I betrayed him, because I wouldn’t drink the water.”
“You were right not to.”
“But what about him? Maybe I was asking too much. Was it wrong for him to want to heal himself?”
“He didn’t even know if it would work, Paul. It was a guess, a crazy guess.”
“He could still do it, though.” He tilted his head back to the night sky, shutting his eyes, wishing he could clear away all his thoughts and sleep. “Maybe that’s right for him. Maybe—who knows, he might make some kind of medical breakthrough.”
But Monica was shaking her head. “It only ever killed people, Paul. In the end.”
He nodded slowly, looking at her. Five years, Sam had said. He twined his burned fingers through hers and gazed back over Watertown.
He found the note at the foot of his bed when he woke late the next morning. It was written on a ripped-out page from a magazine, the cramped words twisting through the white space between advertisements.
I’m not coming back. But you already knew that, I think. I haven’t taken the water yet. But I will, and I hope you understand. I was wrong to ask you to drink it with me; you don’t owe me anything. What I said about Monica was a lie. I found nothing to prove that the water in her veins would cut short her life. And now I’m going on an adventure, Paul. I hope you wish me well.
Sam
Paul walked to the window, his body stiff and aching. The sun had almost burned through the morning mist. He suddenly felt filled with light.
Monica bumped the boat against the docklands jetty and idled the motor. She sat looking straight ahead, her hands lightly tapping the wheel.
“Lots of room in our house,” she said.
Paul shook his head with a laugh. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not from there.” And because I’m a coward, he thought.
He looked across the harbor to Watertown, hazy in the distance. He’d considered staying—forget about Governor’s Hill, his parents, school. But he knew he couldn’t do it, not yet.
“So when’ll you come back down?”
“As soon as I can.”
She exhaled noisily, dissatisfied.
“So when will you come up?”
“Never,” she said. “Can you see me hanging out at the mall?”
“See, it works both ways.”
She nodded reluctantly. “Got everything?”
“Yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks.” He hefted his knapsack onto his lap.
“You and your stupid knapsack,” she said, and suddenly looked away from him.
He leaned across and pressed his face into her hair. As he held her, he knew suddenly that he was falling in love with her, and he drew back, afraid.
“It’s not stupid to need people, is it?” he asked her, wanting to be reassured.
“No. It’s just that you can get let down.”
“How do you know I won’t let you down?” he asked.
“I don’t,” she said simply. “And maybe it doesn’t matter.”
“No.” He knew she was right. All you could do was keep trying.
“Don’t wait too long,” she said.
“I won’t.”
He stepped out of the boat and onto the jetty. He felt tentative, a little shaky, as if he’d just recovered from a bad case of flu. But he knew he was very happy. He loved her; he needed her.
He wondered if the whole thing was an impossibility, like some magical gas dissolving in empty air. But he pushed his thoughts ahead to his return. He would stand at the tall gate at the end of the pier, his hands curved around the iron bars, waiting, seeing her walk slowly toward him, to let him in.
About the Author
KENNETH OPPEL is the