Read Online The Dark Water by Seth Fishman - Free Book Online Page B

he knows she’s with him. She’s always been with him. He realizes then that she didn’t object to save herself. She wanted to save him.
    He grins, about to help her through the opening when he hears something. A soldier walks into the junction and immediately checks out the closed BIOHAZARD door across the way. Jimmy pulls Odessa back frantically, and they slide behind the cart, out of the gunman’s view.
    Jimmy’s breathing too hard, his suit’s fogging up. He wishes he had a needle or scalpel or something useful he could actually expect to find in a lab.
    The soldier comes closer; Jimmy can see his black combat boots peeking underneath the door. The soldier crouches, the tip of his machine gun coming into view, and with no other plan in place, Jimmy lunges past the cart, grabs the barrel of the gun and pulls as hard as he can.
    Maybe it’s the surprise, maybe it’s leverage, or maybe it’s his newfound strength, but Jimmy hears the soldier’s face smash into the other side of the door, and watches him fall flat on the floor, gun glittering with him. Jimmy takes a fistful of the man’s shirt and tugs him under, then, with his enormous padded fist, slams him once, twice in the face until the soldier’s nose bursts bloody and his eyes roll back.
    â€œDid you kill him?” Odessa asks. Jimmy blinks. Of course he didn’t, but he’s surprised he knocked him out so easily.
    â€œGet under the door, Dess. Be careful. Make sure there’s no one else out there.”
    Jimmy unstraps the machine gun from the unconscious body and searches him. He finds a canteen. Flashlight. A handgun. A knife. A radio. He takes the handgun, and then slides under the door. Jimmy gives the trembling cart a kick and the door slams down, locking the soldier inside.
    And them out.
    Jimmy doesn’t say a thing while Odessa unzips him from the suit. Soon she’s free too. She holds his cheek for a moment, her palm against his newly grown scruff.
    He smiles. Then hands her a gun.

7
    WE STEP INTO A BANQUET HALL. THE ROOM STRETCHES out fifty yards straight from the door, with banquet tables, two of them, that run almost that entire length. The tables themselves are made of a swirling pattern of rock and crystal, and under them, there’s a wide carpet of blue and yellow; every ten feet gas chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Keepers stand against the wall like Praetorian guards, silent and statuesque. They guard doorways that lead elsewhere in the tower.
    And on the far side of the room, in an engulfing chair, sits a tall and regal Keeper. In front of him there’s a small desk, which he’s writing away at, dipping his pen in ink as he goes.
    The Keeper looks up and beckons eagerly with his pen. Closer, I can see that the chair is a deep blue and shining. If I thought it were possible, I’d say it was a solid carved sapphire. The Keeper sits on what resembles a draped white down comforter. What do I know? Maybe it’s stuffed with goose feathers. It looks remarkably comfortable, something you’d need on your sapphire throne. The desk, too, is not a desk but a clever contraption that swivels aside when the Keeper pushes a button. The Keeper’s hair is long and dark, and falls gently down his back, over a formfitting shirt of glittery silver that reminds me of chain mail. He’s wearing blue leathery pants adorned with patterns of gold, starbursts and circles. He looks like a rich raver.
    It seems wrong to speak. Behind him is a glass window, stretching across the entire back of the room, but it’s too dark and hard to make anything out to call it a view.
    â€œDo we bow?” Rob whispers.
    â€œNo way,” Jo replies, her voice fierce.
    The Keeper smiles, his teeth a dazzling white. His lips, though, are pale and thin and his mouth opens up almost too much when he smiles. I can easily see the gums surrounding his teeth. It’s not the most welcoming of