Surrounded by Sharks Page 11

  “Where was that?” said Fulgham. Everyone was leaning in now, even her own parents.

  “Tell ’em, luv,” said Kate.

  “I was getting to it, wasn’t I? He was by the little shed place, the little —”

  “The bar stand?” said Fulgham.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” she said. She hadn’t wanted to say boozer. “It wasn’t open yet, but he was sitting under a tree right next to it.”

  “On the path there?” said Fulgham.

  “Little ways back.”

  Brando spoke up: “What was he doing?” No one else looked over at him or even acknowledged his question, but Drew did.

  “He was reading.”

  I knew it, thought Brando.

  Now that she’d answered him, the others started in: Where exactly, what kind of tree, when, and are you sure?

  The deputy held up his hand to shush them. “Do you remember what time that was?”

  “Quarter to eightish, your time. Maybe a little later, but I don’t think it was quite eight.”

  She looked at her mom, who nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s about right,” said Big Tony.

  “Wait, did you see him, too?” said the deputy.

  “No, but that’s what time we were at that boozer.”

  Fulgham nodded and scratched another quick note in his little notebook.

  “We were at that same place about an hour later, when we first went out to look for him,” said Pamela.

  The deputy wrote that down, too, before turning to face her. “And you didn’t see him?”

  “No, and we were there for a while. We definitely would —”

  They were interrupted by a pair of middle-aged men wearing matching white hats. “You’re blocking the sidewalk!” said the smaller of the two.

  Big Tony turned and glared at them both. “I’ll block your sidewalk!”

  The men crossed the street so quickly that they almost walked into the door of a passing car.

  Pamela continued: “And we talked to the guy inside, and he said he hadn’t seen anyone.”

  Fulgham jotted down the new information. “All right, at least that’s something,” he said. “He was there when you walked by” — he pointed his pen at the Dobkins — “and gone before you got there.” He pointed the pen at the Tserings. “Was it an old guy you talked to at the bar stand?”

  Brando nodded.

  “Old as dirt,” said Tam.

  “Okay, that’s Morgan Bembe — Captain Morgan. I’ll need to talk to him.” Fulgham looked around at the bustling street and shook his head. “And we need to stop burning time over here.”

  “Sorry for the confusion,” said Big Tony. “Just trying to help, and I made a mess of it.”

  “Our fault as much as anyone’s,” said Pamela.

  “Anything we can do to help,” offered Kate.

  “We may need to borrow your daughter,” said Fulgham. “She’s the last one to see the boy now.”

  Kate and Big Tony nodded.

  “I’m in,” said Drew. “Let’s find him.”

  The police launch flew through the water, skimming over the surface and sawing off thick white plumes on either side. Fulgham was gunning the engine and shouting into his radio. The others were mostly just holding on tight. Tam and Pamela were closer to the cockpit, and Drew and Brando were squeezed in farther back.

  Drew watched the docks disappear behind them. Her parents were still there, waiting for the next boat.

  Brando tried to figure out what this meant. Davey hadn’t taken the boat. No one had seen him there, not even its captain. That’s what he’d thought all along, but he wished he’d been wrong. Because if he hadn’t taken the boat, and he wasn’t on the island, that only left —

  Drew interrupted his thoughts. “That’s your brother, then?” she shouted over the noise. “The one we’re looking for?”

  “Yeah, uh, Davey,” he shouted back. “His name is Davey.”

  “He likes his books!” She formed her thumbs and fingers into circles and raised them to her eyes: glasses.

  “Yeah!” called Brando. “He’s really smart!”

  “I’m Drew.” She leaned over and extended her hand.

  “I’m Brando.” He leaned over and took it. It was bigger than his, and warm.

  The boat bounced over a small wave and they both fell back into their spots. It was too loud to say much more, but Brando felt better now. It was true: Davey was really smart. Even if something bad had happened to him, he’d figure it out.

  Drew was just glad Brando didn’t look so sad anymore. She wasn’t sure what help she could be. She didn’t know much more than what she’d already told them. But she was determined to do what she could.

  The next thing she knew, the boat was slowing down and pulling up to the little dock on Aszure Island. She braced herself as it bumped to a stop and the deputy threw off the line.

  There was a man there to take it, but it wasn’t who any of them were expecting. Brando looked around, but Marco was nowhere in sight. The man caught the line and fastened it with a few quick, strong tugs. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform, long pants and a short-sleeve shirt. Brando caught a quick flash of gold from his collar.

  Brando thought the man looked like a superhero, and he was half right: He was an officer of the United States Coast Guard.

  “That was fast,” said Fulgham, hopping onto the dock.

  The two men exchanged quick salutes.

  “I’m coming from the same place you are,” said the man. “At Station Key West all morning.”

  “Heading back to Marathon?” said the deputy.

  “I was.” A Coast Guard launch, a little bigger than the police one, was tied up on the other side of the dock.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Beast.”

  Beast? thought Brando. Had he heard that right? He had. The man’s name was Bautista, but people who could get away with it called him Beast.

  Maybe he really is a superhero, thought Brando. Beast was one of the original X-Men, and he was blue, too. Brando didn’t even realize he was staring until Bautista gave him a quick smile and snapped off a salute. Brando raised his hand slowly and saluted back.

  “I’m Lieutenant Commander Daniel Bautista of the United States Coast Guard,” he said to Tam and Pamela as he helped them onto the dock. “I’m here to help any way I can.”

  Bautista looked over at Brando, whom he’d been told about, and Drew, whom he had not. He didn’t want to sugarcoat anything. The island was small and had been searched thoroughly. The boy had been missing for the entire day. That meant he was probably in the water, and that meant he was probably dead. Still, he tried to find something encouraging to say.

  “I do have some experience with this sort of thing.”

  That was an understatement. He was the best they had.

  Brando understood what had just happened better than his parents did. They’d just been sent away so the grown-ups could talk things over. It happened to him all the time, but it had probably been a while for Tam and Pamela. The “grown-ups” in this case were Bautista and Fulgham. They’d headed off with Drew, so she could show them exactly where she’d seen Davey. The Tserings weren’t invited.

  The deputy’s mood had changed. He was very serious now, and so was the new man, Bautista. He was the one who’d sent them back to the hotel.

  Brando broke into a little jog to keep up with his parents. They were headed for the office. People were making phone calls there. They were trying to reach the guests who’d left that morning, the ones who were up early and might’ve seen something. Bautista said they’d be a big help there. Brando had heard that one before.

  They pushed through the back doors of the hotel. The flyers were still up on both sides of the double doors. Davey’s face looked out of the paper, a small smile on his lips, oblivious. Tam paused to smooth out the tape on one of them.

  “The office?” said Tam to the lady at the front desk. She pointed behind her and
didn’t protest as they walked around the counter. She knew who they were. There was a little doorway off to the side. It was open a crack, and the buzz of mismatched voices filtered out. The family walked through single file.

  One quick look told Brando that they weren’t needed. There were two desks, each with a blocky, old-fashioned phone. Marco was sitting at one desk, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Yes, this is a message for Delmar Granderson. I’m calling from the Aszure Island Inn. I hope you enjoyed your stay! I just wanted …”

  A man in the same blue uniform as Bautista was at the other desk. Brando knew right away that this was Bautista’s assistant, that when you have gold things on your collar, you don’t drive your own boat. The man was sitting up very straight in his chair, holding the phone stiffly. He’d left his share of messages, too — many of the former guests were still on planes — but this time he was talking to an actual person. “I see…. Of course … So, nothing?”

  Behind them, another employee was holding a piece of paper, probably waiting for her turn to dial. That made his parents second and third in line, if they even had enough numbers to call.

  “I’m going to the room,” said Brando.

  No response, so he left. There were a few people in the lobby, and they all watched him as he emerged from behind the counter. Maybe they were wondering what he’d been doing back there, and maybe they thought he looked a lot like the boy on all of those flyers.

  Brando didn’t stop to ask. He went straight to the room. He fished the passkey out of his pocket and swiped it. He waited for the little light to turn green and went inside. The first thing he did was go to the little mini fridge and take out a brand-new five-dollar Coke. He dared them to bill him for it. He twisted the top off the cold plastic bottle and took a gulp so big it almost came out his nose. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and looked around the room.

  The beds had both been newly made. The covers were tucked in as tight as ticks about to pop. He raised the Coke to his mouth again. Just before he took another sip, he saw the empty cot. The blanket had been folded into a square, and the pillow had been fluffed and left on top of it.

  Brando stood there looking at it. The Coke bottle fizzed away a few inches from his mouth, but he’d forgotten all about it. He’d wanted his brother to get in trouble, to have to sleep on that thing all week. He’d seen it empty and said nothing.

  “AAAAAAHHHH!” he yelled at the cot.

  His body shook with the effort, and some Coke spilled out and ran down his hand. He looked down at lines of cold, brown liquid and then drew the bottle back like a baseball and threw it against the far wall. The room was still again after that. The only sounds were his breathing and the Coke glugging onto the carpet in the corner. He dared them to charge him for that, too.

  He didn’t want to be in the room anymore. He walked back to the door and turned the handle, but he let it go again. He walked over to the other side of the room. He pawed through his brother’s little stack of books until he found the one he was looking for. The Hobbit — he was pretty sure that was the first one. It was the first one Davey had read, anyway. Suddenly, and for the first time, Brando wanted to read it, too.

  He tossed it onto his bed, kicked over the cot, and walked straight back out of the room. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going, but he knew it wasn’t back to that little office. He walked through the lobby quickly, trying not to look at the people who were looking at him.

  “Hey there, hold on,” someone said. He was going to ignore them, but something told him to stop and look over. It was probably the English accent.

  “Hey, Drew,” he said.

  “Where you off to?” she asked. Having told them what she knew, she’d been sent to her room, too.

  “Not sure,” said Brando.

  “Hey, let me ask you something,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  A couple came through the doors, and Drew motioned him off to the side.

  “You’re his brother.” She was talking more quietly now.

  “Yeah.”

  “So let me ask you: You have any idea where he might’ve gone?”

  “Kind of,” said Brando, thinking about it. “Maybe.”

  “And where’s that, then?”

  “Somewhere quiet. To read.”

  “Yeah, right! That’s what I think, too. I mean, that’s what he was doing when I saw him. Sitting under a tree and reading. Did you tell them that?”

  “Yeah, but …”

  “But what?”

  “They didn’t listen to me.” What he didn’t say: Because I’m a kid, because they think they know better.

  “God, I hate that!” she said, and he could tell she knew what he meant.

  A man walked up next to them and unfolded a brightly colored brochure. They took a few steps to the side and spoke even more quietly.

  “Do you want to …” Drew continued. He could see she was thinking about something.

  “Want to what? Go look for him? That’s what I was going to do.” He hadn’t realized it, but as soon as he said it, he knew it was true.

  “That’s good, but I think we should go find those men.”

  He nodded.

  “That big one, the Coastal Guard, he’s … different. I don’t know, but I think he might listen to you.”

  “And he’s with the deputy,” said Brando. The deputy had started to listen to him, at least a little. “Do you know where they are?”

  “I know where they were.”

  “That’s pretty good.”

  “You want to?” she asked again.

  Brando had made up his mind. “Yeah,” he said. “Definitely.”

  He started toward the front doors. “Out of our way!” he said to the man hovering with the brochure.

  “Hmm?” said the man, still pretending he wasn’t listening.

  “Not that one,” said Drew. She pointed toward the back doors, and they cut across the lobby. They pushed through the doors and past the flyers. They headed out into the light of the slowly setting sun, in search of someone who would listen.

  Davey was wide-awake again. His nerves buzzed as his eyes scanned the water below him. He’d been riding the adrenaline-rush-to-crash wave all day, and what he had left filled his system. Both his body and his mind were starting to understand that he wouldn’t have to do this much longer, one way or the other. If they didn’t find him soon, there’d be nothing left to find.

  The blacktips were up high now, their fins occasionally breaking the surface. Davey almost liked that. It made them easier to keep track of. With its old territory back, the blue had gone back to circling. The circle was tighter now. Everything was closer to the surface and closer to Davey. The blue’s aggression and the blacktips’ competitiveness had done that.

  The little fish — the four silver-gray and the one bright blue — huddled tightly under the bottle now. Even they sensed the danger in the water.

  Davey kicked his feet slowly underneath him. It helped keep him warm and alert. He was also using them as bait. He let them hang down into the water and moved them slowly back and forth. They were the most obvious targets for the sharks, and he didn’t try to fight that. He couldn’t watch the whole ocean, but he could watch his feet.

  He was so focused on them that a new arrival nearly bumped into him. It was a jellyfish. Its pulpy head pushed to within a few inches of Davey’s left arm, which was wrapped around the bottle. He noticed it just in time and kicked himself a little off to the right.

  He watched as the thing drifted past, its soft, ghostly head in front and the fine, stinging threads trailing behind. He’d never been stung by a jellyfish. He wondered if it would hurt more or less than a bee sting. But he didn’t let himself wonder for very long.

  He quickly looked back down at his feet. Nothing. He checked the surface for black-edged fins. Not there. He peered through the bottle again. After a long, bad minute, the blue circled back into view. He located the blacktips
a moment later.

  He let himself relax, just a little. He had no way of knowing that a much larger animal had slipped into a wider orbit around this little aquatic menagerie. He wanted another look at that jellyfish. It was such a weird creature. The light passed through it. The tentacles moved like curtains in a summer breeze. It could be a creature in The Lord of the Rings, straight out of the Sundering Seas. He wondered if J. R. R. Tolkien had ever seen one. Did they have them in England? Or maybe when he was in the army, in the First World War?

  He reluctantly took his eyes off it and went back to his grim watch. Thinking about Tolkien had opened something up in him, though. He was looking down into the water, but his thoughts were a thousand miles away. He thought about home. He thought about seeing The Hobbit in the Cineplex and knowing before it was even over that he needed to read the books. All of them. He remembered his mom taking him to Joseph-Beth Booksellers and the haul of treasure he’d returned with.

  And then he remembered taking that treasure and locking himself into his bedroom with it, as if he lived in the dark and doomed Mines of Moria. Why had he done that again? It seemed so dumb to him now. He had come to understand one thing very clearly during his time in the water: Being alone, truly alone — it sucked.

  If I was home again, he thought, I would take the first book to the living room table and read them all through right there. Mom and Dad would be just through the archway in their office, and Brando would be over on the —

  “Ow!” he said.

  He felt a sharp pain on the back of his leg.

  The first thing he thought was that he’d lost track of the jellyfish and it had stung him. He looked down into the water behind him. He was blinded by a momentary glare on the surface. When it cleared, he knew he was wrong.

  He saw two things. The first: a shape disappearing down and away. The second: a little red cloud, wafting up through the clear water.

  It was blood, his own this time.

  It felt good to be running. Drew and Brando had been tagging along behind their parents all day: asking permission, moving at the speed of grown-ups. Now they were ready to get a move on.