Dead Low Tide (13 page)

Y
ou done?”

I ignored my sister’s question. When you are writing your own obituary, it helps to ignore all distractions. Focus, that’s the key. Focus and purpose. I had both.

I ran a quick spell check. No obvious mistakes or typos, but that didn’t mean much. As I mentioned earlier, I’m a lousy grammarian. But I wasn’t too concerned about proofing. I knew my editor would review the copy before it was published on the
Cool Ghoul
website. With a few keystrokes I inserted the date and time and reviewed the first paragraph of my article.

When I finished reviewing the article, I emailed the file to Calvin. Minutes earlier he had informed me that the
Cool Ghoul Gazette
website was back up. “No worries, bro. You did good. I’m reading the breaking news coming out of Savannah and it sounds like you nailed the zombie story!”

I allowed my gaze to linger on Calvin’s words. My final assignment and I’d hit a home run. Just like I’d dreamed. And if things with Gabrovski had not gone so terribly wrong, I could have continued investigating strange supernatural events. Why, in just the past few minutes I’d come across a report of a werewolf sighting in Maine. Bogus, obviously. There is no such thing as a wolf man. But still …

I sighed and tucked my tablet into my backpack. The night had turned cool and clear, the heavy fog vanquished by a stiff northwest wind. There was an amber glow to the west over the Savannah skyline. Over my shoulder dock lights cast long shadows across the stern of the
Ms. Fortune
.

“
Now
are you done?”

I turned my face toward Wendy and tried to smile. “I’m never done, you know that. And especially not when there are monsters like Gabrovski still at large. As long as he’s out there, I’ll keep looking over my shoulder, wondering.”

“Okay, well, whatever. I’m walking up. Mom and Dad want to get going. Me too. I can’t wait to get out of these stinking clothes and take a long, hot shower. I don’t think I’ll ever get my hair clean again.”

“Sorry I got you into all this, sis.”

“No biggie. I kept asking you to show me what you do and now I know. I promise I will never ever ask you to take me on another
Cool Ghoul Gazette
stakeout. Cross my heart and hope to —”

“Tell Mom and Dad I’ll be right up.”

Wendy threw her leg over the side railing and stepped onto the dock. Turning toward me she said in her raspy, laryngitis voice, “You know what? For a know-it-all, smart-aleck big brother, you’re not so bad, Nick. See you at the van.”

I watched Wendy trot up the dock toward the parking lot. The trawler’s gentle rocking and the sound of small waves slapping the hull put me in a reflective mood. Leaning back in the captain’s chair, I rested my bare feet on the steering console and enjoyed a few moments of Savannah daydreaming.

I had hoped Ms. Bryant would offer Dad the sales job. During the few minutes we’d talked, she’d seemed genuinely interested in Dad and his background. And when I’d mentioned how badly he needed work, she’d teared up a little. So
from my way of thinking, we had already moved to Palmetto Island.

But when Gabrovski put two bullets into Officer McDonald and escaped into the swamp, all our plans changed. As long as Gabrovski remained at large, my family would be refugees in the FBI witness protection program. Gabrovski knew too much about us. And I knew too much about him. I linked my fingers behind my head and looked up at the stars, thinking of what might have been. In a few minutes we would crawl into the unmarked van waiting for us in the marina parking lot and assume new identities, new hobbies, and new friends. Everything about my old life would disappear.

Maybe it was better this way. My hunt for real supernatural stories had nearly killed my sister. And it
had
killed me. At least that’s the way the news media was playing it up. “Young teen drowns in creek, details at eleven.”
Which is right about now
, I thought. I had no way of knowing if Gabrovski would believe the news reports. Probably not. Except for calling to Dad from that thicket, I had given Gabrovski no reason to suspect I was anything other than dead.

But he was crafty and smart — the worst kind of monster.

Calvin had agreed to run a disclaimer on the website explaining that, in honor of me and my contribution to the site, he and others on the editorial staff had collaborated on my final article for the
Cool Ghoul Gazette
. I felt a twinge of regret knowing others were taking credit for my writing, but oh well. Death happens.

“The thing about living and dying is this,” Dirk had explained earlier that day. We had left the beach and were walking back to the parking lot. “Let’s say you are God and you created everything. The sky and earth and people. Now suppose the creatures you created have some really whacked-out ideas of who God is. In fact, a lot of them don’t even think you are real. So one day you decide to come down and explain to them what life and death and life after death is all about. Because you’re God and they’re just creatures you created, they would never be able to comprehend how awesome you are. So to make things easy for these poor creatures you created, you write yourself into their story. You call it His Story. And when you show up on earth you tell everyone you are God’s Son. You tell everyone you meet that you are the exact replica of God: that if they like the Son they’ll love the Father. But they don’t believe you. And why would they? People have their own ideas about who God is and this person calling himself God’s Son doesn’t fit their idea of what God is like. So they kill you. But then you do something that blows them away. You go back to heaven and send your Spirit to earth. Except, only those that really want to find Jesus and receive his Holy Spirit.”

“What does this have to do with living and dying?” I’d asked.

“Don’t you see? We’re all zombies. Or I should say you are until you get God’s Spirit in you. You might walk around like you are alive, but really you’re dead. Dead because of the curse. And you’ll remain in the realm of the dead forever unless you
get God’s Spirit. Anyway, that’s my take on living and dying and life after death.”

“Hey, look at you sitting up there like Captain Sparrow.” I whirled in the chair. A figure stood on the dock, the silhouette banked against the dock lights. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted.” I rose and reached out, taking Kat’s hand in mine as I pulled her aboard. “Took you long enough.”

“They had to check my lungs. Wanted to make sure I hadn’t ingested dirt. If I had and it settled in my lungs, that could lead to pneumonia, which in turn might lead to …”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But we were just about to take off. I was sitting thinking I might not get to say good-bye.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. You waiting around for me.”

Without responding I walked Kat to the back of the boat.

She sat, her eyes looking up into mine. “Well?”

“Give me a second. I want to enjoy this.”

“What?”

“Looking at you.”

In the glow of lights I saw her cheeks redden. She tugged on my hand, pulling me onto the bench. I sat close beside her, our bare feet touching.

More cars were arriving in the parking lot. Boat owners, I guessed, arriving for the weekend.

“So what’s on your mind?”

“You mostly. I wanted to say I’m sorry. I never should have asked you to …” I squeezed her hand, choking down the rest of my words.

“It’s not your fault, Kansas; you cudden have done nothing even if you’d tried.”

Taking a deep breath, I uncoiled my fingers and rubbed the back of her knuckles with my thumb. “Officer McDonald got shot and almost died — how’s that not my fault? Poke Salad Annie ended up in the hospital with a concussion from where she whacked her head on the ground — that’s on me. Then there’s you.”

“Dudden matter, Kansas, dudden matter a’tall. I ain’t dead. Yet. That’s all a body can hope for. Now stop beating yourself up.” Kat thumped me on the shoulder. “That’s my job.”

We laughed together and in doing so I suddenly felt exhausted.

Kat said, “You took a big risk telling Officer McDonald about who you suspected. How did you know
he
waden the one holding your sister?”

“I wasn’t 100 percent certain, but I had to trust somebody. Officer McDonald seemed honestly shocked to learn a killer was renting his townhome. On our ride back to the marina, we both agreed that our best chance for finding Wendy was for me to be the bait. I was afraid my parents might make me go with them to the motel, but Officer McDonald came to bat for me. He explained that me hanging around the marina might be a good idea. You know, in case Wendy returned, which we both knew by then was not going to happen. He made sure Matthew
Carter knew I was going to Poke Salad Annie’s place. Our hope was Carter would tell Gabrovski. Our plan nearly worked.”

“But not quite,” Kat declared.

“No, not quite. When Carter showed up dressed like Heidi May Laveau, I thought I’d misjudged things. But then all of a sudden Gabrovski pushed Carter into that pit. I thought the boy was dead for sure. Especially given the way he landed. Sounded like he’d broken his neck. Then later when I came back to the fire pit and found you gone and him shoveling dirt into that pit …”

The words caught in my throat. I swallowed and looked away.

“ ‘Round these parts we got lots of possums. They’re like the Palmetto Island mascot. Thing you learn from a possum is how to play dead. I’ve seen ’em dragged out of a chicken coop by the tail and flung into a ditch. Next thing you know they done jumped up and run off. When you’re dead you stay dead, so I played dead.”

“But the first time I saw you tied to that tree, you didn’t move, not even a little.”

“He thought he’d killed me, he really did. When I came back for you after work and stepped out of that boat, he clubbed me with that shovel. I saw stars, he hit me so hard. Didn’t knock me out, but it hurt like the devil. So I give him what he wanted: a dead Kat.”

“Hey, that’s a good one, dead cat.”

Kat rested her head on my shoulder and breathed a sigh
that could have passed for purring. She remained quiet for a long time, then lifted her head and kissed my cheek. “Thanks for saving me.”

“No problem.”

“I mean it, Kansas.” Her breath felt warm against my ear. “Other than my dad, you’re the only real hero I’ve ever known.” She rested her cheek against mine and breathed a sigh that reached to the heavens.

I hoped her tears were not contagious. I didn’t want to be known as the mushy Nick Caden from Kansas. Or for Kat to know how much I cared.

“Close your eyes.”

“You’re not going to kiss me, are you?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen to you. Now close your eyes, Kansas.”

I closed my eyes. She pulled away. I heard a crackling sound like plastic wrapping. Two curved, hard lips pressed against mine. I nibbled the chocolaty sweetness.

“Mmm, I like.” My tongue probed the mushy softness. With my eyes still closed, I asked, “Moon Pie?”

“God’s food,” Kat answered. “Don’t get no better than that.” She pushed the round chocolate-coated graham cracker sandwich into my mouth. “Something to remember me by.”

“Oooh, yuck!”

Startled, I opened my eyes. Kat held the other half of the Moon Pie in her mouth, our noses inches apart. My sister stood on the dock, pointing at us.

“Dad, Nick is kissing a girl!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“They’re ready for us, son.” Dad looked proud. And a little sad. But mostly he looked tired. “It’s time to go.”

Kat pulled back, ran her fingers through her hair, and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “See you ‘round, Kansas. You’re ‘bout the best thing that’s ever happened to Palmetto. And me.”

Suddenly she was gone.

I gathered myself, tamped down the sadness, and joined my family on the dock. The Nick I’d known was gone, too. Dead, thanks to Gabrovski. Dead and buried and filed away with an obit.

But who knows. Maybe Nick Caden will rise again. Could happen.

In a world where the dead don’t stay dead, anything is possible.

Eddie Jones
is the author of more than nine books and over 100 articles. The first book in The Caden Chronicles,
Dead Man’s Hand
, won the 2013 Selah Award in Young Adult Fiction, and his novel,
The Curse of Captain LaFoote
, won the 2011 Selah Award in Young Adult Fiction. He is also a writing instructor and cofounder of Christian Devotions Ministries, and his
He Said
,
She Said
devotional column appears on www.christiandevotions.us. When he’s not writing or teaching, he can be found surfing in Costa Rica or some other tropical locale.

The Caden Chronicles

Dead Man’s Hand (Book 1)

Skull Creek Stakeout (Book 2)

The Curse of Captain LaFoote

My Father’s Business: 30 Inspirational Stories
for Discerning and Doing God’s Will

ZONDERKIDZ

Dead Low Tide

Copyright © 2013 by Eddie Jones

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