Free Invasive by Chuck Wendig Page A

him.”
    â€œAll the more like lawyers.”
    Suddenly, Ray is jostled aside as Dan shoves his way in between them. “Oops,” the captain says. “Sorry, Mr. Espinosa.”
    â€œDan, don’t fuck with me. I’d hate to have to tell Einar.”
    The captain shrugs. “I’d hate that, too. I’ll be sure to apologize to him directly the next time we play poker. Next Wednesday, I believe.”
    Ray looks suddenly humbled. His nostrils flare in anger, but he looks away.
    â€œWe’re ready to pull up and dock,” Captain Dan says.

10
    A narrow dock framed by sea-licked rocks leads to wood decking lifting across the flat beach and up toward the rise of swollen island that rings the center of this not-quite-atoll. As Hannah pulls the wheels of her carry-on over the lip of the catamaran, someone comes down the dock to meet them.
    She knows his face from the research materials: Dr. David Hamasaki, a small man with round cheeks lifted by a beaming smile. One thing the photos didn’t quite show: he has a mullet. He walks like he’s perpetually falling forward, or like maybe the world is forever dragging him from place to place.
    â€œHi, hi, hi,” he says upon reaching them. He grabs Hannah’s hand and gives it a warm shake. “I’m Dr. Hamasaki—David, David, you can call me David.”
    â€œI’m Hannah Stander. Consultant for the—”
    The man waves her off. “I know who you are, no need for that kind of introduction. We don’t get many guests out here. Particularly ones with your . . . request.” His accent is a little bit New York. He sounds like a Jewish guy from Columbia she dated once.
    Before she can respond, Ray steps up next to her. In a droll, disdainful voice, he says, “Hey, Dave .”
    â€œFuck you, too, Ray,” David says. His eyes tighten, and the smile gets broader, almost a little feral. “You finally gonna pony up or what?” He puts out his right hand and pats it with the back of his left.
    â€œI got your money. Can we get off the dock first?”
    â€œDon’t think I’m going to let you forget.” Hamasaki turns toHannah: “Sorry about that, sorry, sorry. Ray over there is a Miami Dolphins fan. I, on the other hand, know that the Dolphins are a worthless agglomeration of wasted football talent and that the New York Giants are supreme. We had a little bet as to who would finish the season stronger and, well . . .” He starts heading up the dock and across the beach. As they walk, he asks, “Who’s your favorite team?”
    â€œI don’t really follow sports.”
    From behind them, Ray says, “Of course she doesn’t.”
    Anger flares in her, but David waves it off. “Ignore Ray. If I said that Ray was a Neanderthal, actual Neanderthals would thaw themselves from glaciers just to make me pay for the insult. Neanderthal man was actually quite smart. So, careful of your step here.”
    The walk gets steeper and the flora gets thicker as the decking ascends up through a copse of barrel-bellied palm trees. Even the brief shade from the sun is welcome.
    They get to the top of the hill, and Hamasaki steps off the walkway and into the underbrush. It’s cooler and shadier, like a rain forest. Not far away, Hannah spies a small wooden fold-up chair sitting between two palms. She remarks upon it: “What’s that?”
    â€œThat’s my spot,” David says. She can’t tell if he’s being defensive about it or not. “I like to come here, drink my coffee, and just sit for a little while. Because look, look.” He sweeps his hand. “You can see the whole island from here.”
    She steps forward. He’s right—from here, you can get a good look at the island. In the middle of it all: a bona fide blue lagoon. So blue it looks fake, like Windex. Out past the beach, she sees dark mottled shapes beneath the