Free Dead Man's Switch by Sigmund Brouwer

retrieved Blake’s iPhone and checked.
    â€œLights off then,” King said, holding the small box that the magnet had snagged from the bottom of the reservoir. This small metallic box had a combination lock. He snapped off the light switch.
    And there it was, on the top of the black box. Four numbers. Two. One. Five. Four.
    â€œSee it?” King asked.
    â€œTwo one five four.”
    King stepped over to the wall and flipped on the light switch again. The numbers were invisible on the box.
    He rotated the numbers into position.
    The lid popped.
    â€œNever gets old,” Johnson said with a hint of triumph in his voice. “Being—”
    What stopped him was the sight of the contents.
    Johnson sighed. “Now what?”
    The contents of the box consisted of a remote control in a ziplock bag that was in another ziplock bag that was in another ziplock bag. Completely waterproof.
    â€œBlake does want us to get to the end,” King said. “We agreed on that, right? And we’re the only ones with his flashlight.”
    King snapped off the bedroom light again. “See if there’s anything else.”
    And there was. On the bottom of the metal box. Glowing white in the ultraviolet light.
    ASK SAM TO SHOW YOU HER MEASLES.

CHAPTER 17
    â€œSam,” King asked. “Are you feeling okay?”
    King, Johnson, and Samantha were in Sam’s neatly mowed front yard. Tips of branches on the large tree centered in the lawn bobbed in a breeze. Samantha sat on a tire hanging from a rope tied to one of the thicker branches higher up. She had a stuffed dog in her lap, big enough that the top of the dog’s head touched the bottom of her chin. The dog had a collar with a small pink round disc hanging from the center to match the pink ribbon tied in a bow on its head.
    â€œGreat,” Samantha said. “I’m feeling great.”
    â€œSo you don’t have measles?” Johnson asked her.
    â€œYes,” she said. Giggled. “I do.”
    â€œMeasles gives you spots,” Johnson said, frowning as he looked at her face. “I don’t see anything.”
    â€œYes, you do.”
    â€œNo, I don’t.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGuys,” King pleaded, staring at the stuffed dog. He’d seen a picture of it somewhere.
    â€œNo,” Johnson said, betraying some irritation. “I’m not wrong about this. I don’t see anything.”
    â€œYou got your eyes open.” Samantha raised her hands around the stuffed dog. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” Johnson said. “Okay. I can see.”
    â€œHow many?” Samantha asked.
    King guessed that Samantha enjoyed having someone around and wanted to prolong the conversation just so she wouldn’t have to swing on a tire with only a stuffed dog for company. King understood the feeling. The island was lonely.
    â€œWe’re supposed to see your measles,” King said to Samantha. He felt a sense of urgency. “Can you help us?”
    â€œNot until MJ tells me how many fingers I’m holding up. Because I was right—he can see.”
    â€œA bunch of them,” Johnson said. Impatient.
    â€œI’m not talking until you answer right,” she said. She emphasized it by pressing her lips tight and blowing her cheeks out. She pressed her chin down on the stuffed dog’s head.
    â€œWe don’t have time for this,” Johnson said. “Come on.”
    Sam shook her head from side to side, and her hair flew straight out.
    â€œNine,” Johnson said.
    She continued to shake her head, holding out her fingers for him to count.
    â€œNine,” Johnson said. “I can see and I can count.”
    Samantha broke her silence to giggle. “Count again.”
    â€œCan I answer?” King asked.
    â€œNope. Just MJ.”
    â€œAaarg,” MJ