Free The Hike by Drew Magary Page A

break it off.
    The craft’s engine sputtered to life behind him and then began to roar. Little rectangular lights bleeped and blooped all over the console. The craft rose up in the air and blew a wake in every direction, creating a hydraulic force field around itself. The sun was setting now. And quickly. As the darkness set in, Ben saw two parallel lines of phosphorescent algae begin to glow and stretch out into the water. The path wanted him to go straight out into the ocean.
    There was an AC outlet resting flat on the front of the console and Ben plugged the charger in with his phone attached. The phone booted back up, but with no logo. No spinning wheel. No white screen. Instead, Ben saw an old woman spring up on the screen. She was sitting in a white room in a plush chair. She was wearing a white frock and a bright red overcoat. Ben remembered her right away.
    â€œMrs. Blackwell?”
    â€œFind the Producer,” she told him.
    â€œWho is the Producer?”
    â€œStay on the path, and find the Producer.”
    â€œ
Where
do I find this Producer?”
    â€œAt the end of the path, of course.”
    â€œIs my family alive?”
    â€œThe Producer will answer all of your questions. Go now. The beach will sink into the ocean in two minutes, and it will take you with it if you do not leave immediately.”
    The phone flicked off. Ben pushed the power button again, but there was nothing.
Find the Producer
. He threw the phone across the bridge and kicked the console.
    â€œUhhh, Ben?” said Crab. “You’re wasting time.”
    Ben turned and saw the water beginning to envelop Courtshire. It crept up the sands and was rising to meet the wooden dock slip. They had to leave. Ben grabbed the throttle.
    â€œWait!” Crab yelled, “You forgot to . . .”
    Ben rammed the throttle forward, paying no heed to Crab. The twin propellers started to hum, and then shriek. But the craft wouldn’t move. The water continued rising. Ben realized his mistake immediately.
    â€œThe craft is still moored!”
    He ran back down the staircase, Crab skittering behind, and flew out the sleek double doors of the main cabin. The roar of the propellers was drowning out everything as he grabbed the rope stretching out from the cleat anchored to the frame of the dock. It was pulled firm and taut, the full force of the propellers bearing down on it. Ben tried to reach down and slip the rope off the cleat, but immediately realized his folly in leaving the throttle on. The loop wouldn’t budge and he could see the sandbar sinking down into the ocean, ready to take the craft with it. It weighed down on the rope and now the craft was tilting upward, like a plane ready for takeoff. In a few moments, it would flip entirely, capsize, and be pinned against the ocean floor.
    â€œWe have to cut the engine,” Ben said. He went back into the cabin as Crab started to pinch the rope. He wasn’t the biggest crab, buthis pincers could do some damage when the situation called for it. The rope began to fray, strand by strand.
    Ben ran up the staircase as the hovercraft tilted farther upward, the spiral staircase leaning and flattening to horizontal. Once Ben reached the top, the pull of gravity was so strong that he found himself pressed against the back window of the bridge, the controls virtually impossible to reach. He threw himself to the floor and began scaling it like a wall as the craft went up and up and up. He wasn’t going to make it. Whoever this Producer was, he would never see his face. He would never see Teresa or the kids again. All those days and years with them, and he just needed one more
second.
Not even a second. Just a frame. A twenty-fourth of a second. A final snapshot of everything he loved, before the sea claimed him. He reached for the throttle one more time but it was no use.
    And then, without warning, the ship broke free and soared up in the air. Ben flew back