Free The Island - Part 2 (Fallen Earth) by Michael Stark Page B

damn, that grandson of yours is creepy.”
    She stepped closer. Light from the window flared across her face. Her eyes glinted with anger. “You just remember what I told you. Leave him alone.”
    Something snapped inside.
    “And you remember this,” I said leaning closer. “I didn’t bring him out here or invite him out. He came on his own. You don’t want him around me, then do your job as his grandmother and keep tabs on him.”
    I moved past her and headed for the dune buggy. “Call that blasted judge first thing tomorrow. I don’t give a damn about travel bans. I want you both off my back.”
    “Where are you going?” she called after me.
    I climbed into the buggy and backed it down the ramp. Shoving the gear shifter into forward, I looked back toward the porch. Her figure stood framed in the light from the window.
    “To get you a sleeping bag.”
     
     
    Chapter VIII - Bad Things
     
     
    The little buggy had no lights. I drove partly by memory, partly by feeling my way along through darkness so dense and black that even the white sand marking the path appeared as a thin, barely discernible line. Kelly and I had made the trip earlier in just a few minutes. It took almost half an hour on the return. Even then, the quiet lap of water against the shore told me I’d reached the bay before I ever saw Angel’s outline.
    She had drifted sideways during the storm and lay with her starboard side grounded against the shore. An outgoing tide would leave her sitting high and dry, which happened to be fine with me. Any other time, I might have backed her out a bit, turned her around and dropped an anchor off the bow to keep her pointed toward the water. A stern line secured to something on the island would not only keep her straightened out and let her take any waves on her bow, but essentially lock the boat in place.
    Any other night wouldn’t have a body sitting eighteen inches away from the pilot’s seat. I knew nothing about the man I’d fished out of the water. I didn’t need to. The thought of climbing in next to a cold, wet cadaver made my skin crawl. If Angel sat beached the next morning, the chore of removing the body would be easier. The shape of her bottom would leave the boat canted to one side. Within hours the water would be back and she’d be floating. I had no intention of clambering around the boat in the middle of the night, groping for lines and bumping into a dead man at every turn.
    The same design that made the boat a poor choice for the open ocean, left her perfectly at home in shallow waters. Aside from simply being stuck, grounding in coastal waters would leave a bigger sailboat heeled over on its side when the tide ran out. Unable to stand on the deep keels that kept them alive in the ocean, they often ended up laid out horizontal until the incoming tide swept over and swamped them. Angel might lean a little, but she would sit just as easily on the bottom as she sat on the water.
    With the storms gone, the night lay calm and still, with nothing but the tick of rain drops filtering through the trees and the muted splash of water against fiberglass to break the silence. I sat in the dune buggy for a long time, listening to every sound sliding through the darkness. Twice, the lonely cry of a shore bird echoed across the sound. Here and there, a fish jumped out on the water. The swamp hissed and sighed. Mosquitoes fluttered along my arms and face, and whined noisily in my ears. Nothing sounded strange, or even the least bit unnerving.
    Not that I needed anything else weird to happen. Daniel’s spooky predictions and the flat tones that delivered them were disturbing enough.
    The longer I sat, the sillier the whole episode seemed. Zachary was dead. Zombies weren’t real and weariness ate at me. Neither the bed rolls nor the pillow were getting any closer with me sitting in the buggy. The sigh that escaped me sounded like I was scolding myself.
    I climbed out and walked over to Angel’s