Boil Line by M.J. McIsaac

Author:M.J. McIsaac
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781459818453
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2019-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Are you sure about this, Nate?”

Mr. Evans watches me, wide-eyed, from behind his desk.

I’m sitting in his office. Raina is cleaning and bandaging the gash on my leg. When I made it back to Camp Clearwater, Raina saw me waving my arms on the opposite bank. She zipped across in the camp’s motorboat and picked me up. Then she took me straight to see Mr. Evans.

“Do you think you could lead us back there?” Raina asks, looking up from my knee. She’s mad. She’s been fuming since I told her everything that happened.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Mr. Evans says quickly. “If these guys are as dangerous as Nate says…”

“Well,” huffs Raina, “I bet they’re real tough guys when it’s two against a kid. I’d like to see them try to pull that nonsense with us.”

“They left anyway,” I say. “I saw them take off in their boat.”

“What color was the boat?” asks Raina.

I shrug. Gray, black, navy. I wasn’t paying attention to the color.

“All right,” says Raina, getting to her feet, “if we take my truck, do you think you could recognize this dump site from the road?”

I nod. The neon green of the algae will make the ponds unmistakable.

Raina heads for the door, and I stand up.

“Just hang on a second!” says Mr. Evans. He looks at me with concern. “Nate, you’ve been through a lot today. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

He’s right. I’m exhausted. My clothes are still damp. I have no shoes. But I do want to do this. “It’s for Mike.”

Raina nods approvingly. “Brave man, Nate.”

But Mr. Evans doesn’t look so sure. He bites his lip. I remember the words he wrote in my file—skittish around water. Don’t push. He doesn’t want to make me do something I’m not ready for. But I’m more than ready. I want Mike found. And getting these guys will help make that happen.

We all pile into Raina’s truck—an old rusty pickup with a Camp Clearwater bumper sticker. The inside is clean and orderly, like Raina. It smells like cinnamon. The clock says six thirty. Owen and Mercy must be freaking out. With my phone dead, I haven’t been able to text them. They haven’t come back to Clearwater yet. So they must still be in town, waiting for Mercy’s car.

We drive along the road, me sitting by the window. My nose is pressed to the glass. I stare through the trees, keeping a careful eye out for the pools.

Finally I catch a flash of green.

“Stop!” I shout.

Raina slams on the breaks, and Mr. Evans nearly smashes his face on the dashboard.

“Do you see something, Nate?” asks Raina.

Through the pines, the unmistakable green sludge glints in the patches where the sun breaks through the branches. “That’s the spot.”

Raina turns the truck off the road, and we follow a dirt path into the forest. As we get closer, the other ponds come into view. Four in all.

We get out of the car.

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