By Robert R. McCammon
A scuba diver reveals a sunken U-boat that holds a bad mystery Robert Moore had a comfortable lifestyles in Baltimore. The son of a financial institution president, he may have had the previous man's task if he'd simply waited in line. yet Moore isn't the sufferer kind, and instead of spend his existence trapped in the back of a table, he decamped for the Caribbean, to move his days diving underneath definitely the right blue sea. sooner or later, diving deeper than traditional, he spies a sunken send. His investigations disrupt an unexploded intensity cost, which hurls Robert to the skin with the sunken send now not some distance at the back of. The U-boat, nonetheless seaworthy finally those a long time, drifts in the direction of the island and will get stuck at the reef. a wierd knocking echoes from contained in the hull, as if anything inside remains to be alive. while Robert opens the long-closed hatch, he'll examine that a few sunken treasure is best left undisturbed.
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Additional resources for The Night Boat
John! ” The thing gave chase, its shaved-ham feet slapping the floor behind me. My candle went out. I tossed it aside. I saw a closed door to my right, so I skidded to a stop, threw it open, and flung myself in. Linen shelves smacked me in the face and I fell back out of the closet, dazed. The meat man wrapped its cold links around my neck and lifted me up. It pinned me against the wall. “You disappoint me. All those times we have dueled. In the desert. In the city. ” I was so impressed by this thing’s ability to articulate words using that flapping deer tongue and a frozen turkey that I almost lost track of what it was saying.
My adopted family moved away, I won’t tell you where they are. But get out your pen because you’ll want to write this down. My biological mom? ” “That must have been hard. What was the—” “She was a strung-out, crank-addicted cannibal, dabbled in vampirism and shamanism. My mom, she worshipped some major devil when I was a toddler. Blew her welfare check every month on black candles. Sure, Satan would do her favors now and then, but there’s always a catch with the Devil. ” “No. This, this silliness, it’s what I do when I’m nervous.
I spun around, moved toward the commotion. The dog seemed to eye me carefully, then ran off in the other direction. I looked around— Ah. Giggling now. There was a bundle of girls, away from the stage, huddled with their backs to the band. They were surrounding a black guy with dreadlocks, an overcoat. He had one of those Rastafarian berets on his head, definitely going for a look, wanting the attention. Two of the girls had their hands over their mouths, eyes bulging, screaming for the guy to do it again, do it again.
The Night Boat by Robert R. McCammon