“Window’s open in the second bedroom, and the screen has been pushed out,” the gruff voice said.
“Couldn’t have been the wind,” came the other man’s comment. “I checked them when we first arrived. It was on solid.”
“You want to see if anything has been taken? I’ll look outside.”
Oh, crap.
I looked about frantically for somewhere close to hide, but there didn’t seem to be much about. I sucked in a breath, then ran like hell for the long grass and the not-so-distant hillside. If I could get over the crest, I’d at least be out of sight. Of course, plowing through the long grass would leave a trail for all to see, but right now, that couldn’t be helped. The last thing I needed was to be caught by a small-town cop.
And I had no idea why I needed to avoid the cops or capture. It was just a feeling. A certainty that capture, in any form, was a very bad thing.
Because of the past. Because of that scientist.
I bit down frustration and tried to concentrate on the here and now. Footsteps began to echo on the wooden patio, so I threw myself down behind the hill and prayed like hell that the grass hid my body.
For too many seconds I didn’t move, hardly even dared to breathe, as I listened to the gentle sounds of the day, waiting for the footsteps that would mean my doom.
When they didn’t immediately come, I carefully shifted and peeked up over the hill. I might not have heard the footsteps, but the damn cop was coming up the hill anyway.
I swore under my breath and wriggled back down the hill. When I’d moved far enough down, I rose and ran. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The thick, regimented strands of pines would have provided excellent cover, but they were just too far away. And the only thing between them and me was a small dam.
It would have to do.
I ran toward it as fast as I could. Quite a few yards out I found a cattle track and followed that thankfully. At least the soil was hard and compacted, and wouldn’t show any footprints. Hopefully, the cop would think I’d simply disappeared rather than suspect I’d hidden in the water.
As I neared the dam, I risked a look over my shoulder at the hilltop. Still no cop. I had time yet, but probably not a whole lot. I shucked off my stolen sweatshirt as I sprinted around the water, throwing it behind the dam’s erosion-rutted shoulder, then did the same with the pants. If luck was on my side, I’d at least have dry clothes to climb into once the cop had left. If not, well, I’d have to find something else to steal.
I dove into the water. It was so damn cold it snatched a gasp from my throat, and the sound seemed to echo across the softer sounds of the day. I swam to the far edge and peered through the reeds and grass at the hillside. The cop had breached the top of the hill and was following my trail down toward the dam.
I took a deep breath and slid under the water. An odd sensation ran across my eyes—it felt for all the world as if some sort of film was being drawn over them. It made me blink, and in that moment I realized I could see under the water. It might have appeared muddy as hell from the surface, but I could see the bottom through the muck, see the water beetles and insect larvae swimming through it. Hell, even the banks and the sky were as clear as could be.
It was probably a pointer to what I was, but it was one I didn’t understand. Nor did I have time to contemplate it, because the cop suddenly walked into sight.
I floated under the water, watching the cop and hoping like hell that being able to see him so plainly was just a weird aberration, and not any sort of indication that the water had magically gone clear.
The cop was a big man—big in an overweight sort of way—but even so, he reminded me a little of a boxer. He moved light, like a man ready for action. His face was on the paunchy side, too, his
cheeks veined and nose red. But his blue eyes were sharp and clear, and however out of shape his body might appear, those eyes suggested there was nothing flabby about his mind.
He stood on the bank and stared at the water, then the surrounds. His expression was dour, unhappy, his gaze continually returning to the water. Meaning he probably suspected I was here, and was waiting for me to surface.
How long could I hold my breath? I guess I was about to find out.
He waited, and I waited. After a while, he unclipped the small radio from his belt, pressed a button, and said, “Frank to base.”
The answer was little more than a buzz of sound to my ears. He said, “No, I haven’t had a chance to look for bodies on the beach yet. We’ve got another break-in, this time over at the Dougherty’s cabin.” He paused briefly, listening, then added, “Yeah, it’s the newlyweds. You want to get Mike to bring the dogs out? We got a trail, but it ends at the old dam.”
Great. Someone had not only seen us on the beach, but they’d reported it to the cops. And it was just plain bad luck that I’d been in the cabin when the newlyweds and the cop had arrived back.
“I’m not sure what’s been stolen. The cocky bastard helped himself to a sandwich and some Coca-Cola, though.” He paused, listening. “Yeah, they’re both fine. I’ll write up a list of what’s missing, and wait for Mike. You might want to get young Aaron out here to check out the beach, though. It’s going to be a while before I get the chance.”
He paused again, then grinned. “Yeah, I know the old coot was drinking, but we still gotta check it out.”
He snapped the radio back onto his belt, then glanced at his watch. Seconds passed into minutes. He didn’t move, I didn’t move, and somewhere deep inside, curiosity grew.
Regular people couldn’t hold their breath for this long. I might not be “regular” as humans defined the word, but my lungs weren’t even burning and yet I had to have been under the water for a good five minutes. Even free divers couldn’t stay under water that long, could they?
But I guess that for someone who contemplated swimming oceans, someone who could compare the coldness of a ring to the waters under the arctic ice, floating in dam water like it was a second home might well be easy.