Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 115 of 150

Ima led Ben north through the pines. The hum stayed low under the straw, but every gust pulled it wider. The winged creature on his sack shifted its claws and pressed down again. Ben knew one hunter behind them meant three more inside the hour. Daylight would come before they could reach any ridge road he trusted. "We need walls," Ben said. "Thick ones. Before light." "There's a wreck by the old landing," Ima said. "Half a hull on blocks. Nobody's used it in years." "Take me." She cut east through the trees. The ground dropped. The pines thinned and gave way to sedge, then to a flat of packed sand. A wooden shape sat on the flat. It had been a shed or a boathouse once. Now it was ribs and slats, planks sagging inward, paint flaked to gray and faded blue. A tower of broken boards leaned against one wall where a scaffold had collapsed. A man stepped out from behind the ribs. Short. Wide. Gray beard down his chest, arms marked with old ink. He held a claw hammer loose at his hip. Ben stopped walking. "Adam," Ima said. "He carries a hum. I need your floor." Adam Baum looked at the sack. He looked at Ben's boots. He did not look at Ben's face. "Floor's rotted through in the middle," he said. "Bilge below is dry. Two feet of cedar between you and the air. That'll eat your sound." "How long can I stay," Ben said. "Till I say go." Ben hesitated. Ima put a hand on his shoulder. "He fixed my roof twice. He won't sell you." Adam spat into the sand. "I don't sell people. I fix wrecks." Ben followed him inside. Adam kicked back a length of canvas. A hatch showed under it, iron ring set flush. He hauled it up. A ladder went down into black. Ben smelled tar and old fish. "Sack first," Adam said. "Set it on the sand box at the bottom. Cedar draws the sound down. It won't carry." Ben climbed down and set the sack on a low crate packed with dry sand. The hum dropped to nothing. He climbed back up. The winged creature stayed with the sack. Adam dropped the hatch and laid the canvas over it. He pushed a bench of broken tools across the seam. "Sit outside with me," he said. "You're my nephew from the coast. You came to help me pull nails." A horn sounded on the ridge. Then another, further west. Ima faded back into the pines without a word. Ben picked up a rusted claw and sat on an overturned bucket. Adam handed him a plank. Ben pulled the first nail as two hunters came down the sedge, crossbows loose, eyes on the wreck. Adam did not look up. Ben pulled the next nail.