Dark Moon Walking by R. J. McMillen Page B

for himself he would have something more.
    He slowed the engines long before he reached Shoal Bay, staying well out in mid-channel. It was important that nothing seem unusual, although simply being seen was not really a concern. He set the radar to close range and switched on the recorder. It would not give him enough detail to positively identify the black ship again later, but it would help.
    As soon as he passed the eastern point of the bay, he knew all his efforts were wasted. The wharf was empty. The black ship had left. Shoal Bay was deserted.
    Dan swung the wheel over hard. He had no idea if or when the black ship would return, and there were still the men in the inflatable to worry about, but he could always say he just wanted to see if they had found their friend. Besides, this was an opportunity to check out the sounds Walker had heard. From the description he had given, the small boats had been going from the ship to the shore. They had to have been unloading something.
    He turned Dreamspeaker so she was bow out and tied her to the wharf. If he hurried, he could use the dinghy to explore the shore before the sun rose high enough to steal the shadows from the bay. That gave him at least a small sense of security.
    The tide was low, exposing the gravel beach. He cruised slowly along it, from the head of the bay to the outer point, but saw nothing out of place. Then he reversed his course and tried again a few feet farther out but with the same result. It didn’t make sense. He needed to talk to Walker again. Try to figure out what he was doing wrong.
    The first rays of the sun were hitting the water as he turned back toward Dreamspeaker . They reflected off a row of small black buoys that floated just below the surface. No wonder he had not seen them. He let the dinghy drift up to them and peered down through the clear water. At the base of each tether was something dark. Maybe a metal box or cylinder. He reached down and cautiously tugged at one of the buoys. Whatever was down there was too heavy to be easily lifted. He was going to need help.

EIGHT
    Claire huddled under a tree as the shore emerged from night. A leaf, mottled gold and brown, drifted down to settle on her shoulder. Summer was over and the chill of fall was in the air. It had been three days now. Three days and three nights. She had no food left. The few cookies and handful of dried fruit had long since been eaten, although she had twice managed to refill her water bottle. She was hungry, she was tired, she was cold, and she was trapped. She was also lost.
    She had spent the first day hiding in the rocks, too frightened to stray far from her kayak. Twice she had heard the sound of an outboard. The first time it had come in slowly, moving very close to shore. Like a child trying to will the bogeyman away, she had closed her eyes. Even after the sound of the motor had faded, she did not move until the agony of cramped muscles forced her to.
    The second time was late the same afternoon. She had crept up into the trees when she heard it. This time the boat was moving fast and its wash slammed onto the shore, dislodging rocks and driftwood. She had only caught a quick glimpse of the occupants, but that was enough. There could not be another man with hair that white. Her stomach heaved as a cold claw of fear gripped it. The fear was so intense it brought bile to her throat, and she fought off a wave of nausea. This could not be happening. She felt disoriented, alone in a strange world that no longer made sense. She crawled back into the rocks and huddled there until darkness fell again. Then she made her way back to the kayak.
    Early the next morning, long before the sun was up, her body aching and her brain numb, she forced herself to lift the kayak from its hiding place. It was impossible not to make noise and she winced at each sound, but she could not stay there any longer.
    Once on the water, she headed southeast. In the dark, she couldn’t