Elizabeth and After Read Free Page B

remembered dumping into place on a rainy October afternoon the year his father died. McKelvey opened his door, now level with the mud, keeping the pedal to the floor.
    From beneath the hood a thick black cloud of rubber-scented smoke began rising into the swamp’s green canopy of leaves. The oversized muscle-bound super-tread tires clawed down to those rocks from long ago. The car jerked upward, then fell back briefly before blasting out of the mud as if kicked in the ass by a 450-horsepower hoof. Spinning and careening, it shot down the trail, mud spraying everywhere. McKelvey’s door slammed against a birch tree. When the car came to a forgotten hump, its exhaust system sheared off with a loud explosion.
    McKelvey had been trying to lift his foot from the accelerator but the new-born howl of the unmuffled engine frightened him so much that his knee locked again, jamming the pedal to the floor. McKelvey could only hang on to the steering wheel while the car cleared itself a trail through the woods, picking up speed as it fought through the saplings and underbrush. When it reached the beach it shot forward with a roar, the speedometer needle swinging wildly until the car reached an unfamiliar cedar dock which moaned and splintered under the car’s weight as it became the runway for McKelvey’s bid for outer space.
    He screamed. Unconsoled by the whipped-cream comfort of his bucket seat, he clutched the white leather steering wheel and listened to the sound of his own terrified bellow. Ahead of him were the blue sky and jagged pine horizon, beneath hima terrible series of thuds and clunks. With a splash and an ear-splitting sizzle, the white bomb hit the water. Even as it sank, it struggled to take off again, the tires churning up great sprays of water and sand. Then with a fizzle and a hiccup the engine conked out and the car came to rest—a thin film of water lapping over the hood. At some point the windshield wipers had activated themselves. They cleared away the mud and debris to offer McKelvey a view of the centre of Dead Swede Lake. A few hundred feet away a rowboat turned towards him. McKelvey waved at the familiar blocky figure, and went to work on his knee. When he got it loose he rolled down the window, then used his good leg to try to push open the door. He’d always imagined it would be impossible to open a door underwater. In movies people were always having to escape out their windows. But now, maybe because the water wasn’t very deep, the door began to move. Just as well because he didn’t need a ruler to figure there’d be no wriggling out through the narrow window.
    By the time he’d got to shore, emptied his shoes and squeezed out his pantcuffs, the rowboat had drawn up beside the car.
    “How’s the fishing?” McKelvey asked.
    “Slow.” The occupant of the rowboat, Gerald Boyce, was short but very wide and though his hair was spun a thick and snowy white, his round baby face was smooth.
    “Fucking car,” McKelvey said. He stepped closer to the rowboat and peered at Gerald as though he hadn’t recognized him before.
    “You like a ride?”
    “Wouldn’t mind.”
    He picked up his shoes and socks and put them in his vest pockets. Then he walked his bare feet along the remains of thehot sun-warmed dock until he was positioned to step into the boat.
    While Gerald was rowing towards the middle of the lake, McKelvey took a package of makings from the pocket of Gerald’s workshirt and rolled himself a cigarette. He still had his own lighter at least. Dr. Knight hadn’t said anything about pregnant women not being allowed to start fires.
    By the time McKelvey got his smoke set and going, Gerald was near the centre of Dead Swede Lake. A stringer hung from one oarlock. McKelvey pulled it up. A few small bass wiggled enthusiastically, then started trying to swim as he lowered them into the water.
    “We could go home and eat them,” Gerald said. “You think you can work a fillet knife without