The Hole Read Free Page A

and worms; and that’s just the good ones.
    Fred was woolgathering. Again. He nodded in John Hopman’s direction, and turned to go after Charlie.
    The older man was already over by the septic tank. Fred walked over to join him, aware that the hum was back—distant but noticeable. His headache returned with a vengeance, pounding behind his right eye.
    “Get over here, lad,” Charlie said. “It’s going to take both of us to stop this booger toppling over. Ain’t like it’s the first time I’ve had you work through a hangover, is it?”
    Seconds later Fred was knee deep in muddy water that had too many suspicious bits floating in it to think about. He had most of the weight of the septic tank on his shoulder, and as Charlie pushed from one side some of the contents spilled out and ran down the front of Fred’s shirt.
    Another one ruined.
    Fred took as much of the weight as he could, and tried not to breathe too heavily as Charlie attempted to right the tank. From what Fred could see, it wasn’t going to happen—they’d need some heavy lifting gear to help. He was about to tell that to Charlie when things got a lot worse.
    It happened fast.
    Hopman was being sensible and stood well back, which was just as well for the bank that had been supporting the tank gave way completely, sending it, and the two workmen, tumbling into deeper water. The edge of the tank struck Charlie a glancing blow on the brow. Fred saw blood spurt, just before the older man and the tank started to sink. As he started to go under, Charlie’s eyes rolled up to show only white.
    Fred didn’t wait to think. He let go of the tank and dived for Charlie, catching the man just as his head dipped below the surface. He was aware that the septic tank was sinking fast, burps and gurgles accompanying it as it fell from sight, but Fred was fixed on helping the older man. He gathered Charlie up in his arms and, making sure he had solid footing beneath him, started to wade back toward the new area of banking. He was dismayed to see the sides crumble away from him, the pond growing faster than his wading pace. Hopman was still up on his rapidly shrinking lawn, staring aghast at the growing expanse of muddy water that threatened to overwhelm his property.
    “Give me a hand here,” Fred shouted. At the same moment he felt the water sucking at his legs, threatening to sweep him off his feet. He struggled forward as fast as he could manage, Charlie a dead weight in his arms.
    Hopman’s gaze shifted, looking over Fred’s shoulder. The landowner’s face went white, and Fred didn’t have to look back to know he was in trouble. The tugging at his legs got stronger fast and seconds later the current lifted his feet off the bottom. He rearranged his hold on Charlie to ensure the man’s mouth would stay above water and started to swim with his free arm, kicking hard. The tide pulled harder.
    “For pity’s sake, Hopman, help us,” he shouted.
    The man didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the center of the pond, eyes wide; mouth open in astonishment.
    Fred put all he had into the swimming stroke. He finally felt something solid underneath him and was able to plant his legs down. It had to be the septic tank, lodged somewhere below on the bed of the pond. He stumbled and fell forward, just as the water sucked away from beneath him, as if someone had pulled out a plug. The tide pulled at Charlie, threatened to tug him out of Fred’s grasp. He gripped tightly at the old man’s shirt, praying that it would hold. Water roared and foamed all around him.
    Suddenly all went quiet.
    Fred, with Charlie beside him, lay across the top of the septic tank, half of which was embedded in a steep muddy bank.
    * * *
    A voice called down to them.
    “You still alive down there?”
    John Hopman was some feet above, looking down, then past them. Fred followed his gaze and almost forgot to breathe.
    The septic tank was perched on the edge of a drop that fell away out of his view, but