The Skeleton Tree Read Free Page B

There was nothing but that terrible sea all around us. In the little red boat we skidded and whirled down the waves. I screamed until my throat was sore.
    “Uncle Jack!”
    “Uncle Jack!”
    But there was no echo on the sea. And of course nobody answered.
    The blue pills had worn off, but everything still seemed dreamily unreal as we floated in that little red boat. As it reeled over the waves, Frank sat without moving. He didn’t even shift his weight to keep us level. His jacket zipped up to his chin, his hands clamped to the sides of the boat, he looked right at me without seeing me.
    At the other end I leaned forward or sideways or backward to keep us level. But water still slopped over the sides and soon filled the boat to our ankles.
    The plastic scoop had tangled around the oars. I snapped it from its string and started bailing. I looked at my watch many times before I realized it had stopped. Seeing the hands frozen in place made me feel angry and hopeless. I leaned back my head and shouted at the sea and the sky.
    At sunset, the wind fell. The waves began to flatten, and there was no danger then of sinking. But I felt more frightened than ever as I watched the sky turn red. In that tiny boat far from land, I began to wonder what Uncle Jack had really seen. What if all the people who had been swept to sea were floating along around us?
    In every way, I was adrift in the dark. I didn’t know where I was going or what I would find; I just wished I was home with my mother. I pictured her standing at the big front window, looking out at the same darkness, thinking of me just as I was thinking of her. But she would have no idea that I was lost on the ocean. She would imagine me sailing happily with Uncle Jack.
    Darkness settled. Then stars choked the sky—more stars than I had ever seen. Across them drifted satellites, flying along with a silent, steady purpose that made me feel horribly lonesome.
    Frank sat as rigid as ever, rising up against the stars when the boat lifted on the waves. Shivering with cold, I tightened my sodden jacket and rubbed my arms to keep warm.
    At dawn I saw clouds in the distance. Then, under the clouds I saw land, a line of jagged mountains with snow-covered tops. Currents and winds were pushing us in that direction, but so slowly that I thought we might never reach shore. Frank’s fingers were white and wrinkled, like drowned worms hooked over the edge of the boat. His teeth ticked as they chattered, and little tremors ran through him, twitching around his eyes. I was terribly afraid he would die. I worried about what would happen if he did. I couldn’t sit with a dead boy, but how could I roll him out of the boat and watch him sink into the water’s blue darkness?
    I pried out the oars and began to row. For hours and hours I rowed that boat. My hands grew blisters, and the salt water that trickled down the oars made them burn. The sides of the boat warped in and out, until little bubbles started streaming up through the corners. Water oozed through the bottom. Rowing the boat would destroy it, but I had no choice.
    At the end of the day the mountains looked huge. The land appeared wild and empty, and when the sun went down there was not a single light along that huge shore, not a sign of people anywhere. Then the wind began to rise again, and the waves grew taller, and sometime before dawn I heard the rumbling sound of surf.
    I raised my head to look around. In the pale moonlight, ghostly plumes of spray appeared. The surf grew louder, and I saw streaks of foam shredded from the crests of enormous waves. The boat rushed like a sled through the darkness. I tore off my jacket, hoping I could row harder without it, and tried to drive the little boat away from land. But we were swept in among the breakers, and one hammered down on us.
    The oars flew away as I tumbled into the sea. Gasping from the cold, I struggled to the surface. My flailing hands clutched on to the boat. Now upside down,