Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,25

with a tinge of green on it. Hard to believe beautiful wood could come from that.

This procedure repeated itself over and over again, so that by the time an hour had passed, I felt like I’d learned all I could about the fascinating world of lumber recovery. In other words, I was ready for a nap.

I walked back across the barge, jumped onto the deck of the ship, and went into Hornsby’s cabin.

Protected from the wind, it immediately felt warmer and I helped myself to a cup of coffee from the pot next to the captain’s chair. I was so tired the caffeine stood no chance of keeping me awake.

I took the opportunity to look around. There wasn’t much for me to snoop through. Some topographic maps of the lake’s bottom. Pictures of Hornsby and his crew. A newspaper article on Superior Salvage Company. A few photographs taped to the wall. In one of them, I saw a grinning Hornsby with his arm around Jesse Barre. They both looked comfortable with each other. Relaxed. Maybe even in love.

I found the head, which was surprisingly clean, and took a leak. I went back to the cabin and drained the rest of my coffee. I looked out over the water and a fine mist was thick in the air. It had gotten colder as well. No time to be out on the deck of a barge, that’s for sure. You know those guys who love to be out and fighting the elements? Looking Mother Nature in the eye? I’m not one of them. I figure my ancestors worked hard to figure out it was safer to hide in caves. It would be an insult to their hard work and dedication to be outside right now.

A small cot lay along the opposite wall of the cabin. I stretched out on it, zipped my coat up all the way to my chin. The coffee had momentarily warmed my insides, and I figured that I wouldn’t miss much if I took a quick nap.

Besides, I reasoned, I’m a light sleeper.

• • •

I dreamed of a nice gnocchi dinner, served by my wife whose attire consisted of fishnet stockings and a jaunty beret. She was just about to suggest dessert when something odd happened. Instead of a pleasant garlic aroma, the gnocchi smelled like gasoline.

My eyes opened and I was suddenly wide awake, scared and disoriented all at the same time.

I was on Hornsby’s boat, in the cabin, and my mind tried to take in the fact that it was nearly dusk and that I must have been sleeping for nearly five hours. Holy Christ, what a fuckup I was.

The early morning had really done me in. I vaulted over the deck of the ship onto the barge. I jogged to the crane control and the area where the chain and harness were, but I saw no one.

I walked to the edge of the ship and looked into the water.

Rollie was on his back, a thick length of the chain tied around his neck. His face was bobbing in and out of the water. His lifeless eyes were bulging, his mouth an open container. Water poured in, water poured back out. A huge log was in the water next to him, and the chain seemed to be holding Rollie alongside.

I looked around the barge, out toward the water. “Hornsby!” I called.

Just as the last echoes of my voice were carried away by the wind, I heard what sounded like a small explosion. More of a wooshing sound. And then the deck of the barge was a column of flame headed right for me. A motor gunned and I saw a shadow crouched at the throttle of a small outboard and then I was leaping from the barge, out into Lake St. Clair.

I hit and the shocking cold of the water made me nearly want to scream.

I went straight down into the water, the sudden silence shocking me as much as the knifing cold.

My jacket weighed a ton, but I kept it on, instead I kicked off my shoes and pants, holding my breath for as long as I could before I had to surface.

When my lungs were burning and I was on the verge of inhaling a mouthful of water, I broke through to the water’s surface. Smoke was everywhere. It was like night had come and thrown a stinky blanket over everything. As I struggled to get my bearings, a huge explosion rocked the air.