Mysteries & Detective Stories
J'ai l'impression qu'il n'y a pas grand-chose qui fasse peur à Stike. Mais moi, l'idée d'être attaqué par un gang me terrifie.
Without thinking about how scared I was, I dove. It was like diving into cold midnight. My ears roared as the water closed over my head.
I kicked downward, blindly reaching with my hands. My clawing fingers raked the outside wall of the cabin. I followed the wall down to where it met the deck. If the ax was still on board, that's where I would find it.
Just as I was about to run out of air, I felt the smooth long handle of the ax. I grabbed it and pushed upward.
One day, Johnny stuck his nose in his grandpa's closet and found a bottle. It was made of dark green glass. A sandy cork was plugged in the top. The sand was as hard as cement. Johnny took the bottle to the sunroom where his grandpa was snoozing. He jumped on the sofa. "What's in the bottle?" he demanded. "Well now, that's a puzzle," his grandpa said. "I never did figure that out." Johnny held the bottle up to the sun. A shadow lurked inside the green glass. There was something inside for sure.
I sucked down the icy air, but all too soon my lungs grew ragged from the cold. It felt like I was breathing in air from a red-hot furnace. My broken fingers throbbed, but that was the least of my worries. The bulldozer stayed directly behind me. It wouldn't get tired. There was no way I could stay ahead of it, not with all the miles between me and where the Mackenzie entered the Arctic Ocean.
