Impact by Douglas Preston Read Free Book Online Page A

have such a gigantic effect.
    “Yo Mama!” Jackie called, her voice rising from the forest of stones. “Will you quit genuflecting to your ancestors and get back here and share this blunt with me?”
    Abbey walked back to where Jackie was sitting against a tombstone. “ My ancestors? Speak for yourself, white girl.”
    “Don’t give me that shit, you’re as much a Mainer as I am. No offense.”
    She sat down cross-legged, took the joint, inhaled, handed it back. As the burning sensation spread from her lungs to her head, she unwrapped her sandwich and bit into it. They ate in silence and then Abbey lay back in the grass, tucked her hands behind her head, and looked up into the sky. “Did you notice?” she asked. “At least half the people buried here are younger than we are.”
    “You always get so morbid.”
    “I’ll be less morbid after I find the meteorite.”
    They both laughed, lying in the grass, faces to the sky.

11

    Randall Worth came around Thrumcap Island in his twenty-four-foot PC-6, the Old Salt , diesel engine hammering away, laying a bourbon-colored cloud of exhaust on the water. The FM radio was tuned to TOS and it blasted static with just enough definition for Worth to guess which tune might be playing.
    Worth lobstered alone, without a stern man, because no one would work for him. So much the better, he didn’t have to split his profits. A while ago some bastard had cut half his string because he was caught taking shorts. Fuck ’em, fuck ’em all.
    He threw over the last trap and brought the boat into a tight idle, wheel hard to starboard. The line zinged out, the float popping into the water, followed by the buoy. For a moment Worth let the boat drift while he pounded down the last half of a Coors Light and threw the can overboard. He wiped his mouth and eyed the engine panel. The engine was running cold, the injectors were shot, there was fuel coming out the wet exhaust and spreading rainbows over the water. Every few minutes the bilge pumps would kick in, vomiting oily water over the side. He spat again, the gobbet lying on the deck like a shucked oyster. He kicked the raw water hose and washed the lougey out the scuppers.
    He hoped his piece-of-shit boat would last the season. Then he’d buy insurance and sink it. All he had to do was stick a bad fuse into the bilge pump, moor his boat, and wait two days.
    As Thrumcap Island passed to starboard the distant outline of Crow Island came into view, the huge white dome of the old Earth Station rising up like a bubble. The Crow Island ferry was just coming out of the harbor, churning away as it rounded the point and headed for Friendship. As he glanced back toward the mainland he was surprised to see a boat anchored in a quiet corner of Marsh Island Passage. He squinted.
    The Marea . Abbey Straw’s boat.
    He immediately throttled down, staring. A feeling of rage crawled up his spine and spread through his brain like water into a sponge. Fucking jungle bunny, he couldn’t forget what she’d said about that deeper , deeper shit. Right in front of that cunt Jackie Spann, somebody should whack her upside the head. There they were, on Louds Island, looking for the treasure of Dixie Bull. The rumor going around town was that Abbey had gotten her hands on a map.
    As the boat drifted in the tidal current, Worth pulled the last can of Coors out of the plastic rings and tossed the plastic overboard. Maybe it’ll strangle a few seals.
    He hammered down the beer and stuck the can in the beer holder screwed to the side of the engine panel. He was starting to feel edgy, tense, his skin crawling. The crank bugs. He began itching nervously at the skin of his cheek, inadvertently breaking off a scab, feeling the wetness of blood on his fingertips.
    He swore. Ducking into the tiny cuddy, he removed a glass bulb pipe from behind some gear, dropped in a rock, and with a shaking hand lit a Bic and directed the flame down into the bulb. There was a sudden