Past the Shallows Read Online Free PDF

under the door and Miles was coughing.
    ‘Are you sick?’ Harry asked.
    ‘Shut your eyes for a sec. I’ve gotta turn the light on.’
    Harry closed his eyes tight but the burst of bright light still made his eyes water. He opened them carefully, held one hand
     up to shield them. Miles coughed again from somewhere deep, and he had black bags under his eyes. They were puffy.
    ‘Are you sick? Maybe you can stay home?’
    If Miles stayed home they could put the fire on and watch TV, and Harry could make him cup-a-soups and lemon drinks. Miles
     squeezed a jumper over the top of the one he already had on and put his beanie on.
    ‘Go back to sleep,’ he said.
    ‘Do you want my scarf?’
    ‘I’m OK.’
    The air was cold and Harry was glad he didn’t have to get out of bed. He let his body lie back down. Dad called Miles from
     the lounge.
    ‘Maybe you’ll get to finish early today?’ Harry said.
    Miles was looking for something on the floor. He picked up some socks and slipped them on over the ones he was already wearing.
    ‘I’d better go.’ He coughed again and turned the bedroom light off.
    Harry heard the toaster pop, then the front door shut. Miles had left the lounge light on for Harry so it wasn’t dark. He
     curled up in his doona, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. He was already awake. He was thinking about that dog.
     The puppy that wanted to play with him. And he knew he was going to go back and look for it. He knew that’s what he was going
     to do. Maybe not today, but soon.

T hey had finished up early.
    All the tubs were full – their daily quota reached – and they would get back to the wharf by eleven, have the boat cleaned
     and ready by twelve, maybe. Miles was thinking that he’d walk around to Joe’s from the wharf and see if he was home. Because
     when the boat had passed Tasman Head the swell had been running straight south-west and if it stayed that way, and if the
     sea breeze didn’t kick up, there’d be good waves at low tide at Lady Bay or on the bluff at Roaring. It would be perfect.
    Martin poked his head out of the cabin and the engine cut.
    He’d seen salmon.
    Miles ran to the side, looked out the back. Atlantic salmon were massing in a giant ball – a feedingfrenzy – and they were huge, probably escapees from the salmon cages in Dover. An easy catch.
    Dad grabbed a rod and cast out. The metal lure only floated for a second before he yanked it back and a salmon hit the deck
     with a thud, gills flaring. Miles ran over and grabbed it. The fish fought hard against his hands but he managed to unhook
     its jaw and chuck it in a plastic tub. As soon as the line was free, Dad cast again and just as quickly, there was another
     fish. Jeff grabbed a rod, too, and now fish were flying in every few seconds. Miles scrambled around on the deck, unhooking
     fish and sliding them into the tub. Within minutes the first tub was full. Miles knelt down and watched the fat salmon writhing,
     their sharp little teeth trying to find something to bite. Atlantic salmon were vicious little bastards.
    Martin came over and with a swift stab to the bottom of the head, he killed the fish one by one. It wasn’t cruel if you did
     it properly, but Miles wasn’t very good at it. He always hesitated at the last minute and he was glad he didn’t have to do
     it today.
    Martin put his knife down.
    Something made them both look up.
    A change in light – a sudden stillness.
    There was a giant mako in the sky, its mouth closing in on the salmon at the end of Dad’s line.
    Miles tried to stand, tried to move, but Jeff pushed past him and he fell face first onto the wet deck. The whole boat quaked,
     tipped and Miles slid until he smashed hard against the railings. And water was coming in; coming in or coming over, and when
     he looked the ocean was right there, right next to his face. He was pinned, the side of his body numb. He turned his head
     slowly and the thick, steel blue skin of the