Ship Breaker Read Online Free PDF Page A

or ledge that would tell him a door lay below. The first time, he found nothing, but the second, he let himself sink lower, oil lapping up around his jaw. His toes brushed something. He tilted his nose to the sky, letting the oil lap higher, up around his cheeks, closing around his mouth and nose.
    A ledge. A rim of metal.
    Nailer ran his toe along its width. It could be the top of a doorway, he guessed. It wasn’t much more than three feet wide. The ledge itself was a boon. He could almost rest, letting his toes cling to it, taking some of the pressure off his trembling fingers. The ledge felt like a palace.
    You can rest now,
he thought.
You can wait for Pima. Sloth will tell her you’re down here. You can wait it out.
    He killed the hope. Maybe Pima would come save him. Probably, though, Sloth wouldn’t say anything about him at all. He was on his own. Nailer balanced on the ledge, on the edge of decision.
    Live or die,
he thought.
Live or die.
    He dove.

4

    I N A WAY , the black muck of the oil was no worse than the blackness above. Nailer let his hands do the work of seeing. He quested down along the rim of the door, sinking deeper, reading its outline.
    His hands touched a wheel lock.
    Nailer’s heart surged with relief. The wheel was the kind used to hold back seawater if a hull breached, a solid airtight door. He tugged at the wheel, trying to remember which way to turn it. It didn’t budge. He fought down panic. Yanked on the wheel again. Nothing. It wouldn’t move. And he was running out of air.
    Nailer kicked for the surface, using the wheel to launch himself upward, praying that he’d make it. He surfaced, flailing. His fingers scrabbled for the thin pipe, miraculously caught hold before he sank again. He wiped frantically at his face, clearing his nose and keeping his eyes shut. He blew air through his lips, pushing oil away from his mouth. Sucked in a fume-laden breath.
    With his eyes still closed, he felt again for the doorframe with his toes. He thought he’d lost it for a second, but then he scraped rust and a moment later he was perched again. He smiled tightly. A door with a wheel. A chance. If he could make the damn thing turn.
    More scrabbling echoed from above. Sloth at work still.
    He called up to her. “Hey, Sloth! I got me a way out. I’m coming for you, crewgirl.”
    The movement stopped.
    “You hear me?” His voice echoed all around. “I’m getting out! And I’m coming for you.”
    “Yeah?” Sloth responded. “You want me to go get Pima?” Mockery laced her voice. Nailer again wished he could reach up and yank her down into the oil. Instead, Nailer made his voice reasonable.
    “If you go get Pima now, I’ll forget you were going to let me drown.”
    A long pause.
    Finally Sloth said, “It’s too late, right?” She went on. “I know you, Nailer. You’ll tell Pima no matter what, and then I’m off crew and someone else buys in.” Another pause, then she said, “It’s all Fates now. If you got a way out, I’ll see you on the outside. You get your revenge then.”
    Nailer scowled. It had been worth a try. He thought about the door waiting below him. It might be locked from the far side. Maybe that was why the wheel didn’t turn. Maybe…
    If it’s locked, you die. Same as everything. No use worrying about it.
    He took a deep breath and went down again.
    This time, with more air, and knowing what he was trying to do, he found the wheel quickly and then took his time working it. He braced his feet on the hatch frame, felt around for the latch handle. First he needed to unseal with the wheel, then he needed to yank the handle. He tried to turn the wheel again. Nothing. He leaned against it, bracing himself sideways and using his legs, fighting to keep a grip.
    Nothing.
    He hooked his elbow through the wheel. He was running out of air, but he didn’t want to give up. He pulled. Pulled again, harder, the wheel digging into the crook of his arm. His lungs were bursting.
    The