Unstoppable Read Online Free PDF Page B

basket and fishing gear.
    Coach stared at him, and Harrison wondered if he’d done something wrong.
    â€œWith the motor, that boat weighs about four hundred pounds,” Coach said.
    Harrison looked at the boat and shrugged.
    â€œOkay, great. Let’s load it up.” Coach set the gear and basket into the bottom of the boat. Harrison got in and Coach launched them into the deeper water and hopped aboard. The engine sputtered, then hummed. Coach steered for a point of rocks a ways away and dropped anchor at a spot where Harrison could see the stony bottom.
    Coach handed Harrison a fishing rod before focusing on his own rig, fussing with the reel, breaking open a big plastic box, and tying a small metal fish lure dangling hooks onto the end of the line. Coach looked up and blinked at Harrison, nudging the box his way before he looked back down.
    Coach looked up again. “I’m sorry. You said you never went fishing, and here I am giving you the tackle box. It’s just second nature for me, that’s all. You never even saw anyone fishing?”
    â€œJust along the bridge on the Sawmill River, or on TV, I guess.”
    â€œOkay, sure. Here, let me tie one of these babies off for you.” Coach took the pole Harrison held and expertly tied a curved golden fish onto the end of the line. The lure sparkled in the sunlight. “You just cast it toward those rocks and reel it in, like this.”
    Coach flicked his wrist and the lure on the end of his pole sailed through the air, plunking down not far from the rocks jutting out of the water. Immediately he began winding the handle, reeling in the line as fast as he could. Coach wore sunglasses beneath the brim of his “Bulldogs Football” cap, but Harrison could tell his eyes were locked on the spot where the lure had gone in. Magically, the end of the long pole bent once, then three more times, as if someone were tugging on it. Coach yanked the pole, quickly and viciously.
    â€œGot ’em.” A smile broke out on Coach’s face, and now he reeled steadily against the flailing pole.
    Harrison saw a flash in the water, then the fish broke the surface, twisting violently in the air before it dove back down, bending the pole even more.
    â€œA beauty,” Coach said. “How about that? First cast. Hand me that net, will you?”
    Harrison held out the net. Several minutes later, when Coach had reeled the fish in and alongside the boat, he grabbed the net from Harrison without looking and expertly scooped the fish out of the water. “Supper.”
    Coach unhooked his catch and held it up by pinching its lower lip between thumb and forefinger. As he raised it up for Harrison to see, Coach sucked air in through his teeth. “Look at that. Wow.”
    Coach turned the fish so Harrison could see a set of diagonal gashes that ran up one side of the fish, ending at its tail. Its eye, like Harrison’s, was bloodred. Part of the back fin was also missing. “Propeller got him.”
    Harrison wrinkled his forehead. “Are you gonna let him go?”
    â€œGo?” Coach raised his eyebrows. “No, he can’t last long like this, but he’ll still eat good.”
    Coach reached into his tackle box and looped a bigger metal hook up through where the fish’s bright-red gills strained for water to breathe and out its mouth. A dozen other big hooks dangled from the same chain. Coach called it a “stringer” and he attached it to a metal ring beside his seat before sliding the fish back into the water on its metal leash. Harrison peered over the side of the boat and watched the fish thrashing for a few moments before it settled into a lazy waving motion with its shattered tail.
    â€œYou want to try?” Coach asked. “I can’t promise you’ll catch one that fast. Lucky cast.”
    Harrison continued to stare at the fish. “I thought you let them go. That’s what they do on