Man-made
The dot sharpened slowly with every wave they crossed. It was too steady to be a buoy, too rigid to be driftwood. And it didn’t move like a ship. Judy’s chest tightened as realization struck—it was something man-made. Her finger shot out toward the horizon. “There,” she said sharply. Pete squinted hard, his cigarette forgotten, eyes narrowing as he tried to focus. The boat pressed onward, carrying them closer to the mysterious shape.
Page 46 of 70
