Boone a deep series preq.., p.1
Boone: A Deep Series Prequel, page 1
CONTENTS
Preface
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part II
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part III
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Part IV
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part V
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Afterword
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. All events described are imaginary; all characters are entirely fictitious and are not intended to represent actual living persons.
Copyright © 2024 by Nick Sullivan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover design by Shayne Rutherford of Wicked Good Book Covers
Cover photo by Mihtiander/DepositPhotos.com
Interior Title Page Artwork by AArows/Shutterstock.com
Copy editing by Marsha Zinberg of The Write Touch
Proofreading by Gretchen Tannert Douglas and Forest Olivier
Original maps of Bonaire, Curaçao, & ABC Islands by Rainer Lesniewski/Shutterstock.com
ISBN: 978-0-9978132-9-6
Published by Wild Yonder Press
For Mom. Thank you for supporting me in all my childhood endeavors. The person I became owes everything to you for the hobbies you encouraged, the places we visited, and the lessons you taught me.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance you’ve read other books in The Deep Series. Full disclosure, when I call this book a prequel, I mean it. We’ve all heard the adage, “life is a journey.” I’ll go further to add that it’s all the stops along that journey that make us who we are. Many prequels consist of a short adventure that takes place before the first book in a series, but I wanted to do something different. I wanted to explore what makes Boone tick. What are some of the experiences that created the Boone we meet in Deep Shadow? This is that story.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
Lao Tzu
PART ONE
ONE
JULY 21, 2000 - KINGSTON, TN
“You’re nuts.”
Eleven-year-old Boone Fischer turned to find his best friend sitting astride his bicycle on the walking trail. Boone’s own bike lay on its side in the grass beside the shore of the Clinch River.
Boone shrugged his bony shoulders. “I go snorkeling in the Clinch all the time.”
Eugene Shelton rolled his eyes. “I know that. I’m talking about the rocks I saw you put in your pockets!” The smaller boy walked his slim bicycle closer and set it down beside Boone’s knobby-wheeled dirt bike. Eugene’s glasses slipped forward on his face as he bent over, and he quickly slid them back into place. “You ever hear the phrase ‘sink like a stone’?”
“That’s the idea,” Boone replied, scanning the bank of 58 Landing Park for another right-sized river rock. This area of the Clinch River had less boat traffic than the Watts Barr Reservoir farther to the south, and Boone was planning on a brief underwater adventure.
“I don’t get it. Don’t you have to breathe?”
“Eventually.” Boone spotted a smooth rock the size of his fist and added it to his right pocket, where it clacked against the current occupant. His left already bulged with a similar pair, and he had to snug the swimsuit’s drawstring tighter to keep it from slipping on his slim frame. “See, when you hold your breath, the air in your lungs makes you buoyant. But I wanna hang out on the bottom, and the rocks’ll help. A local fisherman taught me this trick when my mom took me to Aruba last year.”
“That’s where you’re going this weekend?”
“Yeah. This’ll be my fourth time.”
“That must be expensive…”
“Probably. But my mom loves it there. It’s where she met my dad.”
“I haven’t seen him in a while,” Eugene offered hesitantly.
“Yeah… me neither,” Boone muttered. “Mom’s been missing him. But he’s gonna meet us there. Dad’s at sea a lot.”
“He’s Dutch, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Does he wear those little wooden shoes?”
Boone snorted. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’s in the Royal Netherlands Navy.”
“Right, I remember. You know, the Dutch used to have a big navy and lots of colonies.”
“Yeah, I learned about that playing a video game with pirates.”
“Reading books is another way to learn,” Eugene teased.
“Not nearly as fun.” Boone went to his backpack, which held a cheap mask, snorkel, and fins he’d picked up at a store in nearby Oak Ridge.
“So… does that make you Dutch, then?” Eugene ventured.
“Half, I guess.” Boone sat at the edge of the water and grunted as he tried to pull on one of the full-foot fins.
“You’re gonna need new flippers,” Eugene observed.
“Fins,” Boone corrected. “One time, I called ’em flippers on a snorkel trip and the guide asked me if I was a manatee. Scuba divers call them fins.”
“Oh, so you’re a diver now.”
“I will be.” With a supreme effort, Boone managed to cram his foot into the fin. “Dang. These fit fine last time.”
Eugene laughed. “Better quit growing then, Bigfoot.”
Boone grinned and waggled a finned foot at his nerdy friend. It was true; he’d had a bit of a growth spurt. Boone had already been the tallest kid in his class, but he seemed to have added an inch in just the last month or two.
“So, why would a fisherman want to sink to the bottom?” Eugene asked. “Don’t they just sit on a boat with a fishing pole?”
“This guy had a boat, but he liked to spearfish. He wore weights on a belt, but told me he used the trick with the pocket rocks when he was a boy. Said he was a freediver. Could hold his breath a long, long time.”
“How long?”
“Several minutes at least. I’ve been practicing. I’m up to two minutes.”
“No you’re not,” Eugene scoffed. “No way.”
“Wanna bet?”
“No. But I want to see you do it. I’ll time you. My watch has a stopwatch function.” He raised a skinny wrist.
Boone nodded and stripped off his shirt, tossing it to Eugene. “Dump that on my bike, wouldja?” He picked up his mask and spit in it, rubbing the saliva into the lenses.
“Nasty.” Eugene grimaced.
“Keeps it from fogging. Hey, how’d you know I was here?”
“I didn’t.” He pointed across the street at the hill above, where the Kingston Public Library sat, overlooking the riverside park. “I was biking up to the library and saw you down here.”
Boone smiled. His friend spent a lot of time at the cozy little library. Satisfied with his mask, he snugged it onto his face.
Eugene came down beside him and examined the shoreside rocks himself, searching for a flat stone to skip. “You looking for anything in particular down there?”
“Nah. Can’t see more than a few feet, anyway. I just wanna get ready for Aruba.” Boone sat in the shallows and floated on his back, giving himself a moment to adjust to the shock of the cold water. “If you’re gonna skip rocks, aim ’em away from me.”
“Naturally,” Eugene said, turning sideways and attempting a throw. The rock hit the water like a lead balloon with nary a skip. “What if a boat comes in?” he asked, gesturing toward the concrete slip at the southern end of the park. “You don’t want to get diced up by a propeller.”
“I’ll hear ’em. And I’m not going that far out.” Boone turned and kicked a few times, then ducked his head. “Can’t see shi… can’t see anything,” he quickly corrected. His mother had been on him recently for some of his language. Eugene never cursed, but some of the other kids Boone hung out with could cuss up a storm, twanging away in their strong East Tennessee accents.
Like Boone, Eugene didn’t have much of an accent, and Boone hung out with the bookish boy a lot; partly because the Sheltons lived just two houses down, but also because Eugene was an encyclopedia of knowledge, from plants and animals to the stars in the sky, probably due in part to his father being a bigwig scientist over at the Oak Ridge National Laboratory. Boone thought Eugene was rubbing off on him a little. Since his friend had moved into the neighborhood, Boone’s grades had gone up. Not because Eugene was doing his homework for him or anything like that, but Boone found himself reading more, and his internet searches had transitioned from video game strategies to islands, marine life, and freediving.
“You ready?” Eugene called out when Boone had gone about ten yards from shore.
“One sec. Trying to find something.” The tips of Boone’s fins could touch the bottom, but when he ducked his mask under the surface,
Boone jackknifed and dove for the bottom, the slight pull of the four river rocks giving him a minor assist. It was around here somewhere… there! Boone spotted the object he was searching for on the bottom and ascended, placing a fin against it to hold position when he broke the surface. “Found it!”
“What? Pirate treasure?”
“I wish. Naw, just an old tire I found one time. Gonna hold onto it to help the rocks out. They won’t be enough for a long breath hold.”
“I’m ready!” Eugene held up his watch.
“I’m not!” Boone laughed. “I gotta relax and focus. I’m supposed to make my exhales longer than my inhales… that slows down the heart rate.”
“What, like those Shaolin monks can do?”
“No idea. Shut up and let me chill. When I’m ready, I’m just going to sink, so have your finger on the timer.”
Boone emptied his mind and began the breathing preparation he’d been reading about. After a few minutes, his body felt ready. He bent his knees and brought his fins back, slipping beneath the surface and gently dropping toward the bottom. Even with the pocket rocks, his air-filled lungs wanted to pop him back up, so he reached out with a skinny arm and found the inside of the tire. Carefully, he grabbed hold, pulled himself down, and relaxed atop it.
Normally, this was when Boone would start counting one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, but with his friend handling the timing, he could truly empty his mind and relax. In short order, he lost track of time, with the only jump in mental activity occurring when a curious catfish approached his mask before angling away into the murk. Eventually, his body let him know his time was nearly up. Gripping the tire tightly, Boone pressed his fins against the silty bottom and focused, willing himself to stay down a little longer. At the first sign of true discomfort, he shoved off from the bottom and shot to the surface, sucking in a glorious lungful of air.
Eugene stood on the shore, his watch-bearing wrist held aloft, staring at Boone with his mouth agape.
“So…?” Boone gasped. “How’d… how’d I do?”
“Holy crap, Boone,” Eugene said, shifting his eyes back to the watch. “Two minutes, twenty-nine seconds!”
“Nice,” Boone said, kicking back to shore. “So that’s the record I gotta beat next time.” He removed his fins at the water’s edge.
“You see any sturgeon?”
Boone cocked his head. “Nah, just a big catfish. There aren’t any sturgeon in here.”
“They’re endangered, but there are probably still a few around,” Eugene said. “And there are going to be a lot more pretty soon. They’re reintroducing them starting next year. The Tennessee Aquarium down in Chattanooga is helping.”
“That place is awesome,” Boone said. “When I grow up, I wanna work there as a diver.”
“I hear someone’s building a new aquarium in Gatlinburg,” Eugene said. “I think it’s the Ripley’s Believe It or Not company. They’ve got one out in Myrtle Beach.”
“Cool!” Boone loved visiting Gatlinburg, a tourist town in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, especially during the holidays. His mother was less of a fan, since she was the one who had to drive in the hellacious traffic. That being said, his mother didn’t hesitate to visit nearby Dollywood around Christmastime to enjoy the festive displays of lights.
Boone tossed his fins onto the grass alongside the shore and dumped the rocks from his pockets next to a piece of driftwood.
“So, what time do you have to leave for McGhee Tyson?” Eugene asked, referring to the Knoxville airport.
“Too early. First, we gotta fly to Miami, then on to Aruba.”
“Guess you can’t join me at Big Ed’s, then? My mom’s taking me to meet my dad there.”
“Aw, man, why you gotta torture me?” The Oak Ridge pizzeria was a local institution and Boone would ordinarily jump at the chance. “I can’t. Have to finish packing, and Mom said she’s bringing dinner home when she gets off work.”
Boone pulled a plastic bag out of his backpack and stuffed his wet snorkel gear inside before shoving the bag into the pack. He zipped up the sides, leaving the tips of the fins protruding out the top.
Eugene picked up his bike. “I guess I’ll see you when you get back. Hey, bring me some Aruban coins! I’m a numismatist.”
Boone laughed, lifting his own bike from the grass. “If you want me to bring you some coins, you have to tell me what a new-miss-mat-whatever is.”
“It means coin collector. Some Aruban coins are square and I want some!”
“Okay, I’ll do my best. And I’ll send you a postcard.”
“It’ll arrive after you get back,” Eugene said with a laugh. “Just bring me the coins.”
Boone biked home along shady Euclid Avenue, beside Bethel Cemetery on the rise to his right. He took the steep lane that cut through the cemetery and his legs were burning by the time he reached the top. Eugene had often urged him to get a bike with gears, but Boone’s old dirt bike was still perfectly functional, and his mother wasn’t exactly swimming in cash.
Boone coasted down the hill to Church Street and pumped the pedals up another hill before the white picket fence of his little house came into view. The carport was empty, and Boone glanced up at the sun. His mother got off work at four and he guessed it was about that time, but she would be grabbing takeout from somewhere. He still had time to dry off his snorkel gear and get some packing done.
Boone went around back and put his bike into the shed by the fence. In the neighbor’s yard, a flurry of barks and whines greeted his ear. Boone approached the adjoining fence and opened a gate the two families had installed. He was nearly bowled over by an overjoyed mutt, its wagging tail a blur.
“Hey, Shingles! How you doing, boy? You have a good time with Mrs. Cable’s dogs?” Shingles pawed at Boone’s legs, and he treated the eager pooch to an abbreviated game of fetch. Shingles was an excitable young dog composed of at least three breeds, and had earned his moniker when Boone’s mother had to replace the roof. A puppy at the time, the dog had discovered that discarded shingles made excellent playthings. Those impromptu dog toys had long since been obliterated; a tennis ball would have to do.
Boone spotted one of his neighbors watering a potted fern on her back porch. The Cables were retired and provided a second home for Shingles when Boone was at school and his mother was at work.
“Hi, Mrs. Cable! Did Shingles behave for you?”
“Oh, hello, Boone! Yes, he was a dear… Beasty and Beauty were the rowdy ones. Although Shingles did eat some of Beauty’s food, so there was a bit of growling and tussling.”
“Oh, sorry about that.”
“No problem at all—dogs will be dogs. And honestly, we’re looking forward to watching Shingles while you and your mother are away for… two weeks, was it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, I hope you have a wonderful vacation. You’re seeing your father there, is that right?”
“Yes’m.”
Mrs. Cable nodded and started to say something, then shook her head and smiled. “You take care of your mother, Boone.”
Boone thanked her and turned away from the fence. When a slobber-covered ball dropped at his feet, he snatched it up and tossed it toward the back of the yard. Mrs. Cable seemed… concerned? Maybe she hates to fly or doesn’t swim, he thought, as he headed for the house.
He entered by the kitchen door, leaving it ajar while Shingles continued to cavort in the backyard. After pausing to drink from the tap, Boone took his backpack into the bathroom and toweled off his mask, snorkel, and fins. Then he grabbed a fresh towel and dried the interior of his backpack, since he intended to use it as a carry-on. Gathering up everything, he headed for his bedroom at the end of the carpeted hall.
His mother had left his suitcase at the foot of the bed; he thumped it down on the mattress and unzipped it. Inside was a handy-dandy packing list his mother had scrawled on a piece of paper. Smiling, Boone placed his fins in the bottom of the suitcase, then set about grabbing items of clothing from various drawers, as well as a few from the floor. Then he spotted something atop the bureau that wasn’t on the list.
