Edited by Gemma Creffield and Andrew Hook
Set in Meridien
All rights reserved. Chris Panatier asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN 978 0 85766 962 9
Ebook ISBN 978 0 85766 963 6
Printed and bound in the United Kingdom by TJ Books Ltd.
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For all the kids in the school principal’s office.
Here lies Ben Sullivan. Died in space. Couldn’t open the pickles.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Jim’s in the store again. Jim doesn’t buy shit.
“Morning Ben,” said Jim.
I’d always liked Jim, but he’d never so much as flirted with a spool of 5x tippet.
“You going out today?” I asked, flipping the magnifier up from the brim of my cap.
“Yep,” he answered, fingering some light-wire hooks on a rack.
“You know those are for sale, right? You can buy them with money and they become yours forever.”
Jim didn’t respond, ambling instead to another rack of flyfishing goods he also wouldn’t end up purchasing.
I knocked the magnifier back down and returned to wrapping a yellow midge.
“Hey,” said Jim, just as I’d regained my focus. “What do you call that fly you made for Winston Hollymead? He won’t shut up about it. He’s throwing all these numbers at me that sound ludicrous. A twenty-five-pound, post-spawn striper? In the Pawnee?” He blew a raspberry. “Makes no sense.”
I chuckled pretentiously at Jim’s underestimation of my work. It made a lot of sense if you knew how to get unhorny fish to bite like I did. “The Alpha-Boom-Train isn’t just for striper,” I said with a shrug. “It’ll work on any post-spawn perciform. They like bloodworms.”