Stormy Weather

"Listen," said Augustine: " 'Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity-I belong to the earth! I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples.' "

He handed the novel to Bo

"It's him, all right."

"Or me," said Augustine. "On a given day."

The sky was turning purple and contused. Overhead a string of turkey buzzards coasted on the freshening breeze. In the distance there was a broken tumble of thunder. Augustine asked Bo

"He's going back alone," she said. "You know, it's crossed my mind that I'm cracking up." She took out her wedding ring. Augustine figured she was going to either slip it on her finger or toss it in the creek.

"Don't," he said, covering both possibilities.

"I'll send it back to him. I don't know how else to handle it." Her voice was thin and sad. Hurriedly she put the ring away.

Augustine asked, "Whatdo,you want to do?"

"Be with you for a while. Is that OK?"

"Perfect."

Brightening, Bo

"You'll be pleased to know I've got a plan."

"That's hard to believe."

"Really," he said. "I'm going to sell Uncle Felix's farm, or what's left of it. And my house, too. Then I intend to find someplace just like this and start again. Someplace on the far edge of things. Still interested?"

"I don't know. Will there be cable?"

"No way."

"Rattlesnakes?"

"Possibly."

"Boy. The edge of the edge." Bo

He said, "Ever heard of the Ten Thousand Islands?"

"Somebody counted them all?"

"No, dear. That would take a lifetime."

"Is that your plan?" she asked.

Augustine was familiar with the partner-choosing dilemma. She was deciding whether she wanted an anchor or a sail. He said, "There's a town called Chokoloskee. You might hate it."

"Baloney. Stay right here." Bo

"Now where are you going?"

"Back to camp for some poetry."

"Sit down. I'm not finished."

She spanked his arm away. "You read to me. Now I-m going to read to you."

What Bo

As she entered the campsite, she spotted him motionless on the ground. Snapper craned over him, making throaty snarls. He was coming down from a sulfurous rage. In one hand was a piece of burnt wood that Bo

She stood rigid, her fists balled at her sides. Snapper wore a contorted expression made no less malignant by the red-and-chrome bar clamped to his face. He was unaware of Bo

Insanely she went after him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Snapper had been awakened by a cool drizzle. The campsite was still. The one-eyed lunatic was asleep, stretched out in his grubby army duds beneath a tree. There was no sign of Edie Marsh, or the sharpshooter, or the weird broad who'd doused herself with soda pop in the Jeep.

Slowly Snapper sat up. His eyes were crusty and his mouth was ash dry. A clot of black dirt stuck to one eyebrow: For the umpteenth time he tried unsuccessfully to wrench The Club out of his gums. The pain was hideous, as if the bones of his face were spring-loaded to blow apart. He was grateful he couldn't see himself; he must've looked like a fucking circus freak. Bucket-Mouth Man. Dorks lining up to toss softballs down his gullet.

Jesus H. Christ, he thought, I gotta clear the cobwebs.

There on the ground was the suitcase full of cash, yawning, where Skink had left it. The smell pungently reminded Snapper that it hadn't been a nightmare: The asshole had actually pissed on ninety-four thousand perfectly good U.S. dollars.

Snapper tested his legs; left, right, together. Next he clenched his hands, flexed his arms. So far, so good. The second tranquilizer dart finally had worn off.

He rose to his feet. Tenuously he took one step toward the cash. Then another. The iron bar on his jaws was so cumbersome that he almost lost his balance and toppled forward. He tried to hold his breath while he latched the suitcase, but the aroma was unavoidable. Snapper found the water jug and emptied it into his throat. His spluttering failed to disturb the dozing lunatic.

Snapper spied a handy weapon-a length of gummy wood, one end charred.

The big dork must've heard him coming, because he tried to roll away when Snapper swung. The blow caught the man in a shoulder instead of the head, but Snapper heard bones crack. He knew it hurt.

"Ahhheeeggg

Bo

With his bum knee, Snapper was easy to catch. His speed was further hindered by the unwieldy facial contraption, which snagged in the vines and branches. He went down in the same basic configuration as had Eric Schultz-limbs splayed, nose down. It took only a moment for Snapper to realize it was a woman hanging off his shoulders, and not a large one. The casual ma