Tourist Season

For the first time in the conversation, it occurred to Kara Ly

Wiley blinked at her. "I'll be right back," he said.

This time she didn't move. Wet and cold, she had come to cherish the meager protection of the plastic shelter. Wiley returned carrying a short wooden stake. An orange plastic streamer was attached to the blunt end.

"Survey markers," Kara Ly

"Very good. So you know what it means—construction is imminent."

"How imminent?" she asked.

"Like tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's the groundbreaking?"

"Naw, that was Christmas Eve. Purely ceremonial," Wiley said. "Tomorrow is much more significant. Tomorrow's the day they start terrain modification."

"What's that?"

"Just what it says."

Kara Ly

"No, those would be used later, for contour clearing."

"Then what do they use for this 'terrain modification'?" she asked.

"Dynamite," Skip Wiley replied. "At dawn."

Kara Ly

"Did you say dynamite?" she asked.

"Eight hundred pounds," Skip Wiley said, "split into three payloads. One at the northwest tip, another at the southeast cove. The third cache, the big one, is right over there, no more than twenty yards. Can you see it? That galvanized box beneath those trees."

From where she sat Kara Ly

"I ... I don't ... " She was choking on fear, unable to speak. Hold on, she told herself.

"They do it by remote control," Wiley explained, "from a barge. We passed it on the way out, anchored three miles off the island. You were asleep."

"Oh ... " The plan was more terrible than she had imagined; all the stalling had been futile, a wasted strategy.

"They have to do it at dawn," Wiley went on, "some kind of Army Corps rule. Can't bring boats any closer to the island because the blast'll blow the windows out."

He ambled to the campfire and stood with his back to her for several moments. His naked cantaloupe head twitched back and forth, as if he were talking to himself. Abruptly he turned around and said, "The reason for the dynamite is the coral. See—" He kicked at the ground with his shoe. "Harder than cement. They need to go down twenty-four inches before pouring the foundation for the condo. Can't make a dent with shovels, not in this stuff ... so that's why the dynamite. Flip of a switch and—poof—turn this place into the Bo

Kara Ly

Wiley spread his arms. "No life forms will survive," he said in a clinical tone. "Not even the gnats."

"Please don't do this," Kara Ly

"It's not me, Barbie Doll, it's progress. Your beef is with Puerco Development."

"Don't leave me here," she said, just shy of a beg.

"Darling, how could I save you and not save that magnificent eagle? Or the helpless rabbits and the homely opossums, or even the lowly fiddler crabs? It's impossible to rescue them, so I can't very well rescue you. It wouldn't be fair. It would be like ... playing God. This way is best, Kara Ly

Kara Ly

"Just listen," Wiley said. From a breast pocket he took another clipping and read: " 'Officials in South Florida estimate that adverse publicity surrounding December's tourist murders has cost the resort area as much as ten million dollars in family and convention trade.'" Wiley waved the clip and gloated. "Nottoo shabby, eh?"

"I'm impressed," Kara Ly

"It's the lead Periscope item!" Wiley said, defensively.

"Terrific," Kara Ly

"1think not."

"I can swim away," she declared.

"Not all tied up, you can't," Wiley said. "Besides, the water's lousy with blacktip sharks. Did you know they spawn at night in the shallows? Aggressive little bastards, too. A bite here, a bite there, a little blood and pretty soon the big boys pick up the scent. Bull sharks and hammerheads big enough to eat a goddamn Datsun."

"That'll do," said Kara Ly

Something rustled at the edge of the clearing. A branch cracking in the storm, she thought. Skip Wiley cocked his head and peered toward the sound, but the hard rain painted everything gray and hunched and formless. The only identifiable noises were raindrops slapping leaves, and the hiss of embers as the campfire died in the downpour.

Wiley was not satisfied. Like an ungainly baseball pitcher, he wound up and hurled the survey stake end-over-end into the trees.

The missile was answered by an odd strangled peep.

Wiley chuckled. "Just as I thought," he said, "a wood stork."

Just then the thicket ruptured with an explosion so enormous that Kara Ly

When she opened her eyes, he was sitting down, slack-jawed and pale. The red kerchief was askew, drooped over one eye. Both legs stuck straight out, doll-like, in front of him. He seemed transfixed by something close at hand—a radiant splotch of crimson and a yellow knob of bone, where his right knee used to be. Absently he fingered the frayed hole in his trousers.

Kara Ly

Brian Keyes moved quickly out of the trees.

His brown hair was plastered to his forehead; rain streamed down his cheeks. His face was blank. He was walking deliberately, a little hurried, as if his flight were boarding.

He strode up to Skip Wiley, placed a foot on his chest, and kicked him flat on his back. A regular one-man cavalry! Kara Ly

'"Hello, Skip," Keyes said. "How about telling me where you anchored the boat?"

Wiley's wolfish eyes crinkled with amusement. He grunted an indecipherable greeting. Keyes slowly withdrew the gun, but kept it inches from Wiley's nose.

"Holy Christ!" Wiley boomed, sitting up. "And I thought you were dangerous with a typewriter."

"You're losing blood," Keyes said.

"No thanks to you."

"Where's the boat?"

"Not so fast."

Keyes fired again, the gun so close to Wiley's face that the charge knocked him back down. Wiley clutched at his ears and rolled away, over the sharp corrugated coral. The bullet had thwacked harmlessly into the stucco rubble of the old cabin.

Kara Ly

She nodded. "I want to get out of here. They're going to dynamite this place—"

"I know." He had to find Wiley's boat.

Joey the shrimper had been generous enough to provide a tin of smoked amberjack and a jug of water before letting them off, but he had not been generous enough to wait around. Muttering about the obscene cost of fuel, he had aimed the Tina Marieaway from the island, leaving his passengers to find their own way back to the mainland.