The woods pressed in on them as the trail narrowed. "And another thing," she remembered. "That big pot plant."

  "What about it?" Loren said, following her up.

  "That's pretty weird, isn't it? Something like that, growing here?"

  .You heard Trent. He told us right off the bat, sometimes kids sneak on the island to make whoopie. Some kid dropped a seed and-presto-it grew."

  "Um-hmm, and how convenient an explanation." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Or maybe I'm right. Maybe Trent really is hiding something."

  Loren's chuckling floated forward. "You really have a problem with Trent."

  "Think about it." Subconsciously, her eyes roved through the forest's plush vegetation. Searching for spiky plants? "Secluded location, abandoned government land. And the only authority is our buddy Lieutenant Trent. He could have a veritable farm of pot growing out here, and who would know?"

  "And it must be pretty good weed, too, because you've obviously had a few bowls already today."

  "Oh, kiss my ass, Loren!" she snapped back.

  "Drop 'em and I will."

  "You wish."

  "No, you wish."

  "No! You-" But then Nora dropped it. Listen to us!

  "I know," Loren said after the contemplative pause. "We sound like a couple of kids in junior high."

  "Yep. And you know why, don't you? Because that's about as far as we've evolved socially."

  "How wonderfully pathetic!" Loren cheered. "But you're not really serious about Trent, are you? Please. Tell me you're not."

  Nora didn't say anything, trudging on down the trail.

  They stopped at a marshy pond that stretched off to their right. A reddish brown bird with a white head pecked at the water.

  "Fresh, not brackish," Nora noted.

  "Looks like a brown noddy, too. Haven't seen one of those for a while."

  Their presence seemed to agitate the bird, which then flew off, yacking. Nora pointed to a scurry of tadpoles in the water. "Southern cricket tadpoles?" Nora questioned. "What's that? Gryllus dorsalis?"

  Loren stooped to one knee. "Maybe, but look at the flake of the eyes. Probably a Hyla cinera."

  Nora squinted. "Yeah, you're right. The Gryllus doesn't get the gold till the tail falls."

  Loren stood back up. The oddest stasis seemed to take hold of them.

  Finally Nora said, "This is depressing, Loren. We're looking at a pond and identifying the tadpoles by the Latin classification. That's pretty fucked up, isn't it? I mean, really, that's not normal."

  Loren scratched his head, cruxed. "Are we really that nerdy?"

  Simultaneously, they looked back down, eyed their reflections in the water. Like a carnival mirror, the water made Loren's buckteeth look like horse teeth, and his Adam's apple as big as a popover. Nora stood five four, but in this mirror of water she looked seven feet tall and bent, a big frizz-mopped ball for a head jutting from a stick: a geek scarecrow. The knees on her broomstick legs looked grotesque: Elephant Woman, she thought.

  Are we really that nerdy? Nora repeated the grim question in her mind. "Let's get out of here before I friggin' throw up," she said. They crunched away down the trail, silent.

  Neither of them noticed the bloated corpse just a few yards past the edge of the pond. Its mouth squirmed vigorously with shining pink worms.

  "God, it's hot!" Annabelle remarked, stepping into the campsite. She unslung the expensive Nikon from around her neck, set it down on a rickety picnic table. Humidity had dampened her blond hair, showing roots. She stretched and took a deep breath, flexing her arms over her head. The pose maximized her toned physique, breasts thrusting outward in the blue bikini top. Her flat stomach stretched, rivulets of sweat trickling down. Her coltish legs shone.

  Nora frowned. That prissy New York phony is doing that on purpose. Loren's eyes were hijacked.

  "I thought you weren't going to take pictures today," Nora recalled.

  "Nothing underwater." At the height of her stretch, the edge of one nipple showed. Nora was certain she pretended not to notice, for Loren's benefit. An absolutely unmitigated TEASE!

  "The best light would be gone by the time I got set up," Annabelle went on. Eventually she fixed her top. "But I did want to get some front shots of the island interior and the shoreline. Tomorrow morning we'll start the water excursions. You and Loren can make some test dives, scout some areas first."

  It sounded like an order to Nora. I'd like to kick her real-hard,- right in the ass .. .

  "And the hunt for the scarlet bristleworm will begin," Loren said. "We probably won't even need our tanks. Snorkeling will do the job."

  That sounds great, Loren," Annabelle beamed. Then she started stretching side to side, hands on hips.

  Yeah, Nora thought. Real hard ...

  "Looks like the army's new drug czar," Loren said next. Trent came out of the trail, sweating mightily in his fatigues. He was dragging the marijuana plant, which he'd obviously cut down. "Didn't see anymore, but tomorrow I'll have to check more of the island. I already called this one in."

  "Bullshit," Nora said under her breath.

  "What are you going to do with it, Lieutenant?" Loren asked.

  "Burn it, of course." Then Trent dragged the plant to the other end of the site, began to hack it apart with his knife. It was a substantial plant; once cut up, its pieces formed a pile. Trent began to douse it with lighter fluid.

  Loren smiled to Nora. "There goes your theory."

  "Don't be an idiot."

  "Nora, he's burning the plant with us watching him. What more proof do you need? If he was secretly growing the stuff out here, would he be burning it right in front of us?"

  Nora couldn't believe his naivete. "He's doing it for our benefit-like we're stupid enough to fall for that."

  "You're a laugh a minute, Nora. You really believe he's growing pot out here in secret?"

  "Could be." But Nora felt certain. This little burning session's just for show. "He's probably got hundreds of plants out here, on the most secluded parts of the island. Who would ever find out?"

  Loren just shook his head, chuckling.

  Flame leaped from the pile, crackling. "Don't stand too close, Lieutenant," Loren called out. "You don't want to get high in the line of duty."

  What they smelled more than anything were fumes from the lighter fluid. Trent backed up, watched it burn down.

  Nora felt bored silly already. She looked to Loren but caught him staring more at Annabelle as she continued her "twisting" exercises. Trent, too, stole some glances back at her. Queen of the May ... in a Calvin Klein bikini. Nora smirked through the thought. I think I know how she got that fancy job at National Geographic.

  The plant burned up in minutes; Trent upended a pail of water on the cinders, then sat down at the table, wiping off his hands.

  "I've done a lot of strange things in the army, but that's the first time I've ever burned up a pot plant," 'he said.

  "I'm sure you were right," Loren added. "Some kid dropped a seed a long time ago and it sprouted. It's been growing there for years, and it's probably the only one out here." Then he elbowed Nora.

  "Yeah," Trent said. "Never knew what the big deal was with pot anyway. I tried it a couple times when I was a teenager. All it did was make me hungry and stupid."

  When Trent turned around toward Annabelle, Nora elbowed Loren back, and silently mouthed the word Bullshit.

  "Isn't it legal for cancer patients, though?" Annabelle said.

  Loren replied, citing the latest from the New England Journal of Medicine. "It has been proven to drastically reduce intralobular pressure in the eye as well as negate nausea symptoms in various antitumor therapies ..."

  Nora let the rest of the conversation drown out.

  What is wrong with me? she asked herself. She knew she was a smart, perceptive person-an academician and a credible scientist. Here, though, all of a sudden, she felt as though she didn't fit in. Doesn't matter how smart I am. That's not what the big picture's all about. She bit a nail. I'm not PART of the big picture .. .

  The environment enthralled her: This was her element, a tropical island rung with marine life. It's the blonde, she knew.

  Annabelle was just as professional as she, but also vivacious, beautiful, socially magnetizing ...

  Nora simmered in more envy, eyeing the photographer's pose near the table. Showing off her body, sure, but also part of the crowd, engaging ...

  Fitting in.

  The curvy, limber body radiated vitality, not just sexual, but something deeper. She was a picture of health, charisma, and moreover, acceptance.

  And I'm not, Nora realized. I can spout my sour grapes at her all I want but it doesn't change the truth. I'm a virgin curmudgeon, a gawky nerd who's so socially disconnected it's a wonder anyone wants to be around me at all, even Loren. She felt frumpish in the baggy khaki shorts over the drab black one-piece swim suit. I'll probably make a terrific old maid. Now all I have to do is wait about thirty fucking more years-

  "-not that I'm in favor of legalization, mind you," Loren was saying, still plugged in and animated in the discussion, "but from the cold scientific standpoint, it's hard to argue with a clinical physical addiction rate of zero, even as opposed to the roughly fifteen percent for alcohol."

  "Yeah, but every long-term pot smoker I know," Annabelle offered, "is kind of . . . a moron."

  "Plenty of statistics on that side of the fence too," Loren stated. "Pot smoking goes hand in hand with an incontrovertible reduction in longand short-term memory, thematic apperception. Plus, it remains the leading cause of amotivational syndrome."

  "What's that mean?" Trent said.

  Nora finally snapped out of it and offered, "It makes you a moron."

  "See?" Loren laughed. "The professor speaks! I told you she didn't slip into a coma when we weren't looking."

  /eez, Nora thought. I really am the life of the party, huh?

  "What about you, Professor? Have you ever smoked it?"

  Nora blinked. The question had come from Annabelle. "I ... uh . . ." Then she smirked. "No."

  "I think it's a bunch of silly crap," Trent said. "Call me a redneck, but I'll take a can of Bud any day."

  "Still big money in it, though," Loren posed. "I'll bet that plant you burned was worth hundreds of dollars on the street."

  Nora couldn't resist. She wanted to watch Trent's reaction. "Secluded island like this? Inaccessible?" She feigned a laugh. "Shit, Lieutenant. You could start your own little enterprise out here, and make ten times more than Uncle Sam pays you."

  "No, with my luck, it'd be ten times less," Trent replied, "spending the next ten years in an army prison," and then he laughed himself. - - - - - - - -- - -

  Nora had to admit, her comment didn't seem to jilt him one bit. I guess I'm wrong about everything, she thought.

  Then Annabelle shrieked.

  Every face jerked toward her. Annabelle shuddered, tensed up, her fists at her bosom.

  "What's wrong!" Loren exclaimed.

  Annabelle pointed to Trent. "There's-there's-"

  "What is that?" Loren said.

  Trent snapped, "What the hell's wrong?"

  "There's-there's-there's-" Annabelle stammered some more-

  'Something on your back," Nora said.

  Trent's eyes bugged. "What? A fuckin' tarantula? What?"

  Nora saw it easily. Hmm, she wondered, but she didn't want to take any chances. She grabbed one of her scuba flippers, and-

  Splap!

  She smacked the flipper against Trent's back, but Trent was already jumping up, tearing off the green fatigue shirt. "Jesus! Would somebody tell me what was crawling on my-back?"-

  "Not sure," Nora said, and took the shirt. She spread it out on the tabletop.

  "It was a spider!" Annabelle. "Maybe poisonous ..."

  Trent looked outraged. "No way!"

  "Loren, did that look arachnoidal to you?" Nora asked.

  Loren was checking Trent's back. "No. I didn't see any appendages and the body definitely wasn't bisectional." He slapped Trent on the shoulder. "And, Lieutenant, I'm happy to say you don't have any bite marks."

  "Jesus!"

  It didn't look like a beetle, and it was too big to be a tick," Loren added.

  Nora was examining the shirt. "But it was definitely motile."

  Trent was clearly upset. "What's that mean? Speak English!"

  "It means it was moving," Nora defined. "And if it didn't have ambulatory appendages, it must be monotaxic."

  Trent appeared as though his entire world had become upheaved. Though not overweight, he was in desperate need of some sun, black chest hair matting on white skin. "What are you talking about!"

  "Lieutenant, relax, you weren't bitten by anything," Nora reminded him while she and Loren pored over the shirt. "Slugs, limpets, snails, and leeches move by means of what's called a monotaxia 'foot'-"

  "The slime pad," Loren simplified.

  "-and that's probably what was propelling your little friend here."

  "I'll bet it was a leech!" Annabelle continued to overreact.

  Trent looked on the verge of vomiting. "Shut up!"

  "No, not a leech," Nora informed. "Leeches are just another type of segmented worm-an annelid-and I got a good enough look at this to see that it wasn't segmented."

  "And this thing's body wasn't ovated," Loren added. "It was circinated."

  Trent and Annabelle stood aside, mystified, as Nora finally found the splatter on the shirt. "There, see?" she said. "It's not insectoid, no exoskeleton."

  "Well, I guess that means it wasn't a tick." Trent seemed relieved. "I don't need any of that Rocky Mountain oyster fever."

  Nora shook her head, bemused.

  "Maybe it was a pebble snail," Loren said. "That's about the only monotaxic animal I can think of that has a circular body."

  This was definitely circular, Nora remembered. "It almost looked nodulous or ovumular."

  "Actually it did," Loren agreed, "but we both know that's impossible."

  Trent sneered. "I think it would be really nice if you would drop the college professor talk, and-"

  "Ovumular," Nora specified, "or like an ovum-an egg cell. Some marine worms, for example, as well as many marine creatures, have ova that move about by their own means of locomotion once they leave the female's body. These species are mostly parasites; therefore, once the fertilized ovum has been dispersed, it seeks some other form of animal life in which to nurture itself and grow. And nodulous-like a node. Some of these motile ovum are actually carried around in a self-contained node` that protects it and helps it get to a host."

  The prospect of "parasites" and "nodes" didn't overjoy Trent. "How do you know that thing wasn't one of those?"

  "Because they're microscopic," Loren said.

  Trent and Annabelle leaned over now, to get a closer look.

  Whatever had been on the lieutenant's back was now just a viscid splotch. What Nora had seen had been about the size of a large-shelled peanut, but circular, like a hazelnut. And yellow, like butter.

  "Here's the skin of whatever it was." She pointed, moving the flattened thing with the tip of her pen.

  "And, look." Loren squinted, leaning closer. "It's yellow but has tiny red spots."

  "Some kind of epidermal pigmentation," Nora said.

  "Another vote for a slug, but ..." His thoughts trailed off.

  Nora chewed her lip. "I know. I'm not familiar with any species of land slug that's yellow."

  "Oh, yuck!" was Annabelle's next contribution. "That big splat is its insides?"

  "Yep." Nora was secretly pleased by the photographer's revulsion. "I'm not seeing anything that looks like the remnants of an organ system."

  "Jesus," Trent said. "It looks like someone hocked a loogie on my shirt, that's what it looks like."

  Then Loren brought a hand to his brow. "Oh, shit, I know what it is! It's a spumarius, Nora. Right after molting."

  "A what?" Annabelle looked to him.

  "An insect called a froghopper," Nora said. She was a little agitated with herself for not thinking of that first. "The larval form of something in the cicada order."

  "They're the same size and the same color," Loren said.

  Nora handed Trent back his soiled shirt. "Good job, Loren. The mystery is solved. An immature froghopper."

  "Are they poisonous?" Trent asked warily.

  "They're-absolutely harmless."

  "Not if you're a shirt," Loren said of the mess.

  "Christ, this shirt's blown," Trent said.

  "I'm sure Uncle Sam will spring for a new one."

  "Are you kidding? We have uniform rations in the army. Can you beat that for cheap?" And then Trent walked off, presumably for a clean shirt.

  Nora rolled her eyes when she noticed Annabelle's hand on Loren's shoulder as she talked. "Wow, you really know your stuff, Loren. Of all the things it could've been, you identified it in a minute."

  "Aw, it was nothing," he chuckled.

  Make me puke, Nora thought. Look at her cozying up to him...

  Eventually, Annabelle walked off again with her camera. "See you guys later, for dinner," she said.

  Which I hope you choke on, Nora thought.

  "Well, so much for the big excitement of the day," Loren said. "A friggin' froghopper. Shit, I almost wish it was something interesting, like a rhino beetle or a black widow."

  But Nora had already turned toward the woods. "Do you ... smell that?"

  "Smell what?"

  "Something in the air ...

  "You mean the pot that Trent just burned?"

  "No, no." She felt sure. "The breeze is blowing south, and this is coming from the north." It seemed vague but very familiar. "I can swear I smell something cooking. Like hot dogs or hamburgers."

  Loren sniffed the air, then shrugged. "Beats me. I don't smell anything."

  Must be my imagination, Nora concluded.

  CHAPTER Four

  (I)

  Leona flipped the burgers on the grill; at least, she guessed she was doing it right. She pulled another Zima from the cooler, then looked into the woods.