"And I know bustin' grade-A pussy, and you know bitin' the pillow in the cell block and takin' it up the tail."

  "Aw, shit on you, Slydes!" Jonas yelled.

  Slydes cracked laughter.

  Idiots, Ruth thought. Whenever Slydes was at the back end of an argument, he always tossed up that little "joke," which wasn't totally a joke at all because Jonas had done five years in Collier County Detent, and being the skinny white longhaired fella that he was, well ...

  Jonas finally got back to his explanation to Ruth, who was now brushing out her blond shag that had been mussed from the wig.

  "Gotta get some more right away or I might lose some of my bagmen to the competition."

  "Well, that's just fine with me," Ruth said. She liked going out to the island. She pulled up her FLORIDA Is FOR DRUNK LOVERS T-shirt, showing her perfectly flat belly. "I need to work on my tan."

  "Not this time, baby," Slydes informed. He stuck out a leg and farted.

  Gross, Ruth thought. Chili.

  "We're in and out real fast; no time for layin' out in the sun this trip."

  "Oh, wait a minute," she remembered. "I thought you said we couldn't go to the island for at least another week, some nature photographers out there or something."

  Slydes nodded his big block head. "Which is why we slip in and slip out, at night. High tide's at eleven p.m. tomorrow, and that's when I'll be pullin' up."

  Fuck, Ruth thought. She liked to keep tan-it was good for tricks when Jonas and Slydes were too busy to realize what she might be doing on the side. And the island was perfect. But all this running around latelymainly running their errands-she'd lost most of that Hot Tramp Florida tan.

  "Have some chicken nuggets, hon." Slydes offered a plate. "Jonas just got back from Chik-fil-A."

  Ruth was famished. "Thanks!" she said, crunching a few down. "These are great!" When silence filled the room, she noticed Jonas and Slydes staring at her.

  Then they both burst out in laughter.

  "Those ain't chicken nuggets, hose bag!" Slydes roared. "It's fried gator dick!"

  "You fuck!" Ruth yelled.

  Slydes was cackling. Then he hugged her and smacked her another kiss on her big overly swollen lips. "Aw, it was just a joke, baby, and, mmmm-" One big callused hand slipped under her shirt and up her back, the other hand slipped down her jeans from behind. Ruth's nipples shot right up. She was ... a reactive woman.

  He sniggied her neck, the big hands still roving her skin. "Aw, baby, I really missed you."

  "You did?"

  "Aw, shit yeah. I just got a serious need to have my hands all over your beautiful body."

  "Slydes! How sweet!"

  "Tell her why, Slydes," Jonas bid.

  "'Cause, ya see, baby, I'm all out of towels and I sure as shit need something to wipe all this gator slime off on."

  Ruth couldn't have been more offended. "Fuck you!"

  Slydes and Jonas heehawed like a couple of donkeys.

  .Now be a good girl and drag them jugs back to the shed."

  "And on your way back," Jonas added, "bring us a couple more beers. If you're lucky"-a cocky grin"I'll lay some on ya later," and then he spread his legs in the chair and squeezed his crotch.

  Yeah, she thought. If I'M lucky. That skinny slob! At least the blockheads bought her jive about the watch being fake. That was five big ones in her little pocket, and-damn it-she deserved it. For all the shit work she did for those two?

  Ruth's back creaked when she picked up the jugs. She weighed a hundred pounds on a "fat" day, and each of those three-gallon jugs must've weighed twentyfive pounds apiece. PROWASH: REPTILE HIDE DEGREASER, one read. The other: TRU-TAN SKIN PREP. It was the stuff Slydes used on the gator skin, and it stank. To herself, she admitted, Slydes was a great lover-the big, rough type, which she went for most of the time. But everything, his hair, his skin, his clothes-Even his jism! she thought with a knot in her gut-stank of these chemicals, all mixed, of course, with the fishy malodor of alligator.

  The brothers swigged beer as they watched her lug the jugs-true gentlemen. "Oh, Ruth?" Slydes called out. "One other thing."

  "Huh?" she replied, aggravated.

  Slydes lifted his leg, twitched a hip, and farted.

  The brothers laughed uproariously.

  What a pair of perfect assholes, she thought, humping the jugs out the back door. Too bad I'm in love with the both of them ...

  CHAPTER FwE

  (I)

  The major looked up at the sergeant. "This is impressive, Sergeant."

  The microscopic scans flashed on the viewing screen, displaying the rate of success before their eyes. A live birth through a test host, the sergeant realized. The sergeant wasn't a technician-he'd been trained in surveillance and covert security procedures-but he knew this was what the brass wanted. Previous births using people and higher mammals hadn't worked out; after the ova had matured, the-juvenile-had been dead.

  As the sergeant understood it, the human element had been an accident. There weren't supposed to be any people on the island, he knew. Until now they'd been testing on birds, for their migratory assets. This made perfect sense, of course: The transfections could be used more effectively against a potential enemy. Yeah, the brass'll be shitting their pants over this. There's a big difference between the lab and the field.

  "This is better than we could have ever hoped for." The major typed some notes into his operating report. "Try to find some other bodies," he said. "If the nodic dispersals are as successful as these, we've hit some serious paydirt. We'll all get promoted, even the field contingent such as yourself and the corporal."

  "That's good to know, sir." But all the while the sergeant was thinking, I won't count on that. The brass will hog it all, like they always do.

  It didn't matter, though. The sergeant liked being in the field. It was the only thing that made him feel real.

  "So you were saying." The major kept typing, never looking up. "Four more people have come onto the island?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And one of them is military?"

  "Yes, sir. I think it's just some sort of escort assignment. He's showing some civilians around."

  "A field trip." The major almost laughed. Almost. "That's amusing. And the other two groups of four?"

  "Four are dead and have already been infected-the first group from several weeks ago. The second group's half gone."

  "But this third group ... you're not worried about them?"

  "Not at this point, sir. Nobody knows anything yet. I'm sure we'll have a positive infection rate in all of them soon. And by the time anyone from the mainland knows-" The sergeant shrugged. "We'll be gone."

  "Good. Keep me posted. And I want you and the corporal to plant more cameras. Keep a close eye on this latest group."

  "Yes, sir."

  The major turned off the sampling screen. "Mean while, I'm going to go tell the news to the colonel. Good work, Sergeant." And then he left the lab.

  The sergeant frowned. He was glad he'd never wanted to be an officer.

  Bam, bam, bam! He slammed the metal locker in one of the rear utility rooms that they were using for their barracks.

  "Come on, Sarge!" the corporal complained, leaning up in his bunk. "I thought I was going to get to sleep today."

  .You thought wrong, so roust it. Four more people came onto the island today, three civilians ... and one officer."

  "Damn it ..."

  "You're telling me. And the major says you and me have to mount more cameras out in the woods, so get up and get the night-vision gear ready."

  The corporal rubbed his eyes, muttering. "Why can't you get the gear?"

  "Because I'm the sergeant."

  The corporal dragged himself up.

  "We'll wait till it's dark. Then we go out." The sergeant left and went down the hall, to the old office he'd set up as an ops room. His surveillance screens glowed.

  "That's one." The sergeant indicated the screen. The colonel wants me to keep a close eye on this latest group. He switched around the various camera zones.

  This latest group looked like it might be very interesting.

  On the screen, the blonde was taking off her clothes.

  (H)

  Annabelle wasn't terribly inhibited about taking her clothes off in the woods. (She'd done that any number of times in high school.) Nor was she terribly con- cemed about the prospect of someone catching a glimpse. It would be a visionary thrill for Trent and the college boy-and by the looks of them, they could both use it-and she admitted to herself that she'd actually love for that envious bitch Nora Craig to see her body. Why?

  To show her who's got it and who doesn't.

  Annabelle had had a few sexual experiences with women in the past, and though it wasn't anything she'd ever really sought out, she didn't object when the prospect came up. But, no, she had no physical attraction for Nora at all-a short, reedy, and barely bosomed bookworm-however, Annabelle had no problem flaunting her body to keep other women in their place. It's not ego, she reminded herself as she took off the bikini top. It's honest self-awareness. It's confidence. I can't worry about other girls being jealous just because I'm more beautiful than them .. .

  She frowned at the off-the-wall shower: an olivedrab curtain hanging from an elevated steel ring. Stenciled letters read FAIR-WEATHER FIELD HYGIENE UNIT.

  She thumbed off her bottoms and stepped through the ugly green curtain. Inside, she glanced down at her body and smiled. Sorry, girls. I can't help it that I am All That. Her only displeasure was the absence of a suntan, but she'd be working on that here. She gritted her teeth reaching for the steel knob-I'll bet the water's going to be ice-cold!-then squealed when she found out she was right. It was hot today, yes, and humid too, but even with that, the spray made her shiver, made her lustrous white skin go tense. This was a bit more than refreshing. When she turned her breasts into the spray, she squealed again as her nipples shot up.

  A moment later, though, the water turned warm, then hot enough that she had to adjust the knobs. I'm impressed, she thought. Why go to all that trouble to provide hot water? But then she thought about it ...

  Of course they did. They're pulling out all the stops because they know I'm a nationally known nature photographer with a famous magazine ...

  Or at least she liked to think so.

  Suddenly her nerves felt charged as she sudsed herself. Of all the places to get horny-an army field shower! Annabelle believed in honest acknowledgment with regard to sexual desire. There was sex, and there was love, and there was sex with love, and then sex without love. Sport fucking, she remembered her roommate in college calling it. Annabelle was very open sexually; if she was attracted to a man, she'd let him know and never felt slutty about it. I'm just being honest. What's wrong with that? When a guy sleeps around, that's okay, but when a woman does, she's promiscuous.

  Annabelle didn't care. She knew that most women envied her looks, so naturally they'd throw any available stone.

  But the pickings here were slim. Loren was a cross between Revenge of the Nerds and that Alfred guy on Mad Magazine. He'd be good for some signals-she always needed someone to carry her bags-but that's as far as that would go. Lieutenant Trent was no prize, either. Over the hill, she thought. But she supposed he'd do in a pinch. He seemed very serious, so maybe he'd be that way in bed .. .

  Annabelle adjusted the knobs to make the water cool. Perfect ... Shampoo turned her hair to a pile of fragrant foam. I should've recolored my hair before coming, she worried. I hope my roots aren't showing. Parrots cawed over the hiss. When she tipped her head, the shampoo's foam sluiced between her breasts to her pubis, which she lathered lingeringly. Without thinking, she slid her hands up over her belly; her skin seemed hypersensitive. Next, her fingertips were playing over the already firm nipples, and then the most lusty sensations roved through her body. No, there was nothing sexy about this assignment-bristleworms!- and nothing sexy about the people with her. But-

  The only thing Annabelle needed ... was herself ...

  Her feet parted. Her fingers slipped overtly between her legs, through bubbly hair to the folds of her sex. She found she didn't need men, nor images-she was enough, her robust body, nerves squirming like electric current as the cool spray stimulated her skin. She murmured a chuckle to herself-God, what if someone IS peeking? She could almost envision Trent, the army stick-in-the-mud, or Loren the Nerd, huffing with an eye to the curtain gap. Just to satisfy her curiosity then, she opened her eyes to check the gap ...

  Of course, there was no one there.

  Common sense returned. I didn't come here to play with myself in a portable shower! And then she rinsed all the soap -off,-reached- to turn off the water-

  Her shriek whistled through the air. She tore out of the shower, dripping and never more naked. Her bare feet crunched over dried brush and palm leaves, and when she remembered exactly what she'd seen in the shower, she shrieked again.

  Annabelle manically patted her hands over every square inch of her body that she could reach, feeling for the things. She had only enough time to wrap a towel around herself before Trent, Loren, and Nora bolted into the cove.

  "What's wrong!" Trent exclaimed.

  Annabelle stood huddled, shivering but not from cold. "Those things! They were in the shower!"

  "What things, Annabelle?" Loren asked.

  "Like that thing on Lieutenant Trent's back earlier! That yellow thing with the red spots! But there's a bunch of them!"

  Nora flung open the green shower curtain. The others shouldered in behind her.

  "More spumarius," Nora observed. "Froghopper larvae."

  On the inside of the shower curtain, a drove of the bizarre off-yellow buds seemed adhered. A few more dotted the water pipe that led to the showerhead.

  "Wow," Loren said.

  "Get some collection vials," Nora told Loren. Then she leaned to peer more closely at the things. They crawled along on the plastic sheet, perhaps moving an inch every two or three seconds. "I can't believe the rate of locomotion," she said. "Didn't think they moved that fast."

  "You're damn right they move fast," Annabelle blurted, her fist clutching the towel to her wet bosom. "They were almost at my feet!" She pointed down.

  More of the yellow things bumbled around in the sopped ground. One was almost at the tip of Nora's sneaker. When she stepped away to the right, the viscid buds shifted right. Nora frowned, then stepped to the left.

  The things on the ground shifted to the left.

  "That's really strange for froghopper larvae," Nora informed them. "They're not predatory at all, and they don't have the necessary sensory organs to detect other living things in proximity."

  "They're sensing something now," Trent said, still irked by his own experience. "When you move, they move."

  Nora stepped out, confused. "Right, and another strange thing is the size. Froghopper larvae are about the size of BBs, but this genus is significantly larger."

  Annabelle fingered wet hair off her brow. "Who gives a shit? Would somebody please kill those things?"

  Nora pursed her lips. "Annabelle, we already told you, they're harmless."

  "How do you know?" Annabelle challenged with a scowl. She turned in a huff and stalked back toward the camp.

  Nora was leaning farther; several of the things weren't but a few inches from her face as she inspected them. "Maybe I ..."

  "Maybe what?" Trent said. He seemed aggravated.

  "Maybe I was wrong about this-"

  Before Trent could respond, Loren reappeared with some collection tubes and forceps. "A spumaria this size? You know what I'm thinking, right?"

  "That it's-"

  "That we've discovered a new species."

  Nora shook her head. "Loren, what I'm thinking is that maybe these things aren't froghopper larvae at all."

  Loren stalled with the poised forceps. "All right. Why do you say that?"

  "The dorsal region. Look how they're moving. I'm not seeing any parapodic structure. It almost looks like cilia."

  Loren maintained his stalled poise. Then he winked at her. "Can't be. It's too big." Now he redirected his attention to the slowly moving things on the curtain. "Come to Papa, you ugly little buggers." And then he plucked several up with the forceps.

  Nora didn't know what she was thinking. "Come on, let's get them under the scope for a good look."

  "Wait a minute," Trent said as they were about to go back to the row of head shacks. "I was going to take a shower."

  "Go ahead," Nora told him.

  "Just get a broom," Loren added, "and sweep the things out. They won't bite."

  Loren and Nora walked away with their specimens.

  Trent looked back at the shower curtain and grimaced. "Maybe I'll skip the shower for now," he muttered.

  CHAPTER SIX

  (I)

  Banks of gray-black murk chased the sun behind the horizon. Slydes nodded his approval as the weatherworn cabin cruiser churned ahead. The darker, the better, he thought at the wheel. Clear nights were so much riskier.

  Ruth sat hunched at the bow, her feet dangling off the side as she watched for other boats. Not much traffic this far off Clearwater, but they always had to sweat the local police marine patrols and the Natural Resources boats.

  Everything looked nice and clear.

  Jonas could be heard clattering belowdecks, making room for what they'd be bringing back: several pounds of high-grade hydroponic marijuana.

  They'd only started growing it at the island a few years ago, and since then, Slydes was secretly jealous. His brother's product dwarfed his gator poaching profits. But we're family, he reminded himself. Share and share alike. Jonas took care of the brainy horticulture stuff, while Slydes took care of details, like getting them on and off the island quickly, gauging the tides and the weather. Ruth was just squeeze, but she helped in her ways too-Mainly in bed, he thought, but she had lots of street contacts and helped out immeasurably in their sideline jobs, like pawning stolen goods, jacking ATMs with cards they ripped off, and helping the brothers bury the occasional body.