It was a system that worked.

  "Is it high tide yet?" Ruth called back from the railed prow.

  Slydes swigged more beer, burped, then nodded. "And there's the island."

  A mile ahead, the island's bulk began to form in the murk.

  It was a great gig. Before they'd found out about it, Jonas truly was a pissant pot grower. They rented rooms in some of the bum motels, and that's where Jonas set up his hydroponic gear, but these days the narcs were wise to everything, eyeballing erratic and nontypical electricity bills. Fuckers think of everything, Slydes bemoaned. He didn't smoke weed himself (beer and women were all he needed), but the market couldn't be better. And the stuff Jonas was growing was so topdrawer he was getting a rep as the man with the best. All the punks and college kids in these beach towns? They couldn't buy enough of the stuff. Hydro was the New Deal, and Jonas was cornering the market.

  Because of the island.

  The way it worked was like this: The bigger the plants grew, the more potent the THC, but you needed a place big enough to grow them past ten feet. Solution: the island. And you needed square footage, too. The average dupe could grow a plant or two in his apartment without anyone getting wise, which didn't amount to anything but small-time dealing. But what if you had a place where you could grow hundreds of plants? And keep twenty-four hours of light on them without having to worry about the narcs getting wind of your sky-high power bill?

  Again, the solution was the island.

  All the space we need, free electricity, free running water, and twenty foot ceilings, Slydes thought. A pot grower's dream.

  "Got my stows all ready," Jonas said when he came up from the cabin. They'd rigged some panels to pop out just behind the head. "But look what I found." Jonas giggled.

  He held up a -severed foot.

  Slydes stared with alarm, then remembered. "Oh yeah, that ritzy business-looking chick we carjacked last week." They'd pinched a chunk of change off her, all right. Fancy laptop, big-ass wedding ring, not to mention her Mercedes, which they'd sold to the chop shop. They'd brought her back to the boat for a little party, but as they'd been dragging her clothes off, she'd kicked Slydes a swift one in the nuts. Hadn't planned to kill the bitch, he thought, but, shit, she asked for it. He figured the best way to teach her a lesson was to cut off the foot that had kicked him. They'd had a good goround with her and then rolled her off the deck. In these waters? The sharks took care of them quick.

  "We gotta be more careful, brother. Can't be leaving shit like that sittin' around in the boat."

  Jonas laughed. "Hey, you're the one who cut off her foot." He threw it over the side with a paltry splash.

  "What was that?" Ruth asked, jerking around.

  "Beer can. Shut up and watch for boats."

  Jonas leaned over to whisper, "How long we keeping her around?"

  "I thought you liked her."

  "Sure, for a hose bag, and she does the mouth thang mighty fine, but you know, after a while they all get an attitude. Start to think they have power 'cause they know your whole operation."

  Slydes knew this but ... She sucks a mean one ... "Shit, let's keep her a bit longer. She's a good gofer, and she don't mind jacking the ATMs and that shit." Slydes chuckled under his breath. "Besides, she's crazy in love with both of us, so let's ride that awhile. When some better trim comes along, we'll put her in the drink like we always do."

  "Cool." Jonas peered out into the night. "There's the island."

  "Yep. Be there in a few. Just remember, no fuckin' around. We're in and out."

  Jonas pushed long strings of greasy hair out of his face, which the gulf wind immediately replaced. "Photographers, you say."

  "Underwater photographers or some shit, takin' pictures of fish or something for a big magazine. Won't be here long. Just grab a couple pounds. We'll get more when they're gone."

  Jonas nodded. It would have to do. "Just so I can get me something. Sure as shit don't want to depend on what you make selling gator. I have college, brother. I'm too smart for that rinky-dink stuff."

  "Here's your gator," Slydes said, pointing to his groin. He hated it when Jonas implied he was smarter, even though he knew it was true.

  Jonas laughed and slapped his brother on the back. "Think I'll grab some quick tail off our hose bag. Have fun steerin' the boat, Captain Tug."

  "Oh, I got something for you to tug. Tell me the truth. When you're laying peter on Ruth, you think about all them big rednecks who corn-holed you in county detent, huh? Go on, you can tell your brother."

  "Fuck you, Slydes!" Jonas yelled and stepped out of the cockpit. He stalked off down the manway and shouted to Ruth. "Hey, Ruth! Downstairs!"

  When Jonas and Ruth disappeared belowdecks, Slydes thought, Jesus. it was just a joke. Made him wonder a little, though.

  Slydes checked the tide table again, then his watch. Right on the mark. Out in the murk, the island's obscure shape grew larger.

  Of course, he had no way of knowing that things weren't going to go quite as smoothly as he thought.

  (II)

  Nora and Loren sat up late in the head shack, blearyeyed and hot in the harsh overhead light. Night had come to the island like a fog bank. The head shack's metal door stood open, letting in humid air. This late the woods outside sounded like a jungle.

  "You were right earlier," Nora said. "There's no sign of a developing organ system." By now her eyes felt welded to the microscope, whose lighting element reminded her of an optical exam. It was giving her a headache.

  Loren sat next to her at the table, wielding tiny forceps and wire-thin dissection probes. For several hours now, they'd been examining several of the things they'd found in the shower. "It's not even a complete animal." He looked up a moment from the legged magnification frame under which the specimen lay. "I've never dissected anything like this in my career. It's almost like this thing is just a tumor or a multicelled cyst."

  "A multicelled cyst that moves," Nora added.

  "About the only thing we do know is it's not a damn froghopper."

  A motile cyst? she thought. A nodular cell cluster that has a system of locomotion? "I wasn't imagining it when I saw these things moving was I?"

  "No, they were moving pretty damn fast," Loren assured her. "And they had direction volition. When you moved your foot on the shower floor, these things shifted their direction. I'm positive. We all saw it."

  Nora sat back in the fold-down army chair. She rubbed fatigue out of her eyes, or was it confusion? It's impossible. It's fucking impossible.

  Loren yawned, a fist to his mouth. "Maybe we really have stumbled on something. Maybe this is a previously unknown infantile mite or something."

  "Come on, Loren," she objected. "This big? You and I both know that it's impossible for something like that to get this big. It's contrary to insectoid life."

  Loren nodded dumbly.

  It was the feeling in her gut that bothered her most. She felt tacky in the gritty humidity. Patches of sweat darkened her T-shirt like blotches. "It's able to move at will," she almost droned, "which means it's functionally-motile. But-"

  "No parapods, no legs, nothing even close to a monotaxic foot," Loren finished for her. He looked back a moment at the mag frame, then shook his head at the evidence bright before his eyes.

  "It looks like it moves on bristles or cilia."

  Loren pointed errantly to the specimen. "Come on, Nora. They are cilia, and we both know that. We're looking right at it."

  Nora let out a long sigh. "Which means we're looking at something that's impossible." I can't say it, she fretted. Loren would think I was ridiculous. When she looked back at him, he was staring right back at her.

  But it was Loren who broke the ice that she was afraid to, afraid because her peers would think she was being absurd. "We were right earlier, weren't we?"

  "The thing on Trent's shirt and the things in the shower are the same, and they're not some undiscovered species of mite or sebaceous parasite. We both know exactly what these things are, but neither of us is saying it. It's a motile worm ovum."

  Loren nodded, confusion lengthening his expression. "A motile worm ovum the size of a coffee bean. Which doesn't exist."

  Indeed, they'd both seen the same thing before, but under electron microscopes, not little 100x field scopes.

  Now Nora rubbed her face in the most bewildered frustration. "There's no such thing as a motile ovum this size. They're all microscopic, they're just simple cell clusters with a cilia-based system of locomotion."

  "Um-hmm." Loren held another plastic collection vial up to the light, and shook the bean-sized thing inside around. "Well, this ain't microscopic, Nora. So what do we do?"

  Good question. "Collect more samples, look for the annelid that these things come from, and report to the college. That sounds like the best bet."

  Loren stared grimly. "Sure, but that's ignoring the consequences of something, isn't it?"

  "I know. The annelid that these things come from must be. . ."

  "Really big," Loren said.

  She gestured her microscope. "On one side of this one, there are some apertures behind the cilia roots. And I'm pretty sure I saw a stylet ring there."

  "So did I, and now that we've decided what this really is, why should that be a surprise? Most other forms of motile ova have them, it's the delivery system to the host, and right now we're both wondering if one of these things could infect a human."

  Nora nodded wearily.

  't'he infection constituents would be incompatible in humans, wouldn't they? And of course the ova themselves would be too. A human immune system would destroy it immediately." Loren blinked. "Right?"

  'I think so," she said very softly.

  Loren seemed suddenly enlivened. "So let's not freak out. This is actually exciting, it's a polychaetologist's dream. It might be a new species."

  'Yeah, that would be great, Loren." But she didn't sound convinced. "But we're still ignoring the size."

  Loren looked back down onto the radiant magnifying frame. "It's big, all right." He seemed to be chewing the inside of his cheek. "And I mean really big."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  (I)

  They moored the beaten cabin cruiser at the usual stop just when high tide hit; Jonas, hip-deep in the lagoon, caught the rope Slydes tossed and tied it off to a sweetgum tree.

  "It's creepy tonight," Ruth commented as she lowered herself off the back ledge.

  "What are you talkin' about?" Slydes asked.

  She looked up and around, wading clumsily. "It's just ... different. Feels weird. It's my female intuition. We have that, you know. I saw it on that Oprah show."

  Slydes climbed off, frowning. Bitch is drunk again, or fucked up on something. The water lay like black glass. No moon roved overhead; more cloud banks were rolling in. Ahead, the island's wall of trees looked like an obscure, dark bulk. Slydes didn't feel quite right himself, but he didn't admit it.

  Once ashore, the three of them stood dripping. Ruth's T-shirt clung to her breasts. When she raised a flashlight, Slydes snatched it away.

  "I told ya, no fights. There's people on the island tonight."

  Jonas seemed aggravated that he was wet. "Any idea if they're camping near the headshacks?"

  "No, so that's why we gotta be extra careful." Slydes shirt read ST. PETE BEACH-A QUIET LI FLE DRINKING TOWN WITH A FISHING PROBLEM. "So remember what I tell ya. We get in and out fast as we can. I'll keep watch and Jonas, you get in, grab some product, and leave. Then we come back to the boat. We need to get out of here in a half hour before the tide goes back down too far."

  "What do I do?" Ruth asked for instructions.

  "You can tweak your titties for all I care. Just don't make any noise. It's past midnight now, and these photographer people are probably asleep. But you never know."

  "Any of 'em chicks?" Jonas asked.

  "What do you care!" Ruth objected and gave him a hard slap to the arm. Jonas had always had something of a voyeurism problem, and Ruth knew it. He actually had a lot more problems than that, but that was another story.

  "Two of 'em, I think," Slydes said.

  "And that goes for you, too!" Ruth added, and slapped Slydes.

  Slydes latched a big, dirty hand to her face and squeezed her cheeks between her teeth. "Keep your voice down, ya pain in the ass."

  Jonas swatted at a mosquito. Now that I think of it, how about -if-Ruth-stays here?"

  "The fuck I am!"

  'She's high as a kite and'll be yappin' the whole way."

  Even in the darkness they could see her face redden. "I'm not stayin' here by myself! There's gators and snakes and stuff!"

  "And leeches and ticks," Jonas added. "Oh yeah, and them big spiders that paralyze ya when they bite."

  "Fuck that shit!" Ruth conveyed as eloquently as she could. Right after she'd said it, a bat squeaked by. "Fuck!"

  Slydes pointed a smudged finger. "All right. No more noise or we leave ya here."

  "Fuck," she whispered.

  "So let's quit fuckin' around and get moving."

  They moved slowly down the trail. Visibility was poor even when their eyes acclimated to the darker woods. Unseen animals could be heard scampering through brush. Slydes felt as though he were walking through fog.

  A hundred yards in, he whispered, "Not a sound. Look."

  They peered past trees. A light flickered. Tents had been set up in a small cove, and a campfire crackled. A blonde in a bikini sat before the fire, writing in a notebook.

  Oh, man. There's a party, Slydes thought.

  "Damn," Jonas whispered. "Would you look at the-"

  Ruth glared. "I'll pop your nuts off if you even think about looking at her!" came a hot whisper in response.

  Slydes chuckled. He had to admit, it might be fun to have a roll with this one and then maybe tune her up Slydes and Jonas-style afterward. After all, Slydes had his skinning knife on him, and he had a pair of pliers on the boat that he sometimes used to pull out gator teeth. Yeah, we'd get her screaming something fierce. But ...

  Not tonight.

  We just get in and out, he reinforced to himself.

  "Shit," Jonas whispered next. "How come these folks aren't sleeping?"

  Someone else emerged from the woods and approached the blonde, who looked up and started chatting. In the firelight, Slydes could tell the guy was a big-time geek: skinny, lanky, stoop-shouldered. Who the hell's this turkey-neck? One of the photographers? "Let's move on," he whispered.

  They crept away, swallowed by the woods again. The trail veered.

  "What if there's people at the head shacks, too?" Jonas asked.

  "There won't be. Ain't no reason," Slydes felt sure, then, Good god-DAMN!

  The outside light glowed bright at the first head shack, and the door stood open.

  "Aw, shit, Slydes!" Jonas whispered.

  "I can't fuckin' believe this shit. There's no reason for any of these people to be here, for shit's sake!"

  At least none that they could think of. It was the farthest head shack Jonas used for his hydroponic operation, at the other end. He knew if he took a chance now and blew it, they'd lose the whole works and a hell of a lot of money.

  "I say we go in and get the dope anyway," Jonas said.

  "No way," Slydes insisted. "We'd be morons to do that."

  Ruth smiled in the dark.

  Jonas wasn't happy. "Shit, Slydes, I don't even think there's anyone in that first shack anyhow."

  "Then why's the door open, dick-for-brains? Why're the lights on?"

  "Maybe-"

  With no warning, Ruth squealed like a referee whistle.

  Slyde's heart surged. He slapped his hand over her mouth to seal off the shriek, and felt her tremoring in his grasp. What the shit!

  What was wrong with her?

  "Quiet, quiet!" Jonas shot another whisper. He held up Ruth's quivering arm, which displayed a small thin snake. "It ain't nothin'," he said and plucked the snake off with his fingers and tossed it away. Shit, a little snake's all it was, Slydes thought. He kept his huge hand clamped over Ruth's face, and took a few silent moments for him and his brother to see if anyone inside the head shack had heard Ruth's outburst.

  A shadow appeared in the bright, open doorway, and a figure stepped out.

  Another chick, Slydes thought. What the fuck's going on here? And it didn't matter, because if she'd heard them, and called authorities, they'd have to beat feet off the island and leave everything.

  All that pot.

  The woman in the doorway looked wan, slim. She walked out and glanced around as if indeed looking for trespassers.

  Then she shrugged and went back inside.

  "We lucked out," Slydes said under his breath. "She didn't hear." He gestured with a jerk of his head to move off.

  When they got to another clearing, Slydes realized he still hadn't let go of Ruth. She collapsed out of his arms when he released his grip.

  "Shit, man!" Jonas exclaimed. He seemed almost amused. "Is she dead?"

  Moonlight broke through some clouds. Ruth lay crumpled and still at their feet. I didn't smother the bitch, did I?

  He began to worry just when her chest heaved and she snapped back to consciousness.

  "Damn," Jonas remarked. "We could only hope."

  Her eyes batted; she leaned up on her elbows. Then awareness returned. "Holy fuck! That snake!"

  Slydes looked down, hands on hips. "You're as dumb as they come, girl. You almost blew it for all of us."

  She seemed outraged by the comment. "There was a snake on me!"

  Slydes dragged her up by the T-shirt collar and slammed her against a tree. it was just a baby pine snake, you empty-headed-fuck brain."

  it was gonna bite me!"

  Her eyes bugged when Slydes, again, slapped his big hand over her mouth. "If you don't keep your fuckin' voice down, baby, the next time I go trolling for gators, it's your ass I put on the hook."

  Jonas smiled, popped a brow at the threat.

  "Pine snakes ain't poisonous," Slydes went on, "and that one was too small to bite anyway. You are about the dumbest set of tits on two legs." He dragged his hand away and pointed at her. "We hear one more peep out of you, and you're gonna be a dead set of tits, you hear me?"