Mystic Island by Jan Evan Whitford

Author:Jan Evan Whitford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TheEbookSale Publishing

CHAPTER 38

EVEN AFTER SLATHERING aloe lotion on his radiating face and body, Julius still felt like a giant Red Hot. Nonetheless, he took up his entrenching tool and headed for the tent area. There was one small consolation: all this digging would get him away from his pestering wife. And yappy dog.

AT THE GATEHOUSE, Frenchie Funeer pursed his fleshy lips. He flipped through the TV channels and ended up throwing the TV Guide at the screen. By 2:30 A.M., he was losing the battle with his eyelids. He rested his forehead on the desk and, moments later, rasping snores filled the tiny gatehouse. Drool drizzled out the corner of his mouth, onto the desktop.

Like a zephyr, the primer gray van eased by the gatehouse. The driver coasted around the curve, and then went directly to the transient boat parking area where he backed the van in and stilled the engine.

FRIDAY BROUGHT RAIN. It pounded on the gatehouse rooftop like a troupe rehearsing for River Dance and Steve could barely see across the road. A blinding strobe of lightning flashed and the teeth-jarring crack of thunder caused him to duck instinctively. On the gatehouse radio, B-101 oldies ruled with Eddie Cochran belting out “Summertime Blues” but Steve needed a weather report so he shut the radio off, clicked on the TV. Lightning flashed again; another deafening concussion of thunder; the TV flickered. Gordon “Happy” Hooker, the meteorologist, filled the screen, indicated with sweeping gestures that the rain would last all day, into the night. At least, that’s what Steve assumed. The roar on the roof was obliterating the audio.

For once, Happy was correct; the rain continued throughout the day although by noon the onslaught tapered to a steady shower. By 2:00 P.M., Steve hung out the NO VACANCY sign, hustled back into the dry, cozy hut, and toweled off his head. How could anyone even think of being in a tent in weather like this? Steve checked his watch.

Only 2:18 P.M.

“Nikki was right,” he said to himself. “The day is creeping. Three o’clock’ll never get here …”

Eventually, Donnie Nickerson pulled up in his lime-green Volkswagen and on time, too. Donnie had a grocery bag full of provisions and a six-pack of Classic Coke in hand as he schlepped up to the gatehouse.

“Get in here,” said Steve, motioning. “You’re slower than Methuselah’s grandmother.”

Donnie wiped the rain from his thick, John Lennon glasses with his shirttail. “Don’t have a cow,” he said. He set down his goodies, popped the tab of a coke, and offered one to Steve, saying, “Here, dude. Chill out.”

“You chill. I want to get out of here.”

Happy Hooker reappeared on the TV screen.

Donnie turned the volume up. “I gotta hear what this bozo’s predicting.”

Steve lingered.

“More rain, clearing tomorrow,” said Happy with a grandiose motion of his pointer. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he became more animated. “You know folks, the upcoming hurricane season is supposed to be an extremely active one. All the computer models are predicting it.

Donnie sneered.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.