Requiem by J. B. Turner

Author:J. B. Turner [Turner, J. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
ISBN: 9781503948235
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2018-11-08T06:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Five

A tangerine dawn peeked across the horizon, bathing the water in an eerie pale-orange glow. Beatrice was curled up in a ball on the wooden floor of the airboat. He wasn’t sure if she was actually asleep.

Stone felt exhaustion wash over him. The events of the early hours had taken their toll. Beatrice had finally been starting to trust him. Now he worried that she might try and disappear, endangering herself and him in the process. If she did, he couldn’t blame her. She was so far out of her comfort zone it had to be traumatizing for her.

Stone checked the GPS and saw they were within a mile of Cluett Key. It was an east-west tide as they approached the island through seagrass-filled water, the spray on his face. He switched off the engine and jumped out. He was knee-deep in mud, silt, and sand as he hauled the boat ashore, up past the mud bank, up the beach and beyond the high-tide mark. “You wanna shake a leg?” he said. “Need some help.”

Beatrice stirred and handed him the backpack containing the weapons and flares, the plastic bags holding the food, and the bag containing the guns and ammo. She jumped off the boat and immersed herself in the warm water for a few moments.

“Feeling better?”

Beatrice shook her head. “What do you think?”

Stone turned and led the way farther inland. They headed through some cypress and marshy grasses and into a clearing. He took a machete out of the backpack and began to chop down branches for a makeshift shelter. “Keep busy. It’ll help.”

Beatrice sighed. She held up the wooden frame as he tied the pieces together with vines, layering palm fronds on the base. She swatted away a cloud of mosquitos. “Goddamn fucking insects!” She pulled out the insect repellent and sprayed it all over herself. “I’m being eaten alive. Fuck!”

Stone carefully laid down more palm fronds. “Be careful with the sand flies,” he said.

“What?”

“Be careful. They’ll be burrowing away just beneath the surface. The females will feed on your blood.”

“I need to get out of here.”

“Let’s get the shelter up, get a fire going, get some breakfast, and then we can talk.”

Beatrice grumbled for a while but reluctantly unpacked the provisions and placed them neatly on the fronds.

“Keep the flares away from the fire, for God’s sake,” he said.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she said.

“No, I don’t. Just being cautious.”

“Cautious?” She swatted away a cloud of mosquitos. “This is terrible. I can’t put up with this any longer, I’m telling you.” She lashed out at some bugs. “Fuck!”

Stone tried to ignore her. He cut down strips of black mangrove wood and threw them on the fire. They gave off a pungent aroma, almost like incense.

“What is that? It stinks.”

Stone hunched over the fire. “It’s supposed to. The Native Americans and early white settlers who lived out here used this to get rid of mosquitos and bugs.”

Beatrice scrunched up her face, unimpressed.

“Swamp angels, they used to call mosquitos.”

“How do you know this stuff?”

“Long story.

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