Decker spotted the body floating at the end of the canal, near the flood dike. He lowered the twin trolling motors and steered Eddie's boat along the yellow path of the spotlight.
Catherine craned to see what it was, but Decker put his hand on her shoulder.
Dapper Dennis Gault was in shreds. He floated facedown, snarled in twenty-pound fishing line.
"The rhythm of confrontation," Skink said. "In a way, I almost admire the sonofabitch."
Decker knew there was nothing to be done.
"This is some sport," Catherine remarked.
Skink and Decker saw the great fish simultaneously. She surfaced on her side, feebly, near Gault's bloated legs. Her gills had bled from red to pink, and her flanks had blackened. She was dying.
"No, you don't," Skink said, and dove in. For a big man he made a small splash, entering the water like a needle.
Catherine stood up to watch with Decker. Their breath came out in soft frosty puffs.
"I got her!" Skink shouted. "But damnation!"
Somehow he had become entangled in Dennis Gault's body. For several moments the water churned in a macabre one-sided duel, stiff dead limbs thrashing against the living. Catherine was terrified; it looked as if Gault had come back to life. Skink was in great pain, the foul brackish water searing his raw eye socket. All at once he seemed to be slipping under.
R. J. Decker picked up Fast Eddie's fish gaff and stuck it hard in the meat of Gault's shoulders. He pulled brutishly at the corpse with all his weight, and Skink kicked away, free. He cradled the sluggish fish in his bare arms. He swam with his head out, on his back, otter-style. He was fighting to catch his breath..y
"Thanks, Miami," he wheezed. "Take care."
With four kicks he made it to shore, and carried the great fish up the slope. Decker didn't need the spotlight to track hima naked white Amazon running splayfooted along the embankment. He was singing, too, though the melody was indistinct.
Decker gunned the engine and beached the bass boat with a jolt. He jumped ashore and reached out his hand for Catherine. Together they jogged toward the flood dike, but Skink was far ahead. Even toting the fish, he seemed to be running twice as fast.
From the canal behind them, Lanie Gault called Skink's name. Decker heard two shots and reflexively he dragged Catherine to the ground. They looked up to see two small flares explode overhead, drenching the night in vermilion. In a strange way it reminded Decker of the warm safe light of the darkroom. He had no idea why Lanie had fired the flare gun; maybe it was all she had.
They got up and started running again, but by this time Skink had already crested the dike. When they reached the other side, he was gone, vanished into the seam of the universe. As the flares burned out, the red glow drained from the sky and the crystal darkness returned to the marsh.
A washboard ripple lingered on the quiet pool. Frogs peeped, crickets trilled, waterbugs skated through the bulrushes. There was no sign of the great fish, no sign of the man.
"Hear it?" Decker asked.
Catherine brushed the insects away and strained to listen. "I don't think so, Rage."
"Something swimming." The gentlest of motions, receding somewhere out in the Glades. Decker was sure of it.
"Wait," Catherine said, taking his arm, "now I do."