Robb trudged on back toward the shed, not even consciously aware of his mission. Neither was he aware of the fact that his skin had mutated to an ill shade of yellow highlighted by brilliant red specks.
Every now and then, though, some cognizance did flare in his mush-brain and register appropriate thoughts, like: Ugh! I'm royally fucked up! and My fucking father's gonna kill me if I don't get the skiff back in time! and Pretty decent set of tits on that trampy blonde. And as for that trampy blonde, he'd promptly dragged her out of the shed to leave her closer to one of the nests. He hadn't been consciously aware of this; he'd simply done it because an instinct told him to.
But when he'd returned, she'd been trying to escape. Hence, his altercation, and, yes, after roughing her up and popping her in the head a few times, those acts of violence did seem to trigger some long-lost sexual reaction. But that was all for nothing now.
Robb's penis had rotted off his body a few days ago.
His yellow hand felt at the gouge she'd bitten out of his cheek. Something like pain registered… along with something like defeat.
A woman had beaten him. Robb, an all-star athlete and muscle rack, didn't care to be beaten by a woman at anything.
He stood shakily between two palm trees, staring at the woman's escape route with gray, runny eyes. Then he looked down at the tiny pair of cutoff shorts he'd pulled off her. Shhhhhhhit! his infected brain thought.
"Gonna find the bitch and really fuck her up," his phlegmatic voice rattled aloud. "I'll stuff the worms up her snatch myself if I have to."
(III)
The brisk snorkeling session livened her up. I feel human again! I feel like a real, live polychaetologist in the field!
Nora had wound up snorkeling for hours, actually, marveling at the scenery beneath the tepid, crystalclear water. Flippers pumping, she glided through schools of pinfish, blue tang, and damsels. Fire sponge and fernlike sea rods branched up from clumps of orange and yellow coral. The languid water caressed her, cool and warm simultaneously, and the sunlight seemed to float above her like lightning-white lava. Sea horses frolicked among stalks of phallic club coral, and when Nora diverted her direction, a lustrous green and blue parrotfish turned briefly to show her teeth like a handful of nails, then returned to eating algae off a rock. The fish was the size of a bed pillow.
Being right back in the face of nature rejuvenated her, reasserting her love for marine habitats. Nothing up there is as beautiful as this, she thought. I'd probably enjoy life a lot more if 1 were a friggin' fish…
She let these underwater spectacles enrapture her; she got lost in all the variations of beauty. A sensation nearly erotic titillated her when a funnel of minnows shifted directly into her; it gave her the impression that she'd just swum into a cloud made of glitter. When she checked her watch, she couldn't believe so much time had passed. I came out here to catch lobsters, she reminded herself.
Within fifteen minutes, her catch bag was full.
Back on the beach, she realized it would be getting dark soon. She trudged ashore with difficulty, dragging the bag, and hooked the cumbersome flippers to her belt. Out of the water, the lobster bag revealed its true weight: over ten pounds; the creatures flapped and rustled. A trail of water dripped behind her as she marched up the beach and entered the woods.
The bag dragged at her arm. She huffed down the trail, but as she neared the campsite, she thought she heard a hissing sound.
She stopped, squinted.
A gaze through some branches showed her the field shower. Nora's squint transformed to a frown. It was Annabelle in there, and the shower's ugly tarplike curtain was only halfway closed.
Exhibitionist floozy, Nora thought. I'll bet a million bucks she left the curtain open on purpose. Of course: She was hoping Trent or Loren might catch a glimpse of her body in the raw. Wants to keep them whupped up. Earlier, Trent had sprayed the shower down with some bug repellent, which would likely deter any more of the bizarre yellow ovum from venturing in.
Though she only glimpsed the other woman for a moment, Nora couldn't deny the pang of jealousy. Annabelle stood angled in the cramped stall, showing the curve of her buttocks and the edge of a breast. She turned slowly, almost as if aware of being watched, then stretched as the shower water pushed suds down her breasts and abdomen.
Nora silenced her thoughts and moved off. However, she hadn't walked far before she heard-
Snap!
She stood still, listening. Then came a quick scuffle: someone obviously dashing off through the woods.
Nora followed the sound, peered through trees. The sound disappeared as quickly as she'd detected it. At first she felt alarmed, but then realized her earlier assumption must be right. Annabelle WANTED one of the men to see her body. The escaping footfalls could only have been from Trent or Loren.
Probably Loren. That blonde tease has got him ALL twisted up. She held her gaze on the woods awhile longer, but saw no one running off. Who cares? she thought.
The lobsters stirred. Better quit fooling around and get these in the cooler. She stepped up her stride, got back on the trail, then winced and fell to a knee.
Damn it! That HURTS!
She'd stepped on something; her bare foot blared pain. What the hell is that?
She awkwardly crooked her leg around. Something metal on a string stuck out of the bottom of her foot. "Bastard!" Grimacing, she yanked it out as a small amount of blood dribbled from the tiny wound.
Her first notion was that it reminded her of a key on a pendant, as someone would wear around the neck. A straight, flat piece of metal on a looped cord, three inches long and an eighth of an inch wide. She wiped the blood off it, took a closer look. Jewelry? she considered. Some party kid could've dropped it. But why the string cord instead of a chain? When she rubbed her fingers against the tip, she felt ridges of some kind. Then she thought of keys again, something to unlock a security cable on a laptop.
Shit on it, she thought and stood back up. The damn thing had just been lying there in the trail, and she'd stepped on it. It didn't even look like it had been there long-…
When she'd hobbled back to the campsite-bowed to one side by the lobster bag-she found Annabelle in a new bikini whose fabric was shockingly flesh-tonedsitting at one of the old picnic tables. Her hair was up in a towel now, and she was passively painting her fingernails. Trent sat across from her, scribbling in his army pad.
Nora huffed forward, her pierced foot throbbing. "Hey, Annabelle, could you give me a hand with this bag of lobsters?"
The blonde looked up and sighed. She displayed her shiny red nails. "Sorry, my nails are wet."
"Here," Trent offered. He took the bag and appraised it. "Wow, this is great. There must be two dozen lobsters in there."
"About that, and all still alive and kicking. But we've got to keep them cool before dinner."
Annabelle looked at the impressive bag but said nothing. She sat with her legs demurely crossed, and blew on her nails. "I'll stick them in the cooler I've got hooked up to the generator," Trent said and walked off.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch," Nora muttered when she hobbled the rest of the way to the table and sat down.
"Still aching from your sunburn?" Annabelle asked.
"No." Nora resisted the impulse to yell.
The blonde took a pleased glance at her own arms and legs. "I tanned great today. Not a trace of burn. Good genes, I suppose."
Which I guess means my genes are inferior. Nora couldn't believe the photographer hadn't burned while wearing only SPF 2. Must be my karma.
Annabelle beamed to herself. "I'll have the best tan when I get back to the Big Apple!"
Bully for you, you pompous bitch, Nora thought very calmly. She opened the waterproof first aid kit, extracting some antiseptic and a Band-Aid.