Acts of Nature - By Jonathon King Page 0,58
the corner of a Velcro strap he’d spotted and pulled out a blue fanny pack, the kind runners and maybe a few fishermen might use on a flats boat. He’d waited for Marcus to go so he’d have a chance to scope it out for himself. He zipped open the pouch and inside rummaged through a wad of soggy tissue paper, a tube of lip balm, and a pair of slim sunglasses. He raised the open pack to his nose and drew in its odor. A woman’s. He liked the smell, and even the faintest aroma of perfume or body lotion, the thought of where it had been, aroused him. He breathed it again and opened his eyes and saw the glimmer of gold deep in the corner of the pouch. He reached in with his left hand and pinched it between his fingers and came out with the necklace. Even the dull sunlight picked up a facet in the stones and his eye picked up the spark. He untangled the gold chain and then draped the jewelry over his other hand, like he’d once seen a clerk in a store in Miami do. The two jewels, an opal and a diamond, lay against his palm, one reflecting, the other glowing, next to the folded skin flap where his thumb used to be. Wayne did not notice the juxtaposition of beauty and scar. He was caught instead by the thought of where those stones had last been lying, against white, smooth skin, perhaps nestled in a perfect cleavage. When he heard the steps of the others, he quickly palmed the necklace and shoved the fanny pack back under some debris.
“We were just going through stuff and found it laying there and figured, you know, you ought to see it,” Marcus was saying.
Buck leaned down and took up the bloodied sheet in his hand, unfolded it and held it by two corners, examining one rough edge. He too brought it to his nose and breathed.
“You’re right,” he said to Marcus, who nodded as if it was a foregone conclusion. “Somebody probably out here in the storm and got injured. Looks like they sopped up some blood and then went and tore some strips off this, maybe for a bandage.” He looked out on the site with a new eye.
“I found some gas cans under some other shit in the outbuilding. It’s high-test, which means airboat fuel.”
“How do you know it ain’t just regular boat motor gas?” Marcus said. “Or generator fuel.”
Buck gave him that “you ain’t been there” eye and said: “There’s a difference in the smell, boy.”
Wayne didn’t say anything, thinking only about the scent of a woman that was now in his hand.
“They must have packed up and took off for the city as soon as the ’cane stopped blowin’. They sure as hell ain’t comin’ back this way soon,” Buck said, again looking out on the horizon.
“Well, there isn’t anything worth a damn here anyway,” Marcus said. “Let’s go.”
It was supposed to come across as a confident, half-in- charge kind of statement but Wayne looked at his friend when he caught that uncertain quiver in his voice. They’d been on dozens of these escapades and Wayne could always tell when Marcus was getting nervous.
Buck had them help dig out the gas cans he found in what was once the generator shack of the camp. It took all three of them to lift the collapsed wall and kick away some broken studs to make enough room to remove them. Buck stepped into the space they’d made and passed out the cans to Marcus, who then ferried them over to Wayne in the boat. There were six cans in all and one had been punctured, half of its contents having leaked out onto the wood plank floor. Buck again thought of the lighter in his pocket but just whispered, “Fuck it.”
Over at the airboat Marcus handed up the last can.
“We find any more gas we could stay out here for a week,” Wayne said, digging at Marcus’s show of being nervous and tired of their expedition.
“Yeah, well, the master criminal there has only one location left on the GPS list so unless he can smell it, there’s only one camp left and we can go the hell home.”
Wayne just bent to lash the final can in, a grin on his face. Marcus was missing the way Buck had identified the gas and Wayne was getting a tiny dash of joy