"Yes sir." Mr. Moultry reached into his pocket and brought out a wad of bills.

"Count it," Biggun ordered.

"Yes sir. Fifty... one hundred... hundred and fifty... two hundred..." He kept counting, up to four hundred dollars. "Take the money, Wade," Biggun said, and the man in the spangled shirt walked forward to get it.

"Just a minute," the second masked man said. "Where's the merchandise?" He was talking in a low, gruff voice that sounded false, yet I knew that voice from somewhere.

"Bodean, get what the fella wants," Biggun told him, and Bodean took the Cadillac's keys from the ignition and walked back to the trunk. Biggun's gaze stayed fixed on the man with the false voice. I was glad it wasn't directed at me, because it looked so intense it could puddle iron. "It's fine, quality work," Biggun said. "Just what you boys asked for."

"It oughta be. We're payin' enough for it."

"You want a demonstration?" Biggun grinned, his mouth full of gleaming teeth. "If I were you, friend, I'd get rid of that cheroot."

The masked man took a final pull on it, then he turned and flicked it right where we were hiding. It fell into the pine straw about four feet in front of me, and I saw its chewed plastic tip. I knew who smoked cheroots with a tip like that. It was Mr. Hargison, our mailman.

Bodean had opened the trunk. Now he closed it again, and he approached the two masked men carrying a small wooden box in his arms. He carried it gently, as if it might hold a sleeping baby.

"I want to see it," Mr. Hargison said in a voice I'd never heard Mr. Hargison use.

"Show him what he's buyin'," Biggun told his son, and Bodean carefully released a latch and opened the box's top to reveal what lay within. None of us guys could see inside the box, but Mr. Moultry walked over to peer in and he gave a low whistle behind his mask.

"That suit you?" Biggun asked.

"It'll do just fine," Mr. Hargison said. "They won't know what hit 'em until they're tap-dancin' in h.e.l.l."

"I threw in an extra." Biggun grinned again, and I thought he looked like Satan himself. "For good luck," he said. "Close it up, Bodean. Wade, take our money."

"Davy Ray!" Ben whispered. "Somethin's crawlin' on me!"

"Shut up, goofus!"

"I mean it! Somethin's on me!"

"You hear anythin'?" Mr. Moultry asked, and that question froze the marrow in my bones.

The men were silent. Mr. Hargison gripped the box with both hands, and Wade Blaylock had the fistful of money. Biggun's head slowly turned from side to side, his blastfurnace eyes searching the woods. Hoot-hoot, went the distant owl. Ben made a soft, terrified whining noise. I hugged the earth, my chin buried in pine straw, and near my face Mr. Hargison's cheroot smoldered.

"I don't hear nothin'," Wade Blaylock said, and he took the money to his father. Biggun counted it again, his tongue flicking back and forth across his lower lip, and then he shoved the cash into a pocket. "Okey-dokey," he said to the two masked men. "I reckon that concludes our bidness, gents. Next time you want a special order, you know how to find me." He started trudging back to get into the Cadillac again, and Bodean moved fast to open the door for him.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Blaylock." Something about Mr. Moultry's voice made me think of a ratty dog trying to lick up to a mean master. "We sure do appreciate the-"

"SPIIIIIDERS!"

The world ceased its turning. The owl went dumb. The Milky Way flickered on the verge of extinction.

Ben hollered it again: "Spiders!" He started thrashing wildly amid the pine needles. " They're all over me!"

I couldn't draw a breath. Just couldn't do it. Davy Ray stared at Ben, his mouth hanging open as Ben writhed and yelled. The five men were frozen where they stood, all of them looking in our direction. My heart thundered. Three seconds pa.s.sed like a lifetime, and then Biggun Blaylock's shout parted the night: "Get 'em!"

"Run!" Davy Ray hollered, scrambling to his feet. "Run for it!"

Wade and Bodean were coming after us, their shadows thrown large by the crossing of headlights. Davy Ray was already running back in the direction we'd come, and I said, "Run, Ben!" as I got up and fled. Ben squawked and struggled up, his hands madly plucking at his clothes. I looked over my shoulder and saw Wade about to reach Ben, but then Ben put on a burst of frantic speed and left Wade s.n.a.t.c.hing at empty air. "Come back here, you little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" Bodean yelled as he chased after Davy Ray and me. "Get 'em, d.a.m.n it!" Biggun bellowed. "Don't let 'em get away!"

Davy Ray was fast, I'll say that for him. He left me behind pretty quick. The only trouble was, he had the flashlight. I couldn't see where I was going, and I could hear Bodean's breath rasping behind me. I dared to glance back again, but Ben had headed off in another direction with Wade at his heels. Whether Mr. Hargison and Mr. Moultry were coming after us, too, I didn't know. Bodean Blaylock was reaching for me, about to snag my collar. I ducked my head and changed directions on him, and he skidded in the pine straw. I kept going, through the dark wilderness. "Davy Ray!" I shouted, because I no longer could see his light. "Where are you?"

"Over here, Cory!" he called, but I couldn't tell where he was. Behind me, I heard Bodean crashing through the underbrush. I had to keep running, the sweat leaking from my face. "Cory! Davy Ray!" Ben shouted from somewhere off to the right. "G.o.ddammit, bring 'em back here!" Biggun raged. I dreaded finding out what that monstrous mountain and his brood would do to us, because whatever had been going on back there was definitely something he'd wanted to keep a secret. I started to call for Ben, but as I opened my mouth my left foot slid on pine needles and suddenly I was rolling down an embankment like a sack of grain. I rolled into bushes and vines, and when I stopped I was so scared and dizzy I almost upchucked my toasted marshmallows. I lay there on my belly, my chin sc.r.a.ped raw by something I'd collided with, while I waited for a hand to winnow from the darkness and grab the back of my neck. I heard branches cracking; Bodean was nearby. I held my breath, fearing he could hear my heartbeat. To me it sounded like a drum corps all slamming an anvil with sledgehammers, and if Bodean couldn't detect it, he was surely as deaf as a post.

His voice drifted to me, from my left. "Might as well give up, kid. I know where you are."

He sounded convincing. I almost answered him, but I realized he was just as much in the dark as I was. I kept my mouth shut and my head low.

A few seconds later, Bodean shouted from a little farther away: "We're gonna find you! Oh yeah, don't you worry, we'll find every one of you sneakin' b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!"

He was moving off. I waited a couple of minutes longer, listening to the Blaylocks calling to each other. Evidently, Davy Ray and Ben had both escaped and Biggun was furious about it. "You're gonna find those kids if it takes you all G.o.dd.a.m.n night!" he roared at his sons, and they meekly answered "Yes sir." I figured I'd better get out while the getting was good, so I got up and crept away like a whipped pup.

I sure didn't know where I was going. I knew only that I needed to put as much distance between my skin and the Blaylocks as possible. I thought about doubling back and trying to find the other guys, but I was scared the Blaylocks would nab me. I just kept walking into the dark. If bobcats and rattlers were anywhere around, they couldn't possibly be worse than the two-legged beasts behind me. Maybe I walked for half an hour before I found a boulder to crouch on, and under the stars I realized my predicament: my knapsack, with all it contained, was back at the campsite, wherever that might be from here. I had no food, no water, no flashlight, no matches, and Davy Ray had the compa.s.s.

I had a crushing thought: Mom had been right. I should've waited until I was thirteen.

XV Chile Willow

I HAVE KNOWN LONG NIGHTS BEFORE. LIKE WHEN I HAD STREP throat and couldn't sleep and every minute seemed a torment. Or when Rebel had been sick with worms, and I stayed awake worrying as he coughed and whined. The night I spent huddled on that boulder, though, was an eternity of regret, fear, and discomfort all jammed into six hours. I knew one thing for sure: this was my last camping trip. I jumped at every imagined sound. I peered into the dark, seeing hulking shapes where there were only skinny pines. I would've tossed every issue of National Geographic on a bonfire for two peanut-b.u.t.ter sandwiches and a bottle of Green Spot. Sometime near dawn, the mosquitoes found me. They were so big I might've grabbed their legs and hitched a ride to Zephyr by air. I was miserable, from my red-blotched bites to my growling belly.

I had plenty of time, between slapping at skeeters and listening for the sounds of footsteps creeping up on me, to wonder what was in the box that Mr. Moultry and Mr. Hargison had paid four hundred dollars for. Man, that was a fortune of money! If the Blaylocks were involved, it had to be something wicked. What were Mr. Moultry and Mr. Hargison planning to do with the contents of that box? Something Mr. Hargison had said came back to me: They won't know what hit 'em until they're tap-dancin' in h.e.l.l.

Whatever this was about, it was a bad enough business to be conducted late at night in the middle of the woods, and I had no doubt the Blaylocks would cut our throats-and maybe Mr. Moultry and Mr. Hargison would, too-to keep it a secret.

At last the sun began to rise, painting the sky pink and purple. I figured I'd better get moving again, in case the Blaylocks were somewhere close. Yesterday we'd been following the sun, and that had been afternoon, so I chose to head due east. I started off on aching legs, my heart hungry for home.

I figured I might be able to get to a high point and see Zephyr, or Saxon's Lake, or at least a road or a railroad track. On the hilltops, however, I could see only more woods. I did get a break, though, about two hours after dawn: a jet plane screamed overhead, and I saw its landing gears slide down. I changed course a few degrees, heading for what I hoped was the Air Force base. The woods, though, seemed to be thickening up rather than thinning. The sun was heating up, the ground rough underfoot, and soon I was wet with sweat. The gnats returned, with all their brothers, sisters, uncles, and cousins, and they swarmed around my head like a dark halo.

Soon I heard more jets shrieking, though I couldn't see them through the trees, and then I heard the dull whump! whump! whump! of explosions. I stopped, realizing I was near the bomb testing grounds. From the next ridge I could see dark plumes of smoke and dust rising into the sky to what I reasoned was the northeast. Which meant I was a long, arduous way from my front door.

My belly and the sun at its zenith told me it was high noon. I was supposed to have been home by now. My mother would start going crazy soon, and my dad would start warming up his whipping hand. What would hurt most would be admitting I wasn't as grown-up today as I thought I'd been yesterday.

I continued on, skirting the area where the bombs were dropped. The last thing I needed was to be greeted by a few hundred pounds of high explosive. I pushed through tangles of thorns that bit my skin and tore my clothes, and I gritted my teeth and took what was coming to me. Little panics kept flaring up inside me, my mind seeing rattlesnakes in every shadow. If ever I wished I could really fly, now was the time.

And then, all of a sudden, I emerged from the pine woods into a green, leafy glade. Sunlight glittered off the rippling water of a small pond, and in that water a girl was swimming. She must've not been there long because only the ends of her long, golden hair were wet. She was as brown as a berry, the water glistening on her arms and shoulders as she stroked back and forth. I was about to call to her, and then she flipped over on her back and I saw she was naked.

Instantly my heart jumped and I stepped behind a tree, more afraid to startle her than anything else. Her legs kicked blissfully, the small buds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s visible above the surface. She wore nothing to cover the area between her long, sleek thighs either, and I was ashamed to be looking but my eyes were spellbound. She turned and slid underwater. When she came up again, halfway across the pond, she swept her thick wet tresses back from her forehead and flipped over once more, gazing up at the blue sky as she floated.

Now, this was an interesting situation, I reasoned. Here I stood, hungry and thirsty, covered with mosquito bites and thorn welts, knowing my mother and father were calling up the sheriff and the fire chief by now, and twenty feet in front of me was a shimmering green pond with a naked blond girl floating in it. I hadn't gotten a good look at her face yet, but I could tell she was older than me, maybe fifteen or sixteen. She was long and lean, and she swam not with the splashy giddiness of a child but with an elegant, easy grace. I saw her clothes lying at the base of a tree on the other side of the pond, and a trail led off into the woods. The girl dove under, her legs kicking, then she resurfaced and slowly swam toward her clothes. She stopped, her feet finding the slippery bottom. Then she started wading in toward sh.o.r.e, and the moment of truth was thrust upon me.

"Wait!" I called out.

She spun around. Her face turned red and her hands flew up to cover her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then she ducked down in the water up to her throat. "Who's there? Who said that?"

"I did." I came out, sheepishly, from my hiding-place. "Sorry."

"Who are you? How long have you been standin' there?"

"Just a couple of minutes," I said. I followed it with a white lie. "I didn't see anythin'."

The girl was staring at me with open-mouthed indignation, her wet hair crimped around her shoulders. Her face was illuminated by a spill of sunlight through the trees, and I looked beyond her anger at a vision of beauty. Which surprised me, because the power of her beauty hit me so hard and suddenly. There are many things a boy considers beautiful: the shine of a bike's paint, the l.u.s.ter of a dog's pelt, the singing of a yo-yo as it loops the loop, the yellow harvest moon, the green gra.s.s of a meadow, and free hours at hand. The face of a girl, no matter how well-constructed, is usually not in that realm of appreciation. At that moment, though, I forgot about my hungry belly and my mosquito bites and my thorn stings. A girl with the most beautiful face I'd ever seen was staring at me, her eyes pale cornflower blue, and I had the feeling of waking up from a prolonged, lazy sleep into a new world I had never realized existed.

"I'm lost," I managed to say.

"Where'd you come from? Were you spyin' on me?"

"No. I... came from that way." I motioned in the direction behind me.

"You're tellin' a story!" she snapped. "Ain't n.o.body lives up in them hills!"

"Yeah," I said. "I know."

She remained hunkered down in the water, her arms around herself. I could tell that the anger was gradually leaving her, because the expression in her eyes was softening. "Lost," she repeated. "Where do you live?"

"Zephyr."

"Oh, now I know you're tellin' a story! Zephyr's all the way on the other side of the valley!"

"I was campin' out last night," I told her. "Me and my friends. Somethin' happened, and I got lost."

"What happened?"

I shrugged. "Some men got after us."

"Are you tellin' me the honest truth?"

"I am, I swear it."

"All the way from Zephyr? You must be worn out!"

"Kinda," I said.

"Turn around," she told me. "Don't you dare look till I say for you to. All right?"

"All right," I agreed, and I turned my back to her. I heard her getting out of the water, and in my mind I saw her naked from head to toe. Clothes rustled. In a minute or two she said, "You can turn around now." When I looked at her again, she was dressed in a pink T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. "What's your name?" she asked, pushing her hair back from her forehead.

"Cory Mackenson."

"I'm Chile Willow," she said. "Come on with me, Cory."

Oh, she spoke my name so fine.

I followed her along the trail through the woods. She was taller than me. She didn't walk like a little girl. She was sixteen, I figured. Walking behind her, I inhaled her scent like the aroma of dew on newly cut gra.s.s. I tried to step where she stepped. If I'd had a tail, I would've wagged it. "I don't live too far," Chile Willow said, and I answered, "That's good."

On a dirt road stood a tarpaper shack with a chicken coop next to it and a rust-eaten car hulk sitting on cinderblocks in the weedy yard. The place was even worse than the rundown house where Granddaddy Jaybird had lost his shirt playing poker. I had already taken notice that Chile's jeans were patched and ragged, and there were dime-sized holes in her T-shirt. The house she lived in made the poorest dwelling in Bruton look like a palace. She opened the screen door on squalling hinges and said into the gloom, "Momma? I found somebody!"

I entered the house after her. The front room smelled of harsh cigarette smoke and turnip greens. A woman was sitting in a rocking chair, knitting as she rocked. She stared at me with the same cornflower blue eyes as her beautiful daughter, from a face seamed with wrinkles and burned dry by hard work in the sun. "Throw him back," she said, and her needles never stopped.

"He's lost," Chile told her. "Was lost, I mean. Says he came from Zephyr."

"Zephyr," the woman said. Her eyes returned to me. She wore a dark blue shift with yellow needlework across the front, and she had on rubber flipflops. "You're a long way from home, boy." Her voice was low and husky, as if the sun had dried up her lungs, too. On a scarred little table near at hand was an ashtray full of cigarette b.u.t.ts, and half a cigarette still burning.

"Yes, ma'am. I sure would like to call my folks. Can I use your phone?"

"Ain't got no phone," she said. "This ain't Zephyr."

"Oh. Well... can somebody take me home?"

Chile's mother plucked the cigarette from the ashtray, took a long pull on it, and set it back down. When she spoke again, the smoke dribbled from her mouth. "Bill's took the truck off. Be back directly, I reckon."

I wanted to ask how long "directly" might be, but that would be impolite. "Can I have a gla.s.s of water?" I asked Chile.

"Sure thing. You ought to take off that shirt, too, it's wringin' wet. Go on, take it off." While Chile went back to the dismal little kitchen, I unb.u.t.toned my shirt and peeled it away from my skin. "Done got yourself in some thorns, boy," Chile's mother said, her mouth leaking smoke again. "Chile, bring the iodine in here and doctor this boy." Chile answered, "Yes'm," and I folded my sweat-drenched shirt up and stood waiting for pleasure and pain.

Chile had to pump the water out of the kitchen faucet. Coming out, the water spat and gurgled. When it got to me, it was warm and tinged with brown and contained in a jelly gla.s.s with a picture of Fred Flintstone on it. I took a taste and smelled something foul. Then Chile Willow's face was near mine, and the sweetness of her breath was like new roses. She had a swab of cotton and a bottle of iodine. "This might hurt a little bit," she said.

"He can take it," her mother answered for me.

Chile went to work. I winced and drew in my breath as the stinging started and then deepened. As the pain progressed, I watched Chile's face. Her hair was drying, falling in golden waves over her shoulders. Chile got down on her knees before me, the red cotton swab leaving streaks of red across my flesh. My heart was beating harder. Her pale blue eyes met mine, and she smiled. "You're doin' just fine," she said. I smiled back, though I was hurting so bad I wanted to cry.

"How old are you, boy?" Chile's mother inquired.

"Twelve." Another white lie rolled out: "I'll be thirteen soon." I kept looking at Chile's eyes. "How old are you?" I asked her.

"Me? I'm an old lady. I'm sixteen."

"You go to the high school?"

"Went one year," she said. "That was enough for me."

"You don't go to school?" I was amazed at this fact. "Wow!"

"She goes to school," the mother said, her needles at work. "School of hard knocks, same as I did."

"Aw, Mom," Chile said; from her cupid's-bow mouth, two words could sound like music.

I forgot about the stinging. Pain was nothing to a man like me. As Chile's mother said, I could take it. I looked around the gloomy room, with its stained and battered sticks of furniture, and when I looked at Chile's face again, it was like seeing the sun after a long, stormy night. Though the iodine was cruel, her touch was gentle. I imagined she must like me, to be so gentle. I had seen her naked. In all my life I had seen no female naked but my mother. I had been in the presence of Chile Willow only a short time, but what is time when a heart speaks? My heart was speaking to Chile Willow in that moment, as she bathed my cuts and gave me a smile. My heart was saying If you were my girlfriend I would give you a hundred lightning bugs in a green gla.s.s jar, so you could always see your way. I would give you a meadow full of wildflowers, where no two blooms would ever be alike. I would give you my bicycle, with its golden eye to protect you. I would write a story for you, and make you a princess who lived in a white marble castle. If you would only like me, I would give you magic. If you would only like me.

If you would only- "You're a brave little boy," Chile said.

From the rear of the house, a baby began crying.