Steve flushed, but this time it wasn’t an unhealthy color. “Okay. Okay.”
Tim clapped Steve’s shoulder bracingly. “Annie Black’s ashes were strewn all over this island two hundred years ago. That’s a lot of time for wind and rain to work. There couldn’t possibly be enough left of her to do anyone any harm.”
At that Steve laughed nervously, and the two men headed back into town. Steve even managed not to look over his shoulder as the burnt-out husk of the old plantation fell away behind them.
But he felt Tim was somehow lying to him. And he felt someone watching.
Jones and Perlman bought it today. Shit, this is starting to be like Nam. Nobody will say anything. But I know. Hell, everyone knows. Jackson said he saw it happen to Jones. One minute he’s sitting in his barracks room, working his damn crosswords. The next minute, he’s shaking like a leaf. Then he’s dead. Flat dead.
Word is the CO called Washington last night. Of course, he’s not going to tell us anything. We’re just peons. Bunch of damn draftees who’d rather be sitting home, smoking some weed, listening to Jimi Hendrix and painting flowers on the VW minibus. That’s how they see us. Worthless.
They’re going to kill us all.
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