Stoneskin's Revenge Read Online Free PDF

Scott replied immediately. And with that he proceeded to describe a spot a few miles east on the bank of something called Iodine Creek. It was on the fringe of a swamp, but not swampy itself. “It’s public land,” the boy added, “but nobody goes there much—too hard to get to. There’s supposed to be some stills in the swamp, too, and that keeps some folks away.”
    “And there’s ’ gators ,” Michael appended.
    “No there’s not! Not many, anyway; that’s just what we tell the tourists so they’ll stay away!”
    “And speakin’ of which,” Michael sighed, “I guess we’d best be movin’. But hey, Calvin, we’re gonna be right up the creek a couple of miles from that place I told you about. Why don’t you come join us ’round seven or so? Tomorrow, that is.”
    “Maybe I will,” Calvin replied, retrieving his bow. “Maybe I will.”
    “Carry on,” Don called, turning away.
    “Nice to ’uv met you,” Michael added, and scooted ahead of his friend to be first inside.
    And Calvin was once more alone.
    Roughly thirty seconds later, he had found the phone. But Sandy was evidently not home, and he had no desire whatever to talk to her machine, though he told the operator to hold a minute longer in case she was outside, as she often was that time of day.
    He was still trying to decide whether or not to hang up when the crunch of tires made him glance over his shoulder.
    The cop car was back—the same bronze Caprice he’d seen down at the restaurant—and this time it was idling really slow, and the driver was, without a doubt, staring straight at him—and frowning. He stood there for a moment, frozen in anticipation, though his conscience was completely clear. “Damn!” he whispered into the receiver, quite forgetting who was on the other end. “Just can’t abide a stranger, I reckon. God, I hate this.”
    “Sir?”
    Calvin ignored both the operator’s suggestion of termination and the expectant, post-tone silence on Sandy’s line. Something had caught his eye—something much more ominous than slow-cruising Chevys. The Magic Market stood next to an abandoned trailer park, largely overgrown with palmettos and sand, but as he’d been hassling with the operator, he’d been absently scanning the sky. He’d seen a familiar shape there: tapering, swept-back wings, fan-shaped tail, narrow body; seen it swoop and caper until he could confirm its form: a peregrine falcon, scarce in Georgia even along the coast and certainly at this time of year. Still, not too remarkable—unless you’d been watching as one dived from a clear sky and swept up an instant later with what looked suspiciously like a very small rattlesnake twisting in its beak.
    “Sir? I’ll have to charge you if you want to leave a message…”
    “Huh? Oh…sorry. I’ll try again later.” And with that Calvin hung up and returned his gaze to the sky, seeing no sign of the falcon that was his totem.
    An electric-blue Z-28 Camaro roared down the highway, going at least ninety. The Caprice followed it, lights blazing, siren a-wail. Calvin was not there when it returned alone.

Chapter III: The Hunter and the Hunted
    (Stone Mountain, Georgia—late afternoon)
    Forrest was lost, had been for over a day now, and wasn’t very happy about it.
    It was pretty silly, too; because he wasn’t that far from home —couldn’t have been, because he’d started out from there when he ran away, and he hadn’t been gone very long at all before he’d gotten control of himself and begun trying to retrace his trail. Trouble was, he was nearly at the Big Rock by then, and there were so many scents around—oil and gasoline and people by the thousands and grass and trees and asphalt, and all so thickly layered and confused—that he doubted he’d ever be able to nose out one that was familiar. And now he was hungry and lonesome and tired, and that made paying attention even harder.
    It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had reason for bolting, either: