Acts of Nature

said into the microphone. “See it?”
    “Yeah, I got it,” the pilot said. “I’ll get you over that decking at the rear.”
    “Nice armpit they got for us to visit this time,” Squires said. “I’m not picking up any movement but that don’t mean a thing considering that ground cover. Shit, somebody coulda parked a fucking yacht in there and you wouldn’t spot it.” The big man took the Mk23 handgun out of his operations bag and strapped it to his thigh.
    When they were thirty feet over the dark wooded deck both men slung their packs over their shoulders and put their feet out on the landing runners.
    “I’ll call on the satellite phone for a pickup,” Harmon said to the pilot and by turn, Squires first, they rappelled like circus artists down the ropes.
    “Fuck! They are cops,” Buck said when he saw the first man slide down the rope and touch down on the deck. The guy unsnapped his line and had a nasty-looking handgun out faster than Buck had seen most men flick a switchblade. He was dressed all in black, like some goddamn SWAT dude who meant business. Then the second guy came down.
    “What the hell?” he whispered to himself. This one was dressed like he was going to baseball game: a pair of jeans and a golf shirt and some kinda loose jacket flapping in the wind. He landed just as softly as the other one but as far as Buck could tell he wasn’t armed.
    Buck was now waist-deep in the water and obscured by a clump of fern and downed tree branches. When they first slipped out of the cabin he eyeballed the helicopter, expecting to see a rescue decal on its belly or at least a Sheriff’s Office logo. Instead it was unmarked. From his angle he couldn’t even see the identification numbers and he had to assume it was a private chopper. Dope dealers? Owners?
    Then he and the boy both slipped down into the water, using the deck as cover. When the chopper door opened and a couple of ropes came tumbling out, he’d ordered Wayne to take the shotgun around to the other side of the cabin so they could flank whoever came down, just as they’d done to Freeman. When the first man slid down he saw the SWAT getup and thought cops. Now he didn’t know what the hell was going on, but the gun in the SWAT guy’s hand jacked up the situation and he kept the stolen .45 up and ready. He just hoped Wayne could see that the dude in black was armed.
    Buck stayed down, out of sight, and when the helicopter pulled up and the sound faded the place went silent again. Buck was quietly working the possibilities. If they go through the door and confront Marcus and find Freeman and his partner, what the hell happens? Maybe he should make a break for the airboat now, let the boys fend for themselves. Maybe he should wait, take a chance on these guys opening the other side of the place. He knew drugs were inside. A huge score. A once-in-a-lifetime score. A score just like his daddy couldn’t resist. If he made this work he would ride off in the sunset to Hendry County where he belonged, workin’ the open range, no more penny-ante burglaries and dodging the cops. How can you walk away? Buck watched the two men bending their heads together, talking softly, and then the one in black started moving east toward the door. No, thought Buck, this has been thought out. No turning back now.
    Suddenly a scream ripped through the humid air that raised the hair on the back of Buck’s neck and dropped his jaw at the same instant. The sound was filled with more surprise and pain than Buck had ever heard even in the concrete halls of Avon Park prison and his reaction was the same as when he was inside: his legs started moving, as if you could run away from such terror even in an eight-by-ten cell.
    He moved to his left, out away from his cover, his eyes focused on the men who both seemed to have been frozen by the shattering cry. Then he saw Wayne; he’d come up out of the swamp at the sound of his friend’s scream and was up on the deck, running with the shotgun held foolishly at port arms. Water was dripping off his shirt and pants legs and there was a look of anguish on the kid’s face as his mouth formed the word “Marcus!” and he slid around the corner into full view of the helicopter men.
    The barrel of Wayne’s shotgun never even made it to point when the SWAT man spun with his handgun at the ready and fired twice. A spray of blood instantly mixed with the droplets of water flying off the kid’s chest and two blossoms of