Island of the Sequined Love Nun

shoved the last of the surgical draperies into a canvas bag and hurried outside. The sound of jet engines seemed to be everywhere.
    Outside he found Beth staring at some coconut palms. The guards were standing outside their quarters, looking in the same direction. "Look." Beth pointed to the north.
    "What? I don't see…" Then he saw movement behind the palms and a 747 coming toward the island at entirely too low an angle.
    "It's landing," Beth said.
    Sebastian's gaze was caught by more movement in his peripheral vision. He looked across the runway. The Shark People were coming out of the jungle. All of the Shark People.

    From the 747 the airstrip looked smaller than he had remembered. To conserve runway Tuck wanted to touch down as close to the near end as possible. He pulled full flaps and checked his descent rate. The Shark People were moving toward the plane in a wave. Some of the men carried long ladders.
    As all sixteen tires hit the runway, Tuck slammed the levers that reversed the engines and they screamed in protest. Immediately, he hit the ground brakes and watched the brake temperature gauge zoom into the red as the jet screamed toward the ocean at the far end of the runway at a hundred and fifty miles per hour.
    "Did you see the ladders?" Roberto said, but this time it was Vincent's voice coming from the bat. "Ya fuckin' mook, I told you they were makin' ladders."

    "You must come," Malink said. He crouched at the edge of the jungle where the old cannibal was hiding. "Vincent said all of our people must go."
    Sarapul watched as the huge jet slowly turned at the end of the runway. "No. I am too old. This is my home. They don't want me where you are going."
    "We don't know where we are going."
    "Your people didn't want me here. Would they want me in this new place? I will stay."
    Malink looked to the runway. "I have to go now."
    Sarapul waved him off with a bony hand. "Go. You go." He turned and walked into the jungle.
    Malink ran into the open and began shouting orders to the men with the ladders. The Shark People poured onto the runway and surrounded the jet like termites serving their swollen queen.

    Beth Curtis saw the fist of the coos on the 747 open and immediately recognized Tuck. A tall ladder was thrown against the plane and the Shark People started climbing.
    "He's taking them away!" she screamed.
    Sebastian Curtis stood stupefied.
    Beth shouted to the guards, "Stop them, you idiots!"
    The guards had been spellbound by the landing of the jet as well, but her harpylike scream brought them to action. They were in and out of their quarters in seconds, running toward the airstrip with their Uzis. Beth Curtis ran behind them, screeching like a tortured siren.
    All six coos of the 747 were open now, and the Shark People were streaming up the ladders, mothers carrying children, the strongest men helping the old.
    The other guards piled up behind Mato while he unlocked the gate. He fumbled with the key, then finally sent it home and pulled the chain from around the bars.
    Beth Curtis hit the chain-link and curled her fingers through it like claws as she watched her fortune piling into the plane. "Shoot!" she screamed. "Shoot that son of a bitch!"
    The guards had no idea who she meant, but they understood the command to shoot. The first one through the gate pulled up and pointed his Uzi at the crowd of natives waiting to get up the ladder. There was a fat one who seemed to be giving orders. He aimed for the center of his back.
    A bullet took the guard high in the chest, knocking him back off his feet. His Uzi clattered on the runway. The other guards pulled up, looking for the source of the shot.
    "Kill them all, you fucking cowards!" Beth Curtis yelled. "Shoot!"
    The guards crouched to make themselves into smaller targets as they scanned the edge of the jungle for movement.
    There was a roar and the guards looked up to see two fighter jets coming in low over the runway. Their decision was made. They ran for the cover of the compound as Beth Curtis screamed at their backs.
    She ran out to the dead guard, picked up his Uzi, and pointed it at the 747. A gunshot came from the jungle and a bullet ricocheted off the concrete next to her. She turned the Uzi toward the trees and pulled the trigger It roared for three seconds, the recoil pulling her sideways as the bullets chopped a pattern in the vegetation like a remote-control Cuisinart. She brought the gun back around on the plane and pulled the trigger, but