Free A Pagan's Nightmare by Ray Blackston Page B

and Lanny
     appeared on the screen, both men crouched low in the aisle, bolted out of the theatre, and ran fear-struck into a balmy Bahama
     night.
    Jack sank anyway.

9
    T HE REALITY WAS INESCAPABLE —the zealots had come to the islands. With great stealth they had come. And so Ned and Lanny hid. With worry in their heads
     and sand in their underwear they hid within a cluster of palm trees and peeked out from behind the dunes on Abaco Beach. Both
     were afraid to go near the airport, and both wanted to get a hurricane damage report for Florida, although this too was a
     mystery, due mainly to lack of a radio and dead cell phones.
    For sustenance, the two men had taken fruit and bottled juices and a cooler from the beach—while the owners were playing in
     the surf. They’d also taken two beach towels on which to nap. In an effort at a fair exchange, Ned had left a twenty under
     a sea shell.
    “Any more fruit?” asked Lanny. It was late morning, and he kept lookout from behind a mound of white sand.
    Behind him Ned opened the cooler and had a look. Sunlight shown down through the treetops and over his shoulder. “One more
     orange.”
    Lanny caught the orange Ned tossed him, then picked at its skin with fingernails too short for the task.
    Already the beach was transformed. Already a zealot parasailing company—
We Fly You Closer
—had a line of people waiting to parasail from the surf. And already a drink stand was serving a concoction called a Pre-Glory
     Pizzazz.
    “Probably just a glorified Slurpee,” Lanny muttered from behind sea oats.
    “And without rum,” Ned whispered.
    A lively, no-spiking-allowed beach volleyball game brought evenmore confusion—shirts identified the two teams as Dunkers versus Sprinklers.
    “Those names mean anything to you, Ned?”
    “Probably just their donut preferences.”
    Sprawled on his stomach and peering through Ned’s binoculars, Lanny pressed his elbows into the sand and tried to pin blame
     anywhere but on his own inability to solve problems.
    “Ned,” he muttered, scanning the shoreline, “this island is the only place I know where Miranda and her parents would bring
     their boat. I think Dock Boy lied to us. He’s really one of
them.”
    Ned lay back on his stolen beach towel and stared up through the palm fronds. “The kid sure fooled me.”
    Lanny focused in on Dock Boy and watched the kid hurry around the circular dock. Lanny saw the youngster accept a tip and
     point three arriving boaters toward the beach and fruity drinks. “This is just like
Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
You never know until it’s too late.”
    Ned briefly wondered if his buddy was right. He glanced at his own hands to see if any changes were sneaking up on him. After
     two minutes of staring at his fingers, and noticing no alteration in his skin tone or his mental health, Ned dismissed the
     idea. “Patience, Lann-o. We’ll sneak back to the airport before sunset and head back to Florida. Then maybe we can disguise
     ourselves.”
    Tired of watching the marina, Lanny lay back on his towel and beat his fists into the sand. “I will not relax until I find
     Miranda.”
    DJ Ned opened their cooler and took the last banana. He had no comment.
    “Why me?” Lanny asked the palm fronds. His voice broke into a fervent pleading. “Why would I be left? What good is a simple
     contractor to a world full of zealots?”
    The emotion alone led Ned to respond. He peeled his banana and said, “I’ve been asking myself a similar question, but in your
     case they probably need your skills to change out a few million signs and billboards back in Atlanta.”
    “Don’t joke, Ned,” Lanny shot back, wiping a sleeve across his eyes. “They’ll take over your radio station, as well.”
    This thought caused Ned to squeeze a bruise into his fruit. “Never.”
    “It could happen.”
    Ned remained defiant. “Then that’s why you were left—to help me barricade the doors to my station.”
    This