Much of the land was clustered with trees, but there were broad paths leading through those areas. Closer to the lake, the land cleared into tightly trimmed lawn that rolled down to the water’s edge and the old wooden dock. Sheila ran fast, which made me sure she was from New York because speed is a survival skill for women there. She led us into a small clearing. A body lay on the ground. It wasn’t Tony McCue. It was Roddy Quine. He was sprawled on his back at the base of a large rock formation. His right pants leg was rolled up and blood was oozing out of a large gash in his leg. There was a big rock, maybe fifteen inches across, on the ground alongside him. Clyde Snapp ran up and knelt alongside him. Sheila took up her post alongside Biff Birnbaum. I saw Tony McCue leaning against a boulder on the far side of the clearing, looking bored. “Ain’t broke,” Clyde said, looking up at no one in particular. Sheila was rubbing her hands together, as if washing them of dirt. “Pretty good gash, though,”
What do You think about Getting Up With Fleas (Trace 7)?
