STORMY WEATHER By CARL HIAASEN

For a while they could make out his tall shape, stalking south, under violet flashbursts of high lightning. Then he was gone. The weather covered him like a shroud.

They turned and went the other way. Augustine walked fast on the blacktop, the backpack jouncing on his bare shoulders.

“Hey, the scar is looking good,” Bonnie said.

“You still like it?”

“Beauty.” She could see it vividly whenever the sky

lit up. “A corkscrew in the shower-you weren’t kidding?”

“God, I wish,” said Augustine.

They heard a car behind them. As it approached, the headlights elongated their shadows on the pavement. Augustine asked Bonnie if she wanted to hitch a ride. She said no. They stepped off the road to let the car go by.

Soon they reached the tall bridge at Card Sound. Augustine said it was time to rest. He unzipped the backpack to see what the governor had packed: a coil of rope, two knives, four bandannas, a tube of antiseptic, a waterproof box of matches, a bottle of fresh water, chlorine tablets, some oranges, a stick of bug repellent, four cans of lentil soup and a tin of unidentifiable dried meat.

Augustine and Bonnie shared the water, then started up the bridge.

Needles of rain stung Bonnie’s bruises as she climbed the long slope. She tasted brine on the wind, and wasn’t embarrassed to clutch Augustine’s right arm-the gusts were so strong they nearly lifted her off the ground.

“Maybe it’s another hurricane!”

“Not hardly,” he said.

They stopped at the top. Augustine threw the pistol as far as he could. Bonnie peered over the concrete rail to watch the splash, a silent punctuation. Augustine placed his hands firmly on her waist, holding her steady. She liked the way it felt, the trust involved.

Far below, the bay was frothed and corrugated; a treacherously different place from the first time Bonnie saw it. Not a night for dolphins.

She drew Augustine closer and kissed him for a long time. Then she spun him around and groped in the backpack.

“What’re you doing?” he shouted over the slap ot the

rain.

“Hush.”

When he turned back, her eyes were shining. In her

hands was the coil of rope.

“Tie me to the bridge,” she said.

EPILOGUE

The marriage of Bonnie Brooks and Max Lamb was discreetly annulled by a judge who happened to be a skiing companion of Max Lamb’s father. Max returned to Rodale & Burns, pouring his energies into a new advertising campaign for Old Faithful Root Beer. Spurred by Max’s simpleminded jingle, the company soon reported a 24 percent jump in domestic sales. Max was promoted to the sixth floor and put in charge of an $18 million account for a low-fat malt liquor called Steed.

By the end* of the year, Max and Edie Marsh were engaged. They got an apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where Edie became active in charity circles. Two years after the hurricane, while attending a Kenny G concert to benefit victims of a Colombian mud slide, Edie met the same young Kennedy she’d long ago tried so avidly to debauch. She was mildly amazed when, while greeting her, he slipped a tongue in her ear. Max said it surely was her imagination.

Brenda Rourke recovered fully from her injuries and returned to the Highway Patrol. She requested and received a transfer to northern Florida, where she and Jim Tile built a small house on the Ochlockonee River.

For Christmas he gave her an engraved gold replica of her mother’s wedding ring, and two full-grown rottweilers from Stuttgart.

After being rescued in the ocean off Islamorada, Avila was taken to Miami’s Krome Detention Center and processed as “Juan Gomez Duran,” a rafter fleeing political oppression in Havana. He was held at Krome for nine days, until a Spanish-language radio station sponsored his release. In return, brave “Senor Gomez” agreed to share the details of high-seas escape with radio listeners, who were moved by his heart-wrenching story but puzzled by his wildly inaccurate references to Cuban geography. Afterwards Avila packed up and moved to Fort Myers, on the west coast of Florida, where he was immediately hired as a code-enforcement officer for the local building-and-zoning department. During his first four weeks on the job, Avila approved 212 new homes- a record for a single inspector that stands to this day. Nineteen months after the hurricane, while preparing a sacrifice to Change on the patio of his luxurious new waterfront town house, Avila was severely bitten on the thigh by a hydrophobic rabbit. Too embarrassed to seek medical attention, he died twenty-two days later in his hot tub. In honor of his short but productive tenure as a code inspector, the Lee County Home Builders Association established the Juan Gomez Duran Scholarship Fund.

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