Stoneskin's Revenge Read Online Free Page A

strip of sand, beyond which a two-lane road widened into four—he supposed in anticipation of entering the yet-unseen metropolis of Whidden, which a white-and-green sign now promised to be a mile away. Could have fooled him, he thought wryly. The only signs of civilization were the road, the odd beer can among the browning stems, and the distant whoosh of a semi. There were more woods across the highway: still the ubiquitous pines. And a Magic Market.
    *
    “That do it for ya?” The voice was old, tired; the soft, coastal drawl clipped by impatience.
    But, Calvin reflected sympathetically, it was the middle of the afternoon and the sunburned geezer behind the convenience store’s checkout counter had apparently been on duty since, as he so colorfully put it, “God’s tomcat went out to take a whizz” (which Calvin reckoned as about 5 A.M.). Add the fact that the place was ungodly hot as a result of an air-conditioner failure (“third ’un this month,” the fossil had confided, staring hopefully at the ceiling fan backup) and the poor old soul probably had a right to be irritable—especially as Calvin had been taking his own sweet time making up his mind what he wanted.
    Trouble was, he only had fifty bucks to fiddle with, which he needed to stretch as far as possible. No checks, no credit cards (never had had them, though), and—at the moment—not even a wallet to store the single wrinkled bill in.
    The clerk cleared his throat, and Calvin started, realizing he’d been staring blankly at the shelves of cigarettes behind the man’s peeling pate.
    “Mister?”
    Calvin blinked again, refocused on the clerk, then on the array of items ranged across the counter: a plastic quart bottle of reconstituted orange juice, a Snickers bar because he needed an energy jolt, a small jar of Folger’s Coffee (too expensive, but it’d beat the headache he’d get when his morning caffeine fix wore off), a couple of sticks of beef jerky, a vacuum-sealed can of generic peanuts (as much for the can as the contents), a box of matches, a small notebook, a Bic pen, a bar of Ivory soap, and the lone surviving Savannah Morning News from the rack by the door. This last was an indulgence, but he’d been out of touch with the rest of the world for the better part of three days and figured it was about time he found out what had been going on while he’d been off doing things so preposterous only about ten people in the world would possibly believe them. Besides, Calvin could always use the paper to sleep under, to start fires with, or for any of several other purposes. Besides, one of the minor head-lines—something about a woman being found dead in Jackson County—intrigued him. He’d just been in Jackson County, so it had resonated, and…
    A third, more pointed, prompting from the cashier, and Calvin finally responded. “Uh, yeah, reckon that’ll do ’er.”
    The clerk rang up the purchase and took Calvin’s money with a relish that did not last until the returning of the change: two twenties and miscellaneous coins. Calvin dropped the pennies one by one into the cut-off paper cup designated for that purpose by the register. The sign above it read, GOT AN EXTRA? LEAVE ONE. NEED ONE? TAKE ONE.
    “Not from around here, are you?”
    Already turning to leave, Calvin scowled, wondering what had brought on this abrupt change of demeanor from someone who seconds before had seemed anxious to see his heels. Maybe it was simple relief: the guy had his money now and could afford to relax. Or perhaps he was merely lonely.
    Except Calvin didn’t think so.
    “’Fraid not,” Calvin replied at last, trying to be friendly in spite of a sudden urge to vent some heavy sarcasm, which surprised him. Usually he got on well with strangers; often as not brought up his heritage before they did, just to make them easy. The man was waiting for more too; expectant behind his thick lenses. “I’m from Atlanta, mostly,” Calvin volunteered finally.