The Web

Ben lying asleep on the carnage. An absurd alibi.

Skip's outrage, genuine. Hostile to Moreland because his father resented the old man, he'd eagerly whipped up the villagers' anger.

Framing Ben had killed three birds with one stone: damaging Moreland irreparably, getting rid of his protEgE, and causing another deep rip in Aruk's social fabric.

Hastening the exodus from the island.

Hoffman and Stasher-Layman's war of attrition. Perhaps Hoffman had decided to speed things up after coming face to face with the old man, his stubbornness…

Believing Moreland cared about the island, when all he really wanted was a few years of peace for the kids.

Moreland willing to do anything to prevent Hoffman from finding out about the kids. Willing to let Aruk die, buying time.

The two of them circling like wrestlers, waiting for an opening.

Still, the same thing bothered me: if Moreland had that kind of power over Hoffman, why not bargain harder?

Creedman stepped in front of me. 'Stay back.' The thin mustache was beaded with perspiration.

'Sure, Tom. But when this is over, share some gourmet recipes with me. How about girl bourguignon?'

Creedman's nostrils opened. From behind, Haygood cleared his throat and Creedman grabbed Moreland and cuffed him through the passage. Then he turned sideways and squeezed in himself. When he was several paces ahead of us, Haygood cupped Robin's buttock, squeezed, and shoved.

'Go, babe.'

Then the heel of his hand hit me in the lower back.

We filed out. When the passage widened, Creedman stopped and Haygood herded us into the center. The dead eyes shifted as he heard something.

Music from the game room. The broken record removed. Something new asserting itself above the generator.

The wheels on the bus go round and round…

'What the…?' said Creedman.

The game room was less than thirty feet away, the door partially open.

Haygood said, 'What's with the music?'

'I like music,' said Moreland. 'As I said, it's my refuge.'

'Kiddie music?' said Creedman. 'You are one buggy old fart.' His eyes brightened: 'Do you bring little girls down here to play?'

Moreland blinked. 'Hardly.'

'Hardly,' Creedman imitated. 'Maybe you bring kiddies down here to play doctor.'

The doors on the bus go open and shut…

'Projection,' said Moreland.

'What's that?'

'A Freudian term. Projecting one's own impulses onto someone else. That's what you just did, Tom.'

'Oh, fuck off, you self-righteous bag of shit.' To us: 'Bet you didn't know Dr. Bill here was once the ace pussy-hound of the U.S. Navy. Big-time stud, chased everything in a skirt, the younger the better. Remember those days, Dr. Bill? Chasing and bagging, dark meat, light meat, any kind of meat? Just couldn't control your pecker, could you? Drove poor Mrs. Bill to one-way surfing.'

Moreland said nothing, did nothing. That blank look…

'Turned herself to shark chum,' said Creedman, 'because Dr. Bill here couldn't stop playing doctor with the local pussy. Nice advantage, that M.D. Knock some little thing up, do your own abortion-'

'Unlike you,' I said. 'Assault with a dead weapon.'

Creedman snarled. Haygood clicked his tongue and said, 'Check out all these doors.'

'Maybe you should,' said Creedman. 'You're the expert.'

Haygood shrugged and pushed Robin, Moreland, and me close together. Backing away, he said, 'Not the stomach, the head,' and Creedman raised his gun till it was half a foot from Robin's right eye.

'Any problems,' he said, 'I want to see her brains on the wall.'

He stepped back some more, pausing a few feet from the entrance to the latrine, then flattening himself against the wall the way cops do and inching toward the opening, gun first.

Waiting. Looking back at us. Waiting some more.

He peeked in. Took a long, slow look.

The broad face puzzled.

Moving to the next door, just as carefully.

'Wait,' I said. 'It's rigged- that door and the others. He's got it booby-trapped.'

Haygood turned.

'He is nuts,' I said. 'Stockpiling food and clothes and survival gear, preparing for the end of the world. I'd let you blow yourself up, but he's rigged enough explosives to turn us all into soup.'

'That so?' said Haygood.

'Tell him, Bill.'

'Nonsense,' said Moreland. 'Utter nonsense.'

Haygood thought a while. 'What doors are you saying are rigged?'

'That one for sure,' I said. 'The room where the music's coming from has a package of dynamite hooked up to the record player. The cable runs into another room. Connected to a generator- listen.'

The drone.

'He's got it set up so if the record arm's lifted, boom. There are probably other traps, too, but that's the one he showed us.'

'Ridiculous,' said Moreland. 'Go take a look, Anders.'

'How about you go in there,' Haygood told him. 'Turn off the music while I watch you.'

Moreland blinked. 'I'd rather not.'

'Why not?'

'Because it's silly,' said Moreland.

'Come over here,' said Haygood.

Moreland ignored him.

'Come over here, pissant.'

Moreland closed his eyes and moved his lips silently.

Creedman took hold of his shirt and yanked him forward. 'Move, you crazy asshole!'

Moreland passed within Haygood's reach and Haygood got behind him.

'Go,' he said, shoving the old man.

Moreland stumbled and stopped. 'I'd rather not.'

'Go or I'll kill you, sir.'

'I'd rather-'

'Okay,' said Haygood, smiling at me. 'Thanks for the tip, doc. What else should we know about?'

'I wish I knew.'

The driver on the bus says, 'Move on back…'

'Fucking maniac,' said Creedman. 'Let's shoot all of them right now and get the hell out of here, Anders.'

'I don't think so,' said Haygood.

Ordered by his bosses to keep Moreland alive. Till the insurance policy was found… Hoffman going along with the stalemate for thirty years, willing to wait a while longer.

Thirty years of silence from Moreland had convinced him the paradise needle had been forgotten. So he'd felt