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Back The Nest Save as PDF
Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. Copyright page
  3. Introduction by Will Errickson
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. TREMORS
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. SUSPICIONS
  13. 1
  14. 2
  15. 3
  16. 4
  17. 5
  18. DREAD
  19. 1
  20. 2
  21. 3
  22. 4
  23. 5
  24. 6
  25. WITNESS
  26. 1
  27. 2
  28. 3
  29. ALERT
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. ENCOUNTER
  36. 1
  37. 2
  38. 3
  39. 4
  40. 5
  41. 6
  42. HAVOC
  43. 1
  44. 2
  45. 3
  46. 4
  47. 5
  48. 6
  49. SEARCH
  50. 1
  51. 2
  52. 3
  53. 4
  54. 5
  55. CLASH
  56. 1
  57. 2
  58. 3
  59. 4
  60. 5
  61. 6
  62. 7
  63. COUNTERATTACK
  64. 1
  65. 2
  66. 3
  67. 4
  68. 5
  69. 6
  70. 7
  71. VICTORY
  72. 1
  73. 2
  74. 3
  75. 4
  76. 5
  77. 6
  78. 7
  79. 8
  80. 9
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. About the Author

All Alex Matthews knew was that he wanted the open air after the lock-­up. He was sure his friends would be hanging out at what they had jubilantly labeled their private Paw-­Paw Patch. He had wondered for a while why Bo and Tony hadn’t shown up at the jail. He decided they had gotten away from the fuzz and hidden in the woods. He was hazy about the whole thing. The sheriff told him he had nearly drowned, but he didn’t remember anything. He’d had a great dream—like flying, only better. Being an actual fish! He could have swum under water forever. Still, some part of his head suggested he should be thankful that the sheriff had come along. It was one thing to dream a great trip like being a fish—it was another to make it real. Well, hell, everyone knew hallucinogens could be dangerous. The risk was part of the fun. Like Russian roulette, in a way. You really never did know when the shit might turn on you instead of turning you on.

He shouldn’t be worrying about it, the man frowned at himself. He knew what he was doing, all the way. If there was danger, it was worth it to him. Hopheads of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but the chains of the fools of convention!

The man broke into a run as he reached the tarred road bordering the woods. He remembered the path to the cliff and the cove. His excitement grew as he thought of the stash of Acapulco Gold his main men had waiting down there.

For a fleeting moment, he had considered stopping in the village and phoning his parents, but the hell with them, with college, with practicing Beethoven. This music was what he wanted—the loud rustling of the leaves in the forest, the songs of nature, like that hissing some neat animal was welcoming him with, the sound of the wind in the trees. Ah, here his gut and his head and his soul came together as he wanted! This was what he had come to Cape Cod for! He leaped on the path, coming down hard on the ground. He kicked his heels and cavorted at being out of the crumby cell. He stamped and scattered leaves as he bounded along. “God’s dandruff!” he laughed at the leaves flying in the wind. The hissing, louder now, was like the whistling call of his friends.

Alex Matthews plunged into the thick of the darkening woods with a near-­hysterical cry of joy: “Hey, you dudes! Ready or not, here I come!”