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loser； Twilly saw that the man was wearing baggy Jockey shorts and a sleeveless undershirt。 He looked scrawny and old； too old to be moving so fast。
〃We're still on the island。 He can set the chopper down on the beach。 〃
Twilly tackled the man from behind。 He rolled him over in the sand and was about to uncork a punch when he saw it was his father。 In the dream； Little Phil Spree blinked up at his son and chirped； 〃The coast is clear！ The coast is clear！〃
〃I've got the man who shot the boy 。。。 I haven't decided yet； Jim； but don't you worry your pretty head。〃
In the dream the dog began to bark madly and spin； a frantic feral spell。 Twilly Spree pulled away from his father and sprung to his feet。 All along the shore； as far as he could see in both directions； were shiny mustard…yellow bulldozers。 Poised on every dune！ Blades Clinting in the sun； the dozers were aligned in ready position at identical angles； like a division of panzers。 〃The coast is clear！〃 crooned Twilly's father。
〃The woman's doing all right。 I expect she'll want to ride along in the whirlybird 。。。 She's nodding yes。 Also； there's a station wagon here that oughta be disposed of pretty quick。 〃
Twilly ran headlong for the water。 The black dog followed him in； baying insanely。 The Gulf was chilly and mirror…calm。 When the dog finally quit barking； Twilly could hear his father chanting mindlessly on the beach…and also the fearsome rumble of the bulldozers； chewing up the island。 In the dream Twilly waited for the dog to catch up； and together they struck out for the horizon。 The sky over the water darkened with birds that were spooked from the island by the din of the earth…moving machines。 As he swam farther and farther out to sea； Twilly grew afraid that the gulls and terns and skimmers would start tumbling down like before； blood…spattered and broken。 If that happened； he wouldn't be able to bear it…he was too weak and too lost。 If the birds came down again； it would be over； Twilly knew。 In such a morbid rain； he would drown。 He would not survive his own dream。
〃Good news。 I'm ing in on that chopper； too 。。。 I got a little errand to run and you're gonna help me； Lieutenant 。。。 Because you wouldn't want to miss it for the world； that's why。〃
25
Oh； Mr。 Gash put up a fight。
Not a great fight； but then again； he was minus a kneecap and most of his tongue。 So pain was a factor。 Plus he was stark naked； which seriously promised his freewheeling style of personal bat。 Nonetheless； he managed to get off a couple of right hooks that would have knocked most men to their knees。
The punches had no discernible effect upon the bum in the checkered skirt； who at the time was lugging Mr。 Gash down the slope of a hill。 The hill was not a natural formation； for Toad Island was as flat as a skillet。 The hill had been created by earth…moving machines。 It was a steep mound of scraped…up soil； scrub and tree stumps； the debris of a road…grading incursion through the pine woods。 The bum had slung Mr。 Gash over one shoulder； like a sack of lime； and charged down the soft…packed bank。 He seemed to be in a hurry。 Mr。 Gash slugged at him frenetically； landing at least two monster blows…one to the ribs； one to the kidneys。 Nothing； not even a grunt of acknowledgment。 The bum kept to his mission。 Mr。 Gash flailed and spluttered incoherently。 He knew something bad was ing。 He just didn't know what。
At the bottom of the hill； the bum dumped him and turned to go back up。
Now what？ thought Mr。 Gash。 He made one last ferocious swipe at the man but came away with only the pinned…together checkered skirt； which turned out to be a flag of the sort waved at the finish line of automobile races。 Mr。 Gash used it to sop the blood from the holes in his cheeks。 The stump of his tongue stung like a mother。 He lay in the mulch and pondered his options； which were limited。 Because his mangled right leg was useless； escape by running； walking or crawling was impossible。 He would have to wriggle； and wriggle swiftly； assuming the bum was not finished with him。
With a mournful effort； Mr。 Gash rolled himself over。 He reached out both arms； dug his fingers into the sodden grit and pulled himself forward until his chin touched his knuckles。 Total linear progress： Two feet； max。
Mr。 Gash thought： This sucks。 He felt the tickle of an insect on his buttocks and flogged at it awkwardly。 From the other side of the man…made hill came the chug…chugging of an engine； too rackety to be a car。 Steadily it got louder。 Mr。 Gash craned his neck； squinting into the gloom。 Of course he knew what he was hearing。 He'd driven one of the damn things himself； the night he took care of that troublemaker Brinkman。 Now the rig loomed directly above him； on the crest of the slope。 Mr。 Gash recognized the blocky square…edged outline。 He could smell the acrid exhaust。 A tall figure emerged from the cab； then reached back inside…undoubtedly to release the brake。
〃Fuugghh me；〃 Mr。 Gash groaned。
The bulldozer jolted clangorously downhill。 Rabidly； Mr。 Gash tried to drag himself out of its path； and he almost made it。 Only half of him got pinned under the track； the lower half。
So his lungs still worked； which was encouraging。 Another positive sign was the surprising lack of pain below his waist。 Mr。 Gash concluded that the bulldozer had not crushed his torso so much as embedded it in the spongy turf。 His immediate concern were the diesel fumes being belched into his face。 His eyes burned and his stomach roiled…obviously the dozer's exhaust pipes had been damaged in the descent。 Eventually the machine would run out of fuel and its engine would cut off； but Mr。 Gash wondered if he could stay conscious until then； inhaling from a noxious cloud。 He felt simultaneously sleepy and convulsive。
A pair of dirt…caked hiking boots appeared before him。 Then the bulldozer hiccuped once and went silent。 As the smoke dissipated； Mr。 Gash raised up on his forearms and drank in the fresh breeze。 Crouched beside him was the bum； his glass eye gleaming like a polished ruby in the starlight。
〃You're gonna die out here；〃 he said to Mr。 Gash。
〃Ungh…ungh。〃
〃Yeah； you are； Iggy。 It's all over。〃
'Iggy'？ Now the fucker's making fun of my hair！ Mr。 Gash boiled。
〃You're dying even as we speak；〃 the bum said。 〃Trust me。 I know a thing or two about roadkill。 You qualify。〃
〃Ungh…ungh！〃
〃In case you haven't noticed； your ass is lying under a Cat D6。 That's twenty tons of serious steel；〃 said the bum。 〃I don't know about making peace with God； but it might be a good time to tell the young lady you're sorry for trying to hurt her。 Want me to go get her？〃
Mr。 Gash said； 〃Fuugghh oooh； popff。〃
The bum stood up。 〃That's a mighty poor attitude；〃 he said； 〃for a man who's bleeding out of both ears。 Now； if you'll excuse me； Iggy； I've gotta go track down some fool dog。〃
〃FUUGGHH OOOOH！〃
Mr。 Gash's head sagged。 Soon he heard the crunch of the bum's heavy footsteps fading into the woods。
What an idiot； thought Mr。 Gash。 He should've shot me！ I'll be out of here by dawn！
Hastily he began trying to dig himself out from beneath the track of the bulldozer。 The task was arduous。 Being pi