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The Girl Who Cried Wolf:
PROLOGUE

Glenn pumped away on the swing, rusty chains creaking as he watched the last of the sunbathers lazing on their towels, legs crossed, bodies tangled. Music drifted from cars in the parking lot. Little kids played tag with the crashing waves, foam tickling their bare feet as they dashed out of reach, squealing. He swung higher now, pulling himself straight into the clear blue sky, leaving the earth behind. The setting sun hung just above the horizon, the Pacific streaked with red and purple and gold. Toxic as far as the eye could see. If he thought about it too hard, his head would explode.

Eli rinsed off under the shower at the edge of the beach. A short, muscular surf rat in knee-length jams, he was an amped-up nineteen-year-old with crackling blue eyes and sun-bleached dreads. He turned off the shower, shook out his hair, and sauntered over to the swing set. “Tree’s still not back? You think something’s wrong?”

Everything’s wrong.”

“Lighten up, you know what I mean.” Eli cranked off one-handed pull-ups on the chinning bar, biceps popping. “You think he got caught?”

Glenn kept swinging, higher and higher. While he had spent the last half hour watching for cop cars through the twenty-five-cent-a-minute tourist binoculars, thinking about everything that could go wrong, Eli had romped in the surf with a stray dog like they were blood brothers, innocent and mindless and free. Fucking idiot.

Glenn could see the housing development on the bluffs overlooking South Laguna, three-story behemoths rising from the orange dirt, the workmen gone for the day—Golden Sky Estates, prices starting at three-point-five million and half of them already sold. Nice to be a fucking one-percenter.

It had taken eight years of legal battles before the Golden Sky bandits won the right to build on the bluffs. Eight years and all it took was giving a few acres of salt marsh to the nature weenies as a permanent bird sanctuary. Big whoop. A seagull drifted overhead, oblivious to the filth in the air, the heavy metals in the fish it ate. Lucky bird not to know what was killing him. Glenn felt his cells under assault with every breath he took.

The winds blew up from the south, straight off the San Onofre nuke plant, scrambling Glenn’s DNA, singeing his bone marrow. If he ever wanted to breed, which he didn’t, he’d probably father some two-headed retard. The richies ready to move into Golden Sky Estates wouldn’t have to worry—they’d have bottled water and HEPA air filters, they’d pop iodine capsules to prevent radiation sickness, and spend whatever it took to eat certified organic. If you had money, the rest of the world could fuck off and die. Must be nice. Glenn was determined to find out just how nice. Cleo was going to help him. Girl had opened his eyes. Pointed out the line in the sand and what happened to people with the courage to step over it. Not that Glenn needed much encouragement.

“Southern California rules,” said Eli, doing slow rotations on the monkey bars in the dusk. “Swimming in the ocean…you can’t beat it.”

“I hope you kept your mouth closed. You’re going to swallow a condom out there someday.”

Eli winced. “Yeah…I forget how dirty it is,” he said, his pectorals flat as salad plates, twitching now. “I seen all kinds of tar balls and fish in the water floating belly up, and this one kid had a dead crab stuck on top of his sand castle.”

Glenn closed his eyes as he gripped the swing chains, pumping higher and higher. He didn’t give a shit about crabs or fish or little kids and their sand castles. He let his head fall back, swinging slowly, his long hair trailing across the sand, and he imagined his hair writing words in a foreign language, storm warnings no one but he could read. It was hard being the smartest one. He was twenty-nine, taller than Eli, smooth muscled, sleek and powerful—with his olive skin and good looks he could have probably been a male model. A real charmer in baggy cream-colored shorts and a well-worn HARVARD polo shirt. He probably could have gotten in to that fancy-ass school too if his grades were better or he hadn’t blown off the SATs or his old man hadn’t been such a loser. Screw it. The polo shirt was as good as a diploma anyway. Besides, after today—

“I thought that was you.”

Glenn opened his eyes. Saw two girls looking down at him, teenagers in string bikinis, salt crusted on their tanned bellies. He pushed his sunglasses back onto his forehead.

“I saw you at the Eco-Summit last year in Santa Cruz,” said the redhead. “You and the cutie pie on the chinning bar. There was an old guy too. You gave a seminar on free-climbing…so we could hang banners off bridges to save the forest and the Gulf and all the rest of it. The three of you had a funny name…what was it?”

“Monkey Boyz. With a Z.”

“Monkey Boyz, right. Fits you too.” The redhead dragged a pink toe in the sand. “I thought you were really brave. Really committed.”

“Sure, I remember you.” Glenn looked her over. “You were the only one who got past the first story of the practice structure.”

“I used to be a gymnast. Then I hit puberty.”

Glenn smiled. “You hit it pretty hard too.”

The redhead blushed. She had three gold hoops in her right ear, another in her belly button. Maybe another someplace else. The other girl was busy watching Eli doing rotations on the bar, giggling as he hesitated at the top, toes pointed toward the sky, showing off for her. “Where’s the other one?” said the redhead. “The geezer.”

“He’s not here. Just me and Eli.” Glenn stood up, inches from her now. “I’m Glenn,” he said softly. “Glenn…like a quiet place in the woods.”

The redhead nodded. “Okay.” She had a tiny pimple on the side of her mouth. Could be herpes. He took a step back, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I guess you guys are here for the big Stop Corporate Crime rally, huh?”

“That’s right.”

The wind lifted her hair, and she pushed it back. “It’s just so cool. Seems like every car on the freeway has a Go Veggie or an Anarchy now! bumper sticker.”

“Yeah, blows against the empire.”

The redhead looked confused. Her friend called to her, said her mom was there. “Maybe we could get together after the rally tomorrow?” she hurried. “I’m working at the Humble Harvest Falafel stand.”

“Cool,” said Glenn.

She kissed him on the cheek. “Totally.”

Glenn wiped his cheek, watched her chase after her friend. He wondered if he should clean the spot with alcohol.

“Tree just drove up,” said Eli.

Glenn ambled to the pay-binoculars, digging in his pockets for change. His heart pounded as he swung the lenses toward their van.

Tree got out of the old VW camper, so tall that he had to bend almost in half to clear the door. He started toward the playground, a glum chum in his late thirties but looking older, his long hair and beard streaked with gray. A logger before he saw the light, Tree wasn’t much for talk, but he was hardcore, and the man could climb. He wasn’t as fast as Eli, who muscled up the tallest timber and held the speed record for the Golden Gate, but Tree climbed effortlessly, instinctively, not even looking where he put his hands or feet. Glenn wasn’t much for art galleries and poetry, but watching Tree scamper up a three-hundred-year-old redwood at dawn was as close to beauty as he had ever seen.

Glenn turned the binoculars to the housing development on the bluffs, the half-built houses sharp as sticks. Incredible view from the mansions. Some business fuck could probably spot seals and dolphins from his La-Z-Boy on the patio, track gray whales going south to Baja to spawn. Ring a little silver bell and here comes Josephina or Esmeralda with a cold beer and caviar on a Ritz cracker. Houses probably came with a screening room and a bathtub deep enough to drown an elk. Glenn sensed Tree standing beside him as he watched the house through the binoculars. “You smell like the inside of an oven, big man.”

“Yo, Tree!” called Eli, doing walkovers on the parallel bars. “Check this out.”

“Any problem cutting the lines?” said Glenn.

“No,” said Tree.

Glenn focused on a huge crow perched on a porta-potty at the edge of the bluffs. Bad decision at every level. “How long before you make the call?”

“Soon,” said Tree. “Got to give the gas time to build up.”

CLICK. The binoculars’ time ran out, the image suddenly black. Glenn looked up, watched the horizon. The sun almost gone now, the ocean bleeding. The last of the locals packed up their things, shaking out their blankets. A doofus with a metal detector walked the dunes, head down, headphones on as he doused for nickels and class rings. “You got a quarter, Tree?”

“We should get out of here,” said Tree.

“No way I’m missing the big finale,” said Glenn.

Eli did slow spins on the bar.

Glenn held his hand out. Resisted the impulse to snap his fingers.

Tree hesitated, then gave him some change.

Glenn fed five minutes’ worth of quarters into the binoculars.

Eli straddled the bar. Squinted at the bluffs. “Uh-oh.”

“What?” said Glenn.

“Car’s coming,” said Eli.

Glenn peered through the binoculars. A white car drove down the main street of Golden Sky. Slowed. Parked in front of the model home. Shit.

“You said there wasn’t going to be anybody there,” said Eli.

“Wasn’t supposed to be.” Glenn gently turned the focus knob, the image sharpening, so clear now that he could read the license plate number. A woman in the front seat touched up her lipstick. “Her bad luck.”

Her?” said Eli, still sitting on the bar.

“Bitch in a big-ass, white Mercedes,” said Glenn. “A real ozone killer. Gotta be a realtor.” He zoomed in closer. “Tall blonde getting out…walking toward the house—”

Eli shaded his eye with one hand. “I seen her at the open house last week. Stone MILF.” He glanced over at Glenn. “Shame to waste something that sweet, bro.”

“What, the Girl Scout troop was full so you signed on with me and Tree?” said Glenn. “Hike up your nutsack, Eli.”

“I’m just saying…why not wait until she’s gone?” said Eli.

Glenn whistled, eyes pressed against the binoculars. “She just ran out of the house. Got her hand over her mouth. Left the front door wide open, so the gas is leaking out all over now. She's going to ruin everything if we let her.” He looked over at Tree. “You going to make the call or not?”

Tree clutched the cell phone.

Glenn stared at him. “We’re making a statement here, big man. No more demonstrations. No more shutting down freeways and torching Hummer dealerships. Tree? Look at me, Tree. We have to show them we’re serious.”

The phone trembled in Tree’s hand.

Glenn went back to the binoculars. “She’s in her car now. Car’s zigzagging…she just ran into the curb…”

Tree punched in numbers on the phone.

Eli did a handstand on the bars.

Tree’s finger crooked above the last number.

“You wait any longer, there’s not going to be enough gas to do the job,” said Glenn. “You either get in line to gangbang Mama Earth or you do something about it.”

Eli spun around the bar, faster and faster.

Tree’s finger stabbed the last number.

Eli flipped up, made three rotations in the air and landed on the sand. He stuck the dismount. Threw his hands up.

The model home exploded in a blue fireball as the natural gas inside ignited. Splintered two-by-fours and orange barrel-tile rained across the beach. Secondary explosions erupted from the other houses that Tree had rigged. Deafening explosions, the flames feeding off themselves now. The Mercedes rolled slowly out of the smoke, covered in fire as it tumbled off the bluffs. The car landed upside down on the beach, tires ablaze, black smoke rolling across the sand.

Eli stared at the burning car. Slowly lowered his hands.

Glenn smiled so hard he was afraid his face was going to crack.

“I...I don’t want to be here anymore,” whispered Tree.

“Sure,” said Glenn. “Okay.”

“I want to go someplace green,” said Tree.

“That’s just where we’re going,” said Glenn. “Seattle’s as green as it gets. I’ve got plans for us. This is just the beginning.” He swung the binoculars around the beach, checked out the open-mouthed spectators. Car horns beeped. He scanned the distant jetty through the binoculars. Stopped. Focused. Not believing what he saw. Cleo looked back at him from the jetty, straight, black hair catching the wind, her white dress billowing around her legs. She looked right at him. Right into his heart. Blew him a kiss. Glenn shivered as the heat from the burning Mercedes rippled across the beach like a fiery snake.

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