by Joe DeRouen
Other than the sound of feet pounding against the ground and the rustling of brush as he crashed through it, there was quiet. However long I had dozed off for, it wasn’t long enough for the behemoth male to give up, or lose interest. Like a dog with a bone, I had a feeling I wouldn’t shake him off easily. Or at all.
As I continued to lay still and listen, I search my memory for anything I knew about the area. I recalled seeing the river I had hauled myself out of earlier on the GPS screen of my rental car. I had driven down a long and lonely road to the parking lot and trail head. Thinking of my car, I wondered, Did Grace call Joe when I didn’t return to the hotel? Had they found my car yet? She knew where I was going hiking. I had to make it back to my car before any of them came out here looking for me and ended up in trouble.
Immediately, I patted down my pockets again and felt for my cell phone. I’d searched my pockets earlier, after sliding into what was quickly becoming my home and hell, and came up with nothing. Not surprised, my cell hadn’t magically reappeared. Where had I dropped it? If in the river, the people I loved were safe. If the person who was stalking me found it, they would have access to my family and friends, they could summon them here, threaten them. I couldn’t determine which was worse, the idea of the maniac trying to find me luring loved ones, or destroying my phone. If he found it, my only real source of hope was silenced.
It was the feeling of my stomach grumbling against the loose soil that returned me to my body, to the here and now. I was starving. I needed food, as much to quiet my growling belly as for strength. I skimmed my memory to see if I could remember what edible foods might be found in the everglades of Florida. The image of my family picnicking in similar surroundings this past summer reminded me of the blackberries and Purslane we’d seen. Yucca shrubs had edible flowers, but they’d be impossible to get to, and I had nothing to harvest them with. The image of the axe I’d briefly held flitted through my mind. I remembered something about Sea Grapes and Cabbage Palms. Blackberries and grapes seemed my most likely choices, and those would be impossible or painful to find in the dark.
The next growl from my belly was low and angry. Shut-up, it isn’t forever. When they realize your missing, they’ll bring help. You just have to make it to daylight. There was a brief pause in my scolding of myself before hope kicked in. Help is on the way. All I have to do is hang on.
The thought of my husband and child panicking and having to call the police broke my heart. Instead of focusing on their fear and my own, I let my thoughts drift to the fantasy of being home, making pancakes and bacon for my family… clutching a cup of coffee. The thought of family and happy faces recharged me, renewed my determination. That and the image of the monster who’d corralled me and thrust a menacing chainsaw in my face, safely behind bars.
***
Bright lights set my surroundings ablaze. Before, my vision had been limited to that softly silhouetted by moonlight. Now, I was blind again. The glare so powerful, I squinted to protect my eyes. When this proved pointless, I pressed my eyes against the back on my hands, where spots and swirls began to dance behind my eyelids. While I laid as still as possible, I wondered if I was hidden or in plain sight. It was entirely possible that my only camouflage was my stillness.
My breathing was shallow, and this new piece of the nightmare had me fighting hyperventilating. I struggled to find a way to prevent myself from panicking. I locked onto the sound of a powerful humming noise which had replaced the stillness. Quickly, I realized it was the generator being used to power the vicious floodlights. Beyond caring how the madman had gotten the equipment into the site and set it up, my only thought was about trying to determine how protected I was.
I pulled my head inside the dark blue fabric of my long-sleeved t-shirt. My short brown hair flapped outside the opening for my head – my hope was that it looked like some sort of animal. After not hearing anything for quite some time, I lifted my head, and used the thin fabric as a type of lens – sunglasses – to protect my eyes, and gain some idea of what was between me and who-knows-what.
Fallen Cypress trees. I could make out I was lying under a large pile of trees, whose tangled branches, about forty feet away, formed the outer reaches of the wall of the clearing where the fire blazed. I searched further. My eyes found ferns, Fetterbush, and Wax Myrtle growing amongst the trunks of the trees. Long, draping shrouds of moss hung from the standing trees. The fatalistic side of my brain registered the moss as veiled mourners, surrounding the body of a stretched out loved one, saying goodbye. The survivor in me saw these as weapons, as protection, a way to survive.
The roots of ferns. Could I eat those? Deciding not to risk it, I slithered out from my hiding place and scurried as much as I could while remaining belly down, and grabbed a few handfuls of Dandelion leaves. I instantly thought of Ray Bradbury, and his book, Dandelion Wine, before I stuffed a few of the bitter leaves into my mouth. Bitter. I’d heard they tasted bitter. Whoever said it was right. My mouth felt dried out as I swallowed. While I chewed more leaves and swallowed their bitterness, my desire for an ice cold glass of water – so cold that condensation would form and beads of water would merge to slide down the smooth surface of a large glass – grew to epic proportions.
It was the sound of my name being called that redirected my thoughts.
***
“Mrs. DeBlois! Where are you? Don’t be frightened. You’re safe. Please, come out.”
I looked in the direction of the voice. My shirt, now soggy from my breathing and the humidity of the swamp, clung to my face. I now had my own mask. I couldn’t make out who was speaking. All I knew was it came from behind the blazing floodlights, within the clearing. Until I could see who spoke, I would ignore the soothing pleas to reveal myself.
***
A second pair of boots landed on the soil by my head. While out-waiting my pursuer, I had stealthily twisted twigs off the trunk overhead. When I heard thumping boots, I had turned my head sideways, turning my face away from the clearing, resting on my left cheek, and prayed that I wouldn’t be impaled. When his boots were firmly on the ground, and my body went unscathed, I felt a mixture of relief and fear.
From far too close, I heard a very deep voice shout, “Mrs. DeBlois!” Then softly mutter “What the fuck?” I watched his feet turn in circles, trying to decide which way to go. Fortunately, he walked in the opposite direction. A few paces away, I heard him say, “Melvin, are you sure this is where she came out of the clearing?” The answer to his question was a string of curse words followed by a firm, ‘yes.’ “Then get your ass over here, and help me look for her. She could be hiding under this stack of fallen trees.” My heartbeat rose to a volume and speed that left me vulnerable to the fear I would reveal myself or have a heart attack. Instead of either of those things happening, I heard Melvin shout, “I found a phone.”
The man who stood nearby took off in a burst. Finally, I lost control. Instead of lying still as a sloth, I began to shake. One click of a button would display the smiling faces of those I loved most dearly. Another click would have the phone in my house ringing – or my daughter’s, or my husband’s.
Could they persuade my family they had me? Bait them to come get me? Joe and Grace must have contacted the police by now. Would the police care I was missing, since I had been gone less than twenty-four hours? Less than twelve hours to be more precise.
The mumbling in the distance tore at me. Tears were silently rolling across the bridge of my nose and down my cheeks as the two men began yelling at each other. I blocked out the sound of their bickering. Instead, I silently breathed out the sob I had been holding. I would not give myself away. I would not give in.
***
With the rising sun, the bright floodlights were turned off, the droning hum of the generator disappeared. I had remained lying on my side, facing away from the clearing. As the sun rose steadily in the sky, the nooks and crannies of my world came into focus. Though it was the least of my problems, I was reli
eved I didn’t spy any animals nearby. The twittering of birds began to ring throughout the trees. In the distance, I heard gulls cry, but nearby I heard swifts, warblers, and sparrows call out. Slowly I turned my head, and saw the small birds flitting about. Tiny bodies bobbed in and around the trees, lighting upon branches, swiveling their heads, searching for danger, for food.
Their singing signified Melvin and his… co-conspirator… were gone, or had been still for quite some time. As quietly as possible, I made my way out of my hiding spot once again, desperate for water and food. I took a moment to move my arms and legs around, to ease the stiffness that had settled there. Afterwards, I observed the clearing from varying positions, and saw it was empty. The only sign of life were the gasping coals of the fire, glowing orange. Eight floodlights circled the clearing, facing out into the woods. They don’t lack for money or supplies, I thought. It was then I saw a cooler, it had been hidden by the enormous woodpile.
As silently as my feet would carry me, I made my way to the dark blue Coleman cooler and lifted the lid. Inside I found a supply of disposable water bottles, a sandwich, and a container full of bait used for fishing. I was tempted to take the sandwich, but they would notice it was missing. A couple bottles of water, no. I grabbed out four, stuffing two inside my shirt, which was tucked into my hiking shorts. I scanned the circle of the clearing once again, and made my way back to my bastion.
I squatted down next to my hidey-hole and gulped down one bottle of water. I drank half of another before I felt my thirst begin to be quenched. When I had been surveilling the clearing, I had seen a number of blackberry bushes. The birds continued twittering, apparently having accepted my presence as non-threatening, so I decided to brave it and forage for berries. My hope was that they would resume silence if danger returned. I carefully listened for anything that would alarm them.
Ten minutes later, I was grateful for the long sleeved shirt. My arms would surely have been torn to shreds by the thorns, as my hands greedily stripped the bushes of their fruit. My brain told me to slow down, but my hunger drove my hands to pick and stuff the sweet, juicy fruit into my mouth. I was by no means full, but reasonably sated when the birds turned silent.
I froze in place. Fear gripped me so tightly I didn’t turn to see if I was in danger. Then just as quickly, the birds resumed their singing.
***
The food and water gave me enough energy to find my way down the barely visible trail alongside the river. I moved slowly and stopped frequently. A few times I heard the slither and splash of a large animal entering or exiting the river, which added to the sense of foreboding. I found myself constantly fighting to keep my thoughts from turning to frightening images and possibilities. I forced myself to listen to the birds as I carefully picked my way down the trail. From a distance, I saw many species of birds. On a normal day, I would have found a quiet place to sit and watched them. Today, I creeped along, wondering what it would be like to be able to take flight.
As the sun rose to its summit and began its path across the sky, the humid air became more and more draining. I had finished the second bottle of water, and had rationed myself to wetting my parched tongue, but nothing more. Sweat saturated my clothes, the only benefit was that when a rare breeze blew past, my body cooled down a bit. I squinted up at the sun and decided it must be around 2:00 in the afternoon. I stopped once again and ate more berries. Standing there, sweating and swaying on my feet, I decided it was time to find a place to hide and rest.
I walked further down the trail, careful to not disturb any branches or leave footprints in the rich earth. Finally, I came upon a large boulder covered in moss, which had a few tree snags leaning up against it. Ferns, with delicate, arching fronds, sprouted out of the earth, in front of a thicket of reeds. The enclosure would provide some protection while I took respite. I backed into the opening, and pulled my knees to my chest as I leaned against the cool moss covering the stone. My body drained it of its coolness as I fell into a deep sleep.
***
It was my head tipping backwards, throwing the rest of me off balance, which woke me. Once I resettled myself, I tried to determine what my next course of action should be. From the golden light dancing upon the leaves of the trees, I guessed that I had been asleep no more than two hours. That also meant I had now been missing for twenty-four hours. It unnerved me to think it was possible for any number of voices to be calling, “Mrs. DeBlois.” How would I know which voice was safe? How would I know that I could come out of hiding?
Though I feared leaving my safe haven, I decided to make my way further down the trail, hoping to come upon someone, who like myself, would enjoy a day hike. With that hope, was the desperation I would find friend and not foe.
Whatever peace of mind I had gained from the water, berries, and sleep was immediately stripped from me when I heard my name called from quite some distance away. Again, I guessed I had walked a quarter mile from where I had rested this afternoon. Perhaps they had found signs of me there? Immediately, my eyes left the trail and sought a place to hide.
I spun in a circle, searching. Nothing. No fallen pile of trees, no moss covered rocks, no caves, burrows, or warrens. I took off at a slow trot, hoping that I would come across safety soon. My limited energy reserves were soon depleted, and I found myself stumbling over my own feet. A cramp in my side took me by surprise. Fearing I would lose my footing, I slowed myself down, and bent over in pain. Breathing was hard, it felt more like gulping water, since the air was so humid. Dizziness washed over me, and the desire to lay down and surrender to my body’s limits was overwhelming. My situation had grown direr, if that was possible. That I recognized it shook me to my core.
I stumbled around a bit, my feet smashing ferns, scuffing the damp soil, as I combed the landscape for refuge. My eyes landed upon a stand of Cypress surrounded be a tangled mess of scrubland. Half a football field away? I wondered. Can’t be, can’t see that far. I talked to myself more and more. It comforted me I was still able to think rationally. Safety of some sort was within a few hundred feet, if I could make my way to it. An additional measure of relief was found when I realized while I was talking to myself, the cramp in my side had eased, and my breathing was better. Though still light-headed, I no longer felt nauseous.
“Mrs. DeBlois!” The deep baritone voice called out. Closer. Too close.
He spurred me into action. I carefully made my way to the stand of Cypress, hoping if he had tracked me, my stumbling, and chaotic footprints would confuse him while I clambered to safety.
Once again, the long sleeves of my shirt saved me from some cuts and scrapes. Somehow, I pushed my way through brambles and grasses as tall as me, flinching a few times when thorns dug deep into my skin, and held me captive. At some point, I gave up untangling myself from the blackberry vines, and let the thorns pull at my flesh. My reward was entrance into a seclude copse that bore the signs of a nesting animal. I squatted down and leaned against a tree trunk for support. With eyes closed, I strained my ears, trying to ascertain where he was. Was he Melvin? Would knowing his name help me? If I called him by name, would it humanize him? Make him sympathetic?
Without warning, I started to cry. It was no time to cry, but my mind and body didn’t seem to care. I folded myself into a ball on the ground beside the carefully woven nest of twigs, moss, grass, and mud. I pressed my face into the crook of my elbow, hoping to muffle the sound of my sobs. I was so tired. So afraid.
***
Sleep did not find me. Delirium did. The canopy overhead began to swirl and bend in unnatural ways. I clamped my eyes shut, trying to avoid the disorienting images. “Mrs. DeBlois.” The voice was near, and I wondered if it were better to give in and call out to him. If I revealed myself, perhaps he would feed me, give me water, and then I could try and escape later. “Mrs. DeBlois.” His intense voice was very near. I heard shrubs shatter under his attack. I heard birds screech and caw, as if trying to motivate me to get me on my feet and flee.
Before Sunrise, November 2nd
Cramps now gripped my stomach. Laying on my side, I dry-heaved yet again. My hollow innards ached from exhaustion and depletion. It comforted me to pull my knees up to my chest in between bouts of retching. I drew myself into as small a ball as I could and pulled the water bottle to my lips, wetting my tongue, running it over my teeth. The small drop of water washed over the roof of my mouth and down my throat. I could feel its distinct path as it trickled across the parched cavity.
At some point, I had accepted I was dehydrated and in shock. Ironically, I had called out to the baritone voice, only to go ignored. I must have been too weak to be heard. Unless he resumed his search with more zeal, I was finished.
I laid absolutely still for quite some time. Opening my eyes was not an option. My eyelids felt like fine grit sandpaper sliding across wooden orbs. The once fragile and delicate flesh was now dried out and ripped at my eyes painfully, serving no purpose.
My mind wandered. What was there to see? In my head, I cataloged the trees, thousands of stars which can only be seen from somewhere as dark as the Everglades, birds and nocturnal animals. Who wants to see whatever slithering reptiles were out there? Not me. I poured the last drop of water I had into my mouth, only to find my tongue too swollen to admit it.
My mind wandered down many paths. My mother called my name, and told me to come in for supper. My husband smiled shyly at me from across the table at the pizza joint, where we had our first date. I cried out when I saw my daughter’s tiny face, counted her tiny fingers and toes.