Sisters of the Mist

by Eric Wilder

  Chapter 26

  A sudden chill swept through the swamp as we loaded our daypacks, tied the pontoon boat to a cypress tree, and then stepped onto the spongy earth of the high ground that stood only a few inches out of the water.

  Once away from the main pool, the cypress trees began to disappear, replaced by hardwood trees stunted by the swampy earth in which they grew. There was no clear path through the trees and underbrush. J.P. wanted to brief us, so we gathered around him.”

  “There are no roads, and the only paths are animal trails. As you can see, it gets tight in places, so we’ll be walking in single file. Slick and Lucky will go first and be our scout dogs. They’ll alert us if there’s trouble ahead. Rory, you walk point. Keep your sword ready and widen the path if necessary.”

  “Will do,” Rory said.

  “Wyatt, you follow Rory. Let the dagger point the way and direct him when we need to change course.”

  “What about the dogs?” Abba asked.

  “They’ll sense what we’re doing and get ahead of us. You’ll see. They’re natural hunters.”

  Slick and Lucky were eager to get into the woods their tails wagging when Abba knelt and hugged them.

  “What about me?” she asked.

  “You follow Wyatt, and I’ll bring up the rear. Any questions?” We stood there, shaking our heads. “Then let’s move out,” he said.

  Lucky and Slick moved ahead of us, walking ten to fifteen feet ahead of Rory. I rested Exethelon in the palm of my hand, tapping Rory’s shoulder whenever we needed to adjust our course. As J.P. had said, Lucky and Slick altered directions every time that we did.

  “We’re not going to get anywhere very quickly moving no faster than we are,” Abba said.

  “It is what it is,” J.P. said. “Everybody, watch your step. It’s slick, and there’s snakes, hogs, and quicksand, hidden by the brush.”

  We halted abruptly after thirty minutes of steady walking when Slick barked once and stopped in front of us. J.P. signaled for us to stay in place as he went to see what they’d found. He wasn’t smiling when he returned.

  “There’s a creek blocking our path. It’s either wade across here, or else follow the bank till it narrows for an easier crossing.”

  “How far out of the way would we have to go?” I asked.

  “No telling,” he said. “Let’s see if we can ford this baby right here,”

  We followed him to the edge of the creek, about twenty feet across and filled with rapidly moving water.

  “Now what?” Abba said.

  J.P. gave me a glance and said, “Cowboy, can you still throw a rope?”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “It’s been a few years.”

  He handed me the lariat he kept attached to his belt.

  “See if you can put the noose over that small tree on the far bank.”

  “Not much room to maneuver,” I said.

  “Rory, use your sword and clear him some room to twirl the lariat.”

  J.P. didn’t have to ask Rory twice. With a grin, the big Scot began felling the small trees until I had enough room to toss the lariat. My target was a dead tree, mostly devoid of branches. The others watched as I twirled the rope and let it fly, missing on my first attempt.

  “I’m a little rusty,” I said.

  “Take your time,” J.P. said. “We’re stuck here till you get lucky.”

  I got lucky on my next attempt, the noose tightening around the dead tree. J.P. took the rope from me and gave it a healthy tug. After looping the rope around another tree, he handed it to Rory.

  “I’ll go first. Don’t allow any slack in the rope.”

  “It won’t get away from me,” Rory said.

  J.P. stepped into the water, probing the bottom with his walking stick as he went. It was deeper than it looked. When he reached the center of the creek, he slipped, his feet coming out from under him. He held onto the rope. After struggling to regain his footing, he managed to crawl out on the other side.

  “It’s moving faster than I thought. The creek bottom is slicker than owl’s shit,” he said. “Dogs next. Untie the end of the rope and tie it behind Slick’s front legs. I’ll pull him across.”

  Rory attached the rope to Slick, and then gave him a hug and a pat.

  “Swim to J.P.,” he said,

  The beautiful black dog bounded into the water, caught up by the current almost immediately. Lucky was barking, and his tail wagging as J.P. pulled Slick out of the water, enduring another drenching as Slick tried to shake himself dry. He wiped water out of his eyes with the back of his sleeve before tossing the rope back to Rory.

  “Now Lucky,” he said.

  The big Lab made the crossing with no problems. J.P. gave him a big pat and then tossed the rope across the creek.

  “You next, Abba. I’m already drenched so I’ll meet you in the center of the creek and help you across.”

  “It’s cold,” she said after wading into the water.

  J.P. met her halfway. When she slipped and let go of the rope, he grabbed the collar of her shirt with one hand and held on to the rope with the other. They were both wringing wet when they crawled out on the other side.

  “You next, Wyatt,” J.P. said, calling to me.

  As Abba had said, the water was cold and quickly filled my boots. I was up to my waist, the current at its strongest when I reached the center of the creek. J.P. extended a hand to help me out of the water.

  “Okay, Rory.”

  The big Scot waded into the water. Taller than all of us, he made it across with little problem. J.P. stood on the bank, staring at the rope.

  “Where are you going?” Abba asked as he waded into the creek.

  “Can’t leave the rope here,” he said. “We may need it down the line.”

  We watched as he struggled across the creek to untie the rope. Hanging on to the loose end, he started toward us, losing his footing almost immediately. Rory was quick to react, grabbing the rope and pulling J.P. to shore. Tired and wet, he lay on the bank until he was through breathing hard and spitting up water.

  There was a bit of a sandy beach, bare of trees and vegetation, where the creek made a turn. The sun was peeking through the cloud cover for the first time since we’d left J.P.’s fishing camp. J.P. sat in the sand, pulled off his boots, dumping water out of them.

  “We need to build a fire and dry our clothes and boots, or we’ll be covered in fungal growths before we get back home. We all have survival blankets in our packs. You can change behind those bushes.”

  After removing his shirt, he began collecting driftwood to make a fire.

  Abba joined Rory and me as we pulled off our boots and dumped out the water. We soon had a roaring fire going, our clothes drying on spits around it. J.P. grinned as we sat near the fire, wrapped in our blankets.

  “My hair’s a mess,” Abba said. “Wish I had a brush to get out some of these snarls.”

  “You’re more gorgeous with snarls than most women are after leaving the beauty parlor,” J.P. said. “Plus, you’re sexy as hell with nothing on but that blanket.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” she said. “I still don’t like you very much.”

  “You’ll get over it,” he said.

  “Since we’re already situated and have a fire built, why not just stay here for the night?” I asked. “There can’t be much more than an hour or so of daylight left.”

  “Because this little spit of land will be under water if it rains tonight. From the looks of those clouds, we’d better get dressed and on our way.”

  “I’m starving,” Rory said. “Is there anything to eat around here?”

  J.P. dug in his pack and pulled out four bags wrapped in cellophane. He tossed one to each of us.

  “Trail mix,” he said. “That should hold us until we can find a place to stop for the night.”

  With J.P.’s prodding, we were soon dressed and back on the trail. The creek behind us was but a fading memory.

  “Thank
God for the boots,” Abba said. “Every step I take I expect to have a snake jump out at me.”

  “We’ll be okay. It’s been getting cooler lately, and most of them are looking for a place to hibernate.”

  “Does it ever freeze here?” Abba asked.

  “You bet it does,” J.P. said. “More often than New Orleans because we’re further north.”

  “I went on a swamp tour once,” Abba said. “This is the first time I’ve ever left the boat.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not our last,” I said.

  “You could have gone all day without saying that,” she said.

  “Sorry. One thing I know; we couldn’t have a better swamp guide than J.P.”

  Though the weather wasn’t unusually cold, it was still seasonally cool. A flock of noisy cranes, on their way to their winter hibernation spot in the wetlands south of us, flew overhead. When a wild hog popped out of the underbrush, J.P. tapped it on the snout with his walking stick. We listened as it scurried back into the scrub.

  Lucky and Slick kept most of the wildlife away from us, occasionally stopping to bark at a hog or possum. They were both having the time of their lives.

  “It’ll be dark soon,” I said. “What’s your plan?”

  “We don’t want to be wandering around in the dark. Let’s hope we find a little swath of higher ground where we can spend the night without getting our feet wet.”

  “And if we don’t?” Abba asked.

  “We choose our best option, set up camp, and then start a fire.”

  “Good,” Abba said. “I don’t like sleeping in complete darkness.”

  J.P. said, “I was more worried about having a place to heat up our beans.”

  “I didn’t forget the Southern Comfort,” Rory said.

  “I thought Scots were supposed to drink scotch,” I said.

  “Never acquired a taste for it. Cyn got me started on Southern Comfort.”

  “I like it too,” Abba said. “Wonder why Cyn likes it so much.”

  “Janis Joplin,” Rory said. “She always had a bottle at every concert. Cyn adores Janis Joplin’s songs.”

  “Me too,” J.P. said. “She had quite a voice for a little lady.”

  We kept looking for J.P.’s little swath of high ground. As light grew dimmer, it started to become ever more apparent that we weren’t going to find it.

  “There ain’t no good place to make camp,” J.P. finally said. “We’ll have to make do right here.”

  “Right where?” Rory said. “It looks exactly like where we just came from.”

  “Bitch, bitch, bitch,” J.P. said. “We got no other choice.”

  “I’m standing in an inch of water,” Abba said. “We’ll be soaked before morning if we sleep on the ground.”

  “Hand me your pack,” J.P. said, holding out his hand.

  He rummaged through her daypack, removing something that vaguely resembled a ball of twine. When he unfolded it, we realized it was a hammock. There was also rope in the pack. As we watched, he strung the hammock between two small trees that stood about six feet apart.

  Her pack also contained a sheet of plastic. Stringing a line over the hammock and between the two trees, he draped the plastic over it so that it created a roof. Almost finished, he hung a mosquito net under the plastic and over the hammock.

  “Takes a little getting used to, but it’ll keep us off the ground and free of pesky crawling bugs.”

  “And if it rains?” Abba asked.

  “Nothing more relaxing than sleeping suspended in the trees and staying dry as rainwater drips off the plastic roof.”

  Chapter 27

  Abba was less than convinced about our sleeping arrangements as she stared at the hammock J.P. had erected for her between two trees. It mattered little. The light was waning, and dark clouds had begun gathering. A flock of geese in a tight formation honked as they flew overhead.

  “How do you get in that thing?” she asked.

  “I’ll help you,” he said with a smile.

  “That’s okay. Like you said, I’ll figure it out.”

  “Enough of me playing den mother for one night,” he said. “You two big boys can put up your own hammocks.”

  Rory pulled the hammock from his daypack and held it at arm’s length.

  “I do not know if this will support me,” he said.

  “Trust me,” J.P. said. “It’s strong enough for even someone as big as you are. You’ve used your survival blanket already. Don’t matter how light they are. You know they’ll keep you warm. Now, let’s snap to it because it looks as if it’s going to rain.”

  Rory clicked the heels of his boots together and saluted smartly.

  “Yes sir,” he said.

  J.P. grinned and saluted him back. “Now you got the right idea. Soon as we get our hammocks installed, we need to gather some wood. Rory, you find us some big pieces. Abba and Wyatt, you two gather the kindling.”

  “Where do we go to the bathroom?” Abba asked.

  “Behind a bush, no further than twenty feet from here. You each got a roll of toilet paper in your pack. Make it last.”

  “And if we don’t?” Abba said.

  “Plenty of leaves in the swamp to use. Just don’t grab a handful of poison ivy.”

  Before long, there were four hammocks erected in a semicircle. J.P. had an even larger sheet of plastic and made a roof over all four hammocks. He arranged more plastic on the ground so we’d have a place to sit without getting too damp. When we’d finished, J.P. stood, hands on his hips, surveying our work.

  “Not bad for a bunch of cub scouts,” he said. “This is our base camp. Long as we’re here, don’t ever get out of sight of it. Am I understood?”

  He laughed and shook his head when all three of us came to attention and saluted him.

  We’d gathered a stack of wood and kindling just in time and had a nice fire going near the edge of our plastic roof. As darkness encroached on the swamp, the clouds opened up, and it began to rain. It brought with it more than a chill. Suddenly cold from the perceptible drop in temperature, Abba hugged her arms tightly to her chest.

  As J.P. had said, our survival blankets were light and warm. After eating cans of beef stew and beans, we cuddled up around the fire with survival blankets draping our shoulders. Abba, Rory, and J.P. were drinking Southern Comfort. I made do with water from my canteen. I was enjoying the solitude, and the sound of rain on the plastic when Abba made a comment that caused us all to laugh.

  “If we really were scouts, and you were our den mother, you’d be telling us a ghost story right about now.”

  “Wouldn’t be no story,” he said. “I’d be telling you a true tale that’d make chills climb up your spine. My hammock is barely big enough for me. Don’t matter none cause you’d be begging to crawl in beside me.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” she said.

  “Want to hear the story?” he asked.

  “I’m not a little girl. It’ll take more than a corny story told around a campfire to scare me.”

  “You grew up in New Orleans. Surely you’ve heard of the Honey Island Swamp Monster.”

  “I’ve heard of lots of things. That doesn’t mean I believe them,” she said.

  “You can believe this one because everything I’m gonna tell you is true.”

  The little patch of high ground J.P. had managed to find for us was no more than a few inches higher than the surrounding ground. It was apparently all we needed as rainwater began flowing around our little island. Flame from the fire flickered when a clap of thunder sounded nearby.

  “Hope we don’t get struck by lightning,” Abba said. “I’d hate to miss hearing your tall tale.”

  J.P. had brought an extra blanket for Lucky and Slick. They’d curled up on it, not far from the fire. Both were already soundly asleep. Lucky began to snore as J.P. took a swig from the big flask of Southern Comfort they were passing around the campfire.

  “Some people seem to think the Swamp Monst
er first appeared in the sixties. That’s not true. It’s been in this swamp since long before that.”

  “Indians?” I asked.

  “Not quite that far, though all the way back to when the French first began to settle New Orleans. This entire region was forest and swamps. The first settlers wanted high ground on the river, and that’s what they found at the site that is now New Orleans.”

  “Lad, what are you smoking?” Rory said. “Everyone knows that New Orleans is below sea level.”

  “Is now,” J.P. said. “Not then. Parts of the French Quarter are still above sea level.”

  “Then may I ask what happened?” Abba asked.

  “Before they built the levees, New Orleans flooded every spring. The floods brought silt from up the river. Swampy land naturally subsides but the spring silt adjusted for it. When they built the levees, the floods mostly stopped, and so did the influx of silt.”

  “I thought you were going to tell us about the Swamp Monster,” Abba said.

  “I’ll get to it. What’s your hurry? Got someplace you need to go?”

  “Just asking,” she said.

  “My point is that this whole part of south Louisiana was swampy back in those days. The mosquitoes and poor drainage resulted in epidemics of malaria and yellow fever. France was having a hard time convincing settlers to move here, so they started bringing over prisoners, prostitutes, and social misfits. Three of those misfits were the cause of the Swamp Monster.”

  J.P. paused as thunder sounded overhead, heralding an even stronger influx of rain. Slick scooted closer to Lucky, the big lab who was sleeping soundly through the storm.

  “Don’t stop now,” Abba said.

  J.P. shook the flask Rory had handed him. “You two are drinking too fast. This baby is half-empty. We’ll have to turn around and go home when that happens.”

  “Do not worry,” Rory said. “I have yet another full flask in my daypack.”

  “Good for you,” Abba said.

  “Thank Wyatt,” he said. “He paid for it.”

  I could only shake my head. “Nothing worse than an alcoholic having to pay for someone else’s whiskey,” I said.