Blackbird Fly (Umbrella Man Trilogy Book 2)

by Willow Rose

  "That's great," Sam said and threw him an indifferent look. The story had added another hour to it since the last time John had told it. Sam feared he would add more and make the story last even longer.

  John's two kids, Elliot and Sandra, were fighting over the harpoon pole. John finally saw it and left Sam alone. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Hey you two, that thing ain't for playing around."

  Sam shook his head as John tried to retrieve the harpoon from the kids, who were now both screaming in anger and frustration. Sam reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. They had only been gone since yesterday, but he wanted to call his mom and tell her to pick him up. Maybe come up with an emergency of some sort.

  Not that Sam wasn't happy that his dad finally wanted to spend some time with him; he was actually very glad he did, he just didn't know what to talk to him about. They didn't like the same things, and he always wanted to do stupid stuff with Sam, outdoorsy stuff, like going fishing or camping. And Sam always ended up disappointing him because he didn't like it.

  Fact was, they couldn't be more different, the two of them.

  "What's that?"

  Sam looked up and into the eyes of his dad. He looked angry and pointed at the phone in Sam's hands.

  "I told you. This is a no-electronics kind of trip. Nothing that goes beep-beep-beep or makes any unnatural sounds or takes you away from what we have here. I don't want to see you on that thing while we're out here. Put it away. This is nature, son. Take it all in, all its beauty and splendor."

  Sam put the phone back in his pocket with a deep exhale. His dad was against anything electronic. He only had a cellphone himself that had been outdated years ago. And he never had it on him, which kind of went against the entire idea of a cell phone, in Sam's opinion.

  His dad shook his head. "No. I meant all the way. Out of reach."

  Sam protested. "Come on!"

  "No. I mean it, Sam. I want that phone in the tent, in the backpack while you're out here with me."

  "But…"

  "No. No buts. Put it away, please."

  "I promised I'd call Mom every day."

  His dad blew raspberries. "Don't be such a momma's boy. You're out here to be a man with your father. Your mother can wait. Now put away the phone and get inside those waders. Mother Nature is calling and you better answer."

  Sam's dad laughed at his own joke for a little too long. Sam wrinkled his nose in embarrassment.

  "Well, she isn't exactly a friend of mine," Sam said with another sigh.

  "What was that?" his dad asked.

  "I don't like nature," he said with a shrug.

  His dad shook his head. "Don't like nature, what do you mean? What's not to like? There are plants, trees, bushes, birds, and water. It's beautiful. Everyone loves nature. How can you not like nature?"

  "I just don't. It's creepy."

  Sam threw a glance in between the trees behind his dad when he said the words, then shuddered. There was something about the trees and the swamps that scared him. It was so gloomy and sinister and it even smelled weird.

  "Creepy? How can you say all this beauty is creepy?"

  "It just is. It's like it's staring at me. In there lurks it, you know, the creepiness…the things…anything…in the darkness is where it watches and waits."

  His dad wrinkled his forehead. "It? What are you talking about, boy? It?"

  Sam shrugged. "I don't know what else to call it. It. Nature."

  Greg shook his head with a loud click of his tongue. "Why are you being all…weird? Man is the boss of nature. Don't you know that? It even says so in the darn Bible and everything. Man shall trample on serpents…or something like that. Don't your momma tell you to read your Bible, huh? Look at your dad. Look at me, son. I catch gators, snakes, and hogs inside these swamps. Ain't nothing scaring me in there. I know this place like the back of my hand. Dang it. There ain't nothin' to be scared of in there. You're the boss. You remember that! You're the boss. Say it after me, son. Out loud. I'm the boss."

  Who is this character? Is he for real?

  "Come on, son, we believe what we say, so repeat after me. I'm the Boss."

  Sam stared at his father, then said with a deep exhale, hoping no one would hear him, "I'm the Boss."

  "Yes, you are," he said. "And don't you forget it. You the man!" His dad smiled from ear to ear. Then pointed at Sam. "Now get in them darn waders before I do it for you."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A s expected, Sam hated every minute of the time he spent walking through the green murky water. The trail started off dry. Soon enough, they were ankle-deep, then knee-deep, and by the time they were inside the cypress dome, waist-deep in water.

  Slowly, they were trudging through murky water, covered in bug spray, with just a walking stick. Afraid he might hurt himself, his dad didn't trust him enough to give him one of the harpoon poles or even one of the bang sticks, he told him. If a gator approached them, his dad would shoot it for him, he promised.

  Sam felt like he could cry.

  "Look in the water for big alligator heads and bubbles," John whispered to his children. It was devastating to Sam how much the young kids were enjoying themselves. Didn't they see the danger? Didn't they feel how mushy the bottom was? Weren't they afraid it might suddenly start sucking them down? Weren't they afraid of getting stuck?

  Sam was. To him, Mother Nature was as dangerous as any other woman, maybe even worse. In his mind, she was only waiting for the right moment to get to you, that one second when you weren't paying attention or you allowed yourself to be distracted, that was when she’d strike.

  He moved carefully through the muddy waters. He tried to look down, constantly jumping at the sense of something moving close to him. He was hyperventilating most of the time, constantly turning to look behind him, then keeping an eye on what went on in between the big cypress trees with their huge over-ground roots that looked like they were ready to reach out for him. He was certain he saw one of them move, like a big snake right under the surface of the soil, but he had a feeling it might just be his imagination. He had a tendency to get carried away.

  Sam shuddered, even though it was ninety-eight degrees and so humid he could feel the water in the air as he breathed. He couldn't escape the thought that the trees were staring at him, like they were watching him, observing his every move, waiting for him to slip up so they could strike.

  Did that tree over there just move? No, Sam, you're just seeing things. You've got to stop it.

  As he stared at the mangrove that he believed had moved, Sam felt something touch his thigh in the water and he shrieked. A little too loud. The sound echoed through the swamps. Sam rushed forward, panting in agitation. His dad turned and looked at him with a disapproving look, then placed a finger over his lips.

  "Something touched my leg," he explained. "I got scared."

  His dad didn't answer; he just looked at him with that look. The look loaded with disappointment when he noticed that Sam wasn't having fun, the look that said, no it screamed: why can't you be more like me?

  THEY DIDN'T CATCH any gators; his dad believed it was too hot for them, so they were probably hiding to keep cool. But the young kids caught a couple of fish that they grilled over a bonfire when they got back to the campsite as nighttime fell. Sam was tired and missed his home more than ever. He wasn't looking forward to spending yet another night in the small tent with his dad snoring and the mosquitoes biting. He hated all the sounds of nature around him. The same sounds that apparently made his dad sleep so well. Or maybe it was the beers he drank before bedtime that knocked him out.

  Right now, he was at it again. Downing down one beer after another and crashing the cans in his hand, then throwing them in between the trees surrounding them, with loud laughter. Sam stared at him and his friend as they became more and more chummy and the jokes less and less funny.

  The problem wasn't the beers or the pollution they contributed to, no the big issue was
his dad's state of mind, which changed rapidly when he had too much to drink. Sam could do nothing but sit there and wait for it to happen.

  The clock had barely hit nine before it began. His speech was already slurred as he turned and spoke to Sam.

  "What are you sulking about now, boy? You wanna go home to your mama, huh? You wanna go home and hide in your momma's dress? Why are you such a wuss, huh? Why can't you be more like your dad?"

  It was the same thing he asked every night, every time Sam was with his dad. And, as always, he also provided the answer himself, a shaking finger placed right in front of Sam's face.

  "Your momma spoiled you. She never let you spend time with me. Instead, she kept you at home clicking away on that computer of yours or letting you bury yourself in those comics, shaping you into the full-blown nerd you’ve become. It's not your fault; it really isn't, Sam. Your mother just failed you miserably. It's not your fault."

  Sam hated when his dad talked about his mom like she was a failure. It was, after all, she who had brought him up, who had taken care of him all his life while his dad had been doing nothing. It wasn't until Sam was thirteen years old that his dad came into his life and all of a sudden decided to have a relationship with him. A year later, and it still wasn't happening. Maybe it was about time they faced the facts.

  "I think I’m going to bed now," Sam said and was about to get up from his old rusty fold-out chair.

  "Don't go now," his dad complained, slightly pitchy and whiny. He finished his beer and threw the empty can toward the trunk of a tree, but missed. The can ended up in some bushes, along with the fifteen others before it. Greg's eyes were glassy. "We're about to tell scary stories, right kiddos?"

  Elliot and Sandra cheered joyfully, sticks in their hands, sticky marshmallow goo all over their faces.

  "Yay. Scary stories."

  Greg looked at Sam; his eyes were begging. "Come on, son. This is what camping is all about. Sitting around the bonfire, telling stories, scaring each other to death right before bedtime."

  They all looked pleadingly at Sam. He felt sick to his stomach. Luckily, this was the last day and tomorrow he was going home. His mom was going to pay big time for forcing him to go.

  "Please?" his dad said. "I know a good one."

  "I already heard it," Sam sighed. "You told it yesterday, remember?"

  Greg looked disappointed. "I'll come up with a new one then?"

  Sam looked in between the trees where nothing but deep darkness stared back at him, then to the other side where another unfortunate group of people had set camp next to them. They too had a bonfire going and someone was playing guitar. A couple of others chimed in, and soon they all started to sing. Kids were roasting marshmallows, squeezing them between crackers with chocolate, making s'mores. The adults were singing loudly.

  Great. That'll keep me up all night.

  "Sit down, son, have a soda and let me tell you a story," Greg said. "I'll make it real scary for you. Nothing like a good scare before bedtime, huh?"

  Sam exhaled resignedly. "I'll be in the tent. Goodnight."

  CHAPTER SIX

  O f course, Sam couldn't fall asleep. Not only was the noise coming from outside the tent way too loud, but he was also sweating in the sleeping bag that he had to stay in if he didn't want to be constantly eaten by mosquitoes. And, on top of it, he repeatedly felt like critters had invaded his sleeping bag, not to mention the many bugs he spotted both crawling on the outside of the tent and—and these were the worst—on the inside. But worst of all was the feeling that Mother Nature was right there, right outside of the tent, surrounding him, enclosing this tent, and there was nowhere to run. He was certain he could see the long crooked branches reaching for him, casting shadows on the side of the tent.

  You're being silly, Sam. It's just a bunch of trees. You're letting your imagination get the better of you. Tomorrow, you'll be back in your home with the AC, iPad, and your nice bed to sleep in, your nice comfortable bed.

  Just the thought made Sam relax with an exhale. He couldn't wait to get back to civilization (or to see what would happen to Light Yagami and what he was going to do with the notebook). Two whole days in the wilderness like this was more than enough for an entire lifetime for him.

  As he closed his eyes, he must have dozed off, because when he woke up he felt confused and had no sense of what time it was.

  Wait. Why is it suddenly so quiet? Why have they stopped singing? Why can't I hear them chatting anymore? Why can't I hear dad's loud, slurry voice?

  "He probably passed out drunk, again," Sam mumbled with a sigh.

  Thinking he should probably check on his father and maybe drag him to bed, he got up, out of his warm muggy sleeping bag. He stretched before opening the tent flap. He peeked out.

  The campsite was empty.

  What the heck? Where is everyone?

  Sam grabbed his phone, put it in his pocket, then found a flashlight and stepped outside. He walked to the bonfire. It was still burning, flames licking the firewood. Someone had just put new wood on it.

  Maybe they just went to bed?

  Sam went to John's tent and peeked inside. It was empty.

  That's odd.

  "Hello?"

  No one answered. Sam looked around. Not a trace of any people in sight. Dread grew inside of him. Could they have taken off? Gone home without him? Had they forgotten about him? Or did they simply ditch him?

  With his heart thundering in his chest, he rushed to the neighbors' campground. Their RV was parked between two trees in the clearing. Their bonfire was still lit as well, even though it was almost burned out.

  "Hello?" he said. "Anybody here?"

  No one answered. Sam knocked on the door to the RV. "Hello? Is anyone in there? I think I need help. I think I’ve been left here by my…"

  Sam stopped when he realized no one was listening. Carefully, he grabbed the door handle and pulled it. He walked inside, calling out another couple of Hellos, but knowing deep down inside that no one would answer.

  Because no one was there.

  What the heck is going on? What happened? Am I dreaming?

  Sam pinched himself like he had seen people do in movies, and of course it hurt, but he didn't really know if that meant he was awake or not. He could, after all, just have dreamt that it hurt, couldn't he?

  Sam clasped his mouth in a gasp as he turned and looked at the dark trees in front of him. How would he get home? He had no idea where he was, all he knew was that he was in the middle of the Green Swamps and…there was something about the trees, wasn't there? Something odd, something different. They had always looked creepy to him, but somehow they seemed darker and gloomier than usual. It was like…like the trees were staring at him, the branches slowly moving towards him, reaching, stretching their long crooked arms looking like fingers with long nails…

  No, you silly fool, you're just scared. Stop the paranoia; if you want to get home, you have to stop it. You're the Boss, remember?

  "I'm the Boss," he repeated, closing his eyes to better focus on his own empowerment. He opened them just in time to see the long vine as it strung itself around his right leg and pulled him forcefully across the soil. As he dropped the flashlight and bumped his head and body against every rock and tree stub on the ground, all Sam could think of was that it was like the tongue of the swamps was pulling him into its mouth, like when he was younger and feeding the giraffes those crackers at the zoo.

  PART 1

  THE ONE WHERE PEOPLE START TO SUSPECT SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY WRONG

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "Holy swamp, I gotta stop the car."

  Billy Bob hit the brakes of the rusty Toyota Corolla. Darlene and the kid shrieked and fell forward.

  "Daaad!" Emily complained from the back seat.

  "Sorry, baby," Billy said and looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Daddy's gotta pee really bad."

  "Ew, gross," she said and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  "I
t won't take long," Billy said, as he opened the door and let all the trash, burger wrappings, and empty beer bottles flood the grass beneath.

  "Daad, you're polluting," Emily protested. "You're such a pig. I’m the one who’ll inherit the planet and look what you're doing to it. Think about nature for once and global warming!"

  Billy had been drinking lots of beer but sobered up when he heard his daughter's words. At least enough to tell her off. He pointed at her.

  "Don't you give me any of that crap, you hear me? I ain't fallin' for it, Em. It's all the government. They're tellin' you this stuff because they want to take away our guns, but I ain't havin' it, Em, I ain't. I’m telling you, no one takes my guns from me, you hear me? They can say all they want about 'em polar bears and ice melting, but I ain't fallin' for it."

  "Would you two stop?" Darlene interrupted.

  She finished her cigarette and flicked it out the open window. "And hurry up, please?" she said, blowing out smoke. Her red, almost pink hair needed to be colored soon. You could see it was growing out at the roots. "I want to make it to the next city before the bars close. It's late already."

  Billy gave her a grin. "I'll be right back," he said and slammed the door shut, then stormed across the grass. They had been driving forever along the swamps and he simply couldn't hold it anymore. If he walked in among the trees a little, no one would be able to see him from the road. Especially not now, since it was dark out. Not that there had been another car in at least an hour.

  They had been on the road for three days, ever since they had robbed that gas station in Naples. They had been driving around, not daring to stop at a motel, but since it had been three days, they figured the smoke had cleared now and the police wouldn't be looking for them anymore. Besides, they were so far in the boonies that the news about some small-type criminals robbing some gas station down south probably hadn't reached them up here. Billy couldn't wait to sleep in a real bed for once. Sleeping in the car was killing his back. He wasn't getting any younger. And, oh, it would be great to get a real burger somewhere, not just those drive-thru ones from Wendy's or McDonald's, no a real burger with some real solid meat sounded really good right about now.