Deep Shadow df-17

by Randy Wayne White

  He lowered himself enough to turn his mouth close to Tomlinson’s ear. “You see those egg casings? Something just hatched in here. Not recent, but not so long ago, either.”

  “Yeah,” Tomlinson said, “that’s why I thought a gator at first, but—”

  “Coyotes don’t lay eggs,” Will interrupted. “Not back in Oklahoma, anyway. Not in Minnesota, either, but maybe they’re different in Florida.”

  Seeing the ray of sunlight had affected Will, too. The light moved through his eyes, through his body, replacing the desperation and the fear he had felt with fresh energy. Even Tomlinson’s constant talking wasn’t so irritating now. The sunlight had refired his sense of humor, too, and Will was struck by the oddness of being so close to death one moment and, the next moment, cracking a smart-ass remark about coyotes laying eggs.

  It was like there were two people inside him, one who focused on nothing but survival when it was required but otherwise lay dormant, while the second person—William Joseph Chaser—talked and laughed, living life as if danger and darkness didn’t exist, so it was sort of like living behind a mask.

  Will lowered himself from the hole and checked the knife scabbard on his BC, which had become a habit. They weren’t out yet but soon would be—as long as he still had the knife and the blade didn’t break.

  Tomlinson sounded cheerful when he replied, “Minnesota, huh?”

  Will didn’t respond, but it caused him to think about a nice lady named Ruth Gutterson and her pisser of a husband, Otto, who had been on the pro wrestling circuit when he was younger, so almost everyone called him by his ring name, which was “Bull Gutter.” The Guttersons had a house in Minneapolis, and Will had lived with the couple for a year. They were nice people who would’ve adopted him by now if it weren’t for the damn court system. But they would—even though he turned eighteen in only a couple of years.

  “I sometimes forget you lived up north,” Tomlinson said to him, which caused Will to realize that the man was being conversational for a reason. For the first time in hours, it was safe for them to take a little rest. Maybe it was a smart thing to do. His hands were blistered and his right bicep had begun to cramp.

  Will dropped back, letting the water support his weight, and listened to Tomlinson add, “It’s because you’re such a western sort of kid. All rodeo and attitude. Did you miss it—rodeo—when you were living in Minnesota?”

  Will didn’t like being called a kid, but he ignored it. “Sometimes,” he said.

  “The Land of a Thousand Lakes. Or is it Ten Thousand? You say there are coyotes in Minnesota? I knew there were wolves.”

  Will allowed himself to smile as he replied, “Everything that grows fur—or can buy fur—lives up there. That includes a ton of Lutherans. A lot of pretty blondes, though, too.”

  “Lutherans,” Tomlinson replied, chuckling.

  Will said, “You wouldn’t believe how good-looking the girls are.”

  The hippie seemed to get the joke because he laughed, but then Will wasn’t so sure when Tomlinson said, “Prairie Home Companion, man. I love that show. Garrison Keillor.”

  Will said, “Garrison who?,” becoming impatient again, and so he let his attention return to the cave overhead. He pulled himself up, took another look, then lay back and let his BC float him as his brain sorted out impressions.

  The space, he now realized, gave him a bad feeling. It wasn’t just because of the bones or the petroglyphs or the stench. Truth was, the place smelled bad but not that bad. It was sort of musty, like old roadkill, but it didn’t strike Will as being foul like Tomlinson kept saying. Maybe Tomlinson was confusing atmosphere with odor. In Will’s experience, people often perceived such things differently than he.

  The boy reached his hand through the airhole, touched his fingers to the sandy muck above, then sniffed his fingers.

  Darkness, that’s what the muck communicated. Darkness was what Tomlinson was smelling, not the stench of bones, although that odor was there, too. The space had the scent of blackness, like peering over a cliff into an abyss.

  Will allowed his mind to probe the area and soon the gloom that he sensed was replaced by a brighter odor. The odor was waxy green, like jungle suspended in a cloud of gray. It reminded him of a leaf flickering on the screen of an old black-and-white TV.

  Gradually, the sensation changed, but the odors of the changing colors didn’t flood into Will’s mind. They flowed through a crevice of his brain like a creature with scales—something hunting.

  “People with synesthesia sometimes experience exaggerated impressions of the world around them,” an Oklahoma shrink had once told him. “It can be exhausting dealing with so much outside stimuli. It can cause panic attacks—even paranoia.”

  Paranoia, Will thought. Like now?

  He hoped he was wrong about what he was feeling and decided to bounce it off Tomlinson. The man was a flake, no doubt about that, but he was also smart, and he possessed the ability to perceive things normal people could not. Tomlinson had been right when he’d guessed that Will had sensed his abilities. He’d known about Tomlinson since the first time they had been alone together, talking.

  Will said, “There’s something about those egg casings that gives me the creeps.”

  Tomlinson said, “There’s no reason why they should,” then spent a minute talking about the nesting habits of gators and crocs, still sounding cheerful, but then he became suddenly quiet. After several seconds, he said, “Sorry, I missed the implications. The whole heavy vibe went sailing right over my head. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Will said, “It’s a feeling I have.”

  “A premonition, you mean?”

  “Just a feeling. A bad feeling.”

  Tomlinson gave it some thought—maybe with his eyes closed, Will couldn’t be sure, there wasn’t enough light to see detail. The man seemed to understand because after several seconds he said, “A predator lives up there. A killer. That’s what you’re feeling. And you’re right—that’s what I’ve been smelling. It’s not an actual scent. It’s death that I smell.”

  Will said, “That cow skull’s pretty fresh. Whatever it is, I think she’ll find her way back here. Soon, I think.” In Will’s mind, the animal that lived here was female—definitely female—and she lived alone.

  Tomlinson asked him, “Because this is where she hatched her eggs?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “It makes sense that whatever lives in the cave is bound to return to the nest—tonight, tomorrow or next week—is that what you mean?” There was enough room for Tomlinson to twist a strand of his ponytail, then begin to chew on it, his long fingers showing that he was nervous.

  Will decided to come right out and say it. “No. I mean I think she’s coming back today. Sometime after dark, maybe, but soon. It could be that she knows we’re here. It could be that she’s on her way now.”

  Tomlinson went silent, and into Will’s mind came the image of a snake—a huge snake—its belly wider than a man’s chest.

  Will said, “Doc told me there’s a big population of escaped pythons in Florida. Last night, before I went to bed, I checked the Internet. Less than a week ago, state biologists caught a ball python that was eighteen feet long. Did you read about that? It was near Miami, I think.”

  Tomlinson whispered, “Snakes. Sometimes you’ve got to ride the snake,” his voice sounding far away.

  Will said, “It was living under someone’s house. They got suspicious because the neighborhood dogs kept disappearing. The snake was close to four hundred pounds. There was a picture.”

  Tomlinson’s voice returned to normal as he said, “I saw the photo. That’s exactly what I was thinking about. A really big boa or python. The egg casings, the bones. It all fits.”

  Will said, “I don’t think it’s a snake.”

  “No?”

  “I’d be surprised.”

  “Then what?”

  Will said, “I can’t say for sure. But I have a strong
feeling that thing’s headed this direction. It’s sunset now, so maybe we have some time. But she’s on her way back. Probably soon she’ll be here.”

  Tomlinson sighed, and whispered, “Shit.”

  Will said, “Yeah. After going through all this crap. But maybe I’m wrong.”

  After several seconds, Tomlinson said, “A snake, huh?”

  “It’s not a snake,” Will said again.

  Tomlinson replied softly, “I know, I know. Metaphorically, I’m saying, it’s always a snake.”

  Will listened.

  Tomlinson said, “Sometimes the bastard assumes different forms. Cops, crazy women, right-wing loonies. Don’t get me started.” He looked at his watch. Will could see the green numerals of the face glowing as Tomlinson added, “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Will replied, “What do you think I’ve been saying?”

  “The sun sets in exactly five minutes. I don’t like the idea of having a meat eater poking her head in here hungry for flesh.”

  Will pulled his knife from the scabbard. “I wish you would have brought one. Doc kept telling you.”

  Tomlinson said, “Don’t remind me.”

  Will said, “No point talking about it,” then tried to nudge Tomlinson away to give himself some room. “I’m going to work on this main root. Maybe if I just cut it in the middle, we can bend it down—”

  Tomlinson interrupted. “My turn to dig. You rest for a while.”

  Too late. Will was already sawing at the root.

  TWENTY-ONE

  IN WAIST-DEEP WATER, AS I WADED ASHORE CARRYING a fistful of Cuban pesos, I realized that Arlis Futch had escaped. I had switched off the flashlight and was using night vision so I could see what King and Perry couldn’t.

  Maybe they hadn’t noticed yet.

  The two cons were near the truck, about thirty yards from the grassy area where I had spread the blanket for the old man. The truck was no longer running—they probably wanted to conserve fuel—and its headlights were off, which made it easier for me to decipher details in what was now a starry-bright February night.

  The blanket was visible beyond the truck. So were the water bottles I’d left and the folded towel he’d been using as a pillow. But there was no sign of Arlis.

  As I continued wading toward shore, I scanned the tree line. There was nothing to see but cypress and palmettos. Unless King and Perry had allowed Arlis to get back inside the truck—which was unlikely—the man was gone.

  I decided to say nothing and see how it played out.

  As I drew closer, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the cons had started yelling at me, accusing me of helping Arlis escape. Or they might try a different finesse if they had already killed him. If they were feeling guilty, they might accuse me of helping Arlis get away and then pretend like they didn’t care one way or another about the old man. He’d wandered off in the swamp? So what?

  They did neither, which told me they didn’t know that the man was gone. It also told me that Arlis hadn’t been gone for long. Even though it was dark, the blanket where he’d been lying was in plain sight.

  King and Perry had other things on their mind, I discovered.

  “We heard that animal again,” Perry called to me as I dropped my fins on the ground. “Just a few minutes ago. That hissing, crashing sound.”

  The mysterious beast was back. I wondered if Arlis had used the distraction to cover his escape.

  I said, “Get the dredge ready, I’m going back in. I don’t have time to deal with your paranoia.”

  “Not until you tell us what’s out there. It’s somewhere on the other side of the lake.” Perry was sitting on the hood of the truck, I realized. King was standing on a running board, driver’s side. Whatever they had heard had scared them enough to seek elevation.

  Perry said, “For a while, it was crashing around in the trees. Then we heard that hissing noise again. It’s big—I’m serious! The size of a car, maybe. How big do the snakes get around here?”

  I said, “I already told you, it’s probably a wild pig. Or it could be cows that got loose—or a gator. You’re like a couple of children, for chrissake. Come here—I’ve got something to show you.”

  The truck was dangerously close to the empty blanket. I wanted to lure them away from the thing before they noticed that Arlis was gone.

  I watched Perry slide off the fender of the truck. He took a look around as he shouldered the rifle, then walked toward me but reluctantly. King followed for the first few steps, but then hurried to get into the lead, probably because he realized how that might look to me.

  “Perry’s scared of his own shadow,” King called, sounding nervous. “Goddamn, though, whatever’s out there, man, he’s right. It’s got some big shoulders on it. Let me take a look through that night vision thingamabob you’re wearing. Maybe I can see what it is.”

  I turned my back to him, switched off the monocular, and tilted the mask up on my forehead. “I trust you about as far as you can throw me. I’ve had enough of your idiotic stunts.”

  Behind him, Perry said, “I told him not to do it—push that hunk of junk into the lake. Jesus, what a waste of time. He’s a punk, dude. Nothing I can do about that.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you two?” King laughed. “You don’t have a sense of humor? Shit, it was a joke, man!” Lowering his voice, having fun with it, he said to me, “Did I scare you, Jock-o? That wheel made a hell of a splash when it went in the water.”

  I said, “Wheel? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit, you’re lying. It must have scared the hell out of you.”

  I said, “I’ve already got plenty of reasons not to trust you. I was talking about busting the hose when you jerked it out of my hands.” I gave it a few beats before adding, “Take a look at what I found. Maybe you’ll understand how stupid it was busting that dredge.”

  I was pretending to study the coins—six of them—but was paying close attention to King as he approached. Because King and Perry didn’t know that Arlis was gone, they didn’t realize that they had lost their leverage. It would be better to deal with them now. Now was better because if I waited and if I was lucky enough to get Will and Tomlinson back to shore alive, my options would be fewer. With the boy and Tomlinson watching, I would have to call in the police and leave the fate of the two cons up to the court system.

  Yes, now was the time to act. Using the dredge without help wouldn’t be easy, but I could manage.

  “What are you looking at? Shine the light so we can see.” It was King’s voice. His pace had slowed, but he was still coming toward me.

  I held out the coins. “Here. Take them. Shine the light yourself.” I looked at him long enough to confirm that he was carrying the pistol. Perry, with the rifle, was trailing several steps behind.

  When I saw that, I felt a mild surge of optimism. I knew where their weapons were. I knew the distance that separated the two men and it was ideal—close enough for me to strip the pistol from King and get off a quick shot while ducking under the barrel of the Winchester.

  First, though, I had to get my hands on the cheap little automatic, which meant I had to lure King within a step or two. That was key. Get him within lunging distance, I might be able to manufacture an opening, then take both men down.

  The risk was obvious. It included more than just risking my own life. If I made a move now but failed, Tomlinson and Will would probably never see daylight again. They would die in the air bell—or wherever the hell they were stuck—awaiting help that would never arrive.

  The timing had to be perfect and the setup convincing.

  How to do it?

  That’s what I had to decide.

  My mind went to work sorting through options. What I decided was, stick with the coins. King was greedy, he was desperate and he was already in a subtle power struggle with Perry. The combination made them both vulnerable.

  I had been playing one against the other, so I decided
to ignore Perry for a change and give King my full attention by offering him the coins. When he reached for them, I would drop all six into the sand as if by accident. King’s eyes would follow the coins to the ground and he would probably lower the gun in sync because that’s the way hand-eye coordination works.

  It was all the opening I would need.

  Once I got my hands on the pistol, I would snap off a shot at Perry, maybe two. After that, King wouldn’t be hard to fight off, would he?

  I considered the man’s bony frame, his nervous evasions when confronted.

  No, King wouldn’t be a problem.

  Work it right, I could deal with him immediately. Or . . . I could tie him, gag him and drag him off into the bushes for later. Tomlinson and the boy would never know he was there. They knew nothing about King or Perry.

  I liked the idea. It would buy me some time. Afterward, if I found them, I could send Will and Tomlinson off in the truck to look for Arlis, telling them I would wait by the lake for the cops. It would provide me the opportunity I’d been longing for—an opportunity to be alone with King. I had become fixated on that scenario.

  King said to me, “I’m not carrying a flashlight, so toss me your night vision dealy. I won’t hurt it. I’m serious, man. I want to see what was making that noise on the other side of the lake.”

  I said, “Was it close?”

  “No, I don’t think so—way back there in the swamp, maybe, but coming this way. Hard to tell, though. It wasn’t like what we heard earlier.”

  I turned my head, pretending to concentrate, but there was nothing to hear but insects and frogs trilling and wind moving through the trees. Even if I had heard something, I wouldn’t have been concerned. The most dangerous animals on earth were right in front of me, not roaming the swamp.

  Still looking at the coins, I removed the mask from my forehead and said, “Sounds to me like you’re the one who’s scared, not Perry.”

  Perry said, “Hear that? The man’s not dumb.”