As soon as I plopped my butt in place, she revved up the motor, and the boat began to inch away from the landing and further out on that tarnished silver highway.
This was one road trip I wasn’t looking forward to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Unload the supplies from the bag will ya?” Angelle shouted over the roar of the engine. “We’re going to need the flashlight pretty soon. Don’t want to be searching for it once it gets dark. And check under the seat you’re sitting on. There’re two paddles under there. Pull ‘em out. We’ll need ‘em if we get stuck in a patch of water lilies. Those things get tangled up in a prop, it’s major shit to cut ‘em loose. Have to paddle your way out then.”
Paddle our way out? Shit . . .great.
“O- okay . . . there any life jackets in here?”
“Should be. Probably in the seat compartment under me. I’ll look in a minute. Don’t worry, I won’t go fast.”
I wasn’t worried about going fast. I was worried about falling into the water. But I kept my mouth shut and searched through the supplies we’d brought along. Within minutes I had the flashlight in hand and two bottles of water were rolling around on the floor of the boat. As we puttered along, I turned in my seat so I faced the front of the boat instead of my sister and tried to relax. I wondered how different this would be had I come here on vacation instead of on a mission. I’d probably be taking pictures right about now, catching the sunset over the water, laughing with Angelle, maybe getting a lesson or two on how to cook shrimp stew. I wasn’t so sure I’d want to be headed where we were headed, though, even on vacation. All those shadows. The dark water. The hanging moss. Snakes—alligators. Shit . . . I hadn’t thought about the possibility of snakes out here. There were probably tons of them . . . big ones. Poisonous ones. I felt my butt cheeks tighten on the seat.
True to her word, Angelle kept the boat running at a snail’s pace for quite some time. When we came upon a fork in the waterway, the whine of the engine quieted to a soft putter, and the boat slowed even more. I turned back towards Angelle. She was standing now, lifting the top of the seat she’d been sitting on with one hand. After looking into the compartment beneath it, she looked up at me with pursed lips.
“No jackets,” she said.
“Great.”
She let the seat drop back into place. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be careful. Just make sure not to stand up in the boat while we’re moving.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”
Angelle shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. Didn’t think about bringing some because Trevor always keeps two in his boat.” She aimed her chin in the direction of the fork. “It’s your show now. Which way do we go?”
Trying to still the gnawing concern in my chest over not having any life jackets, I turned to face the fork—and a decision. Now or never . . .
I thought about the kids, focused on how frightened they must be, then held out my left hand. The reaction was immediate and painful, as if someone had grabbed hold of it and yanked hard, pulling it sideways towards my wrist. I glanced over at my sister. The direction was clear; there wasn’t a need for words.
I saw fear flickered in her eyes, and I could only imagine what she saw in mine. So many emotions were rolling through me, I couldn’t stick a label to just one. Panic—excitement—anger—fear . . . fear. Okay, so I could label one.
Angelle nodded once, inferring, “Ready?”
I returned the nod. This was as ready as I was going to get. The whine of the engine returned, and as the boat veered left, I hunkering back into position, faced west, keeping my left hand out in front of me.
The burning, firecracker sensation in my little finger intensified as we pushed through the darkening water, this channel much narrower than the one behind us.Still holding the flashlight in my right hand, I clicked on the switch and used the beam of light to direct Angelle. Right, into another chute—right again into a wider bay—left, quick left into a much darker slough.
So much of my attention was focused on the kids that I barely noticed the scenery. An occasional houseboat, an egret the size of a snow goose, things I would have normally gawked at only irritated me, distractions that caused my finger to go dead and me to regroup my attention. Worse than the distraction, though, was the length of time this was taking. Already it felt like we’d been sloshing around the swamps forever, going around in circles. Everything looked the same. Green—dark—wet.
A time or two we’d happen upon what looked like a field of grass, which were actually the water lilies Angelle had warned me about earlier. It was slow going through those patches, Angelle working the throttle, fretting every time the engine sputtered. The lilies were bad enough, but the darkness . . .
Night didn’t fall upon the swamp, it collided with it. One minute shadows were gently merging over the water, and the next, I could hardly see the front of the boat, even with the flashlight and the glow from the moon. I slapped at a mosquito whining in my right ear, surprised I could hear it at all.
Although we seemed to be the only humans on some watery planet in a lost universe, we were far from the only creatures here. The collective sounds of what must have been a bazillion insects, and God only knew what else, was so loud I could hardly hear myself think.
Following the pull and pain in my finger, I aimed the flashlight to the right. “Turn there, between those two big cypress trees.” I glanced back to make sure Angelle had heard me.
She nodded, then batted a hand across her face, swatted the left side of her neck, her ear. “What’s with all these mosquitoes?”
“I said to turn right—right—you’re going to miss the turn off.” I aimed the flashlight at the opening of the slough, and she quickly banked right. The passageway was narrower than any we’d traveled through so far. A little over twenty-five feet from bank to bank. The brush and thicket of trees much heavier, too.
“Jesus!”
Hearing the surprise in Angelle’s voice, I jerked the flashlight beam in her direction.
It looked like a light gray veil had settled over her head and shoulders. Her left arm flailed about. “Jesus . . . God, look at all these fucking mosquitoes!” She spat, spat again. “Ugh!”
The beam from the flashlight acted like a sword, cutting through the gray veil, splitting the swarm of mosquitoes that covered her in half, sending them off in another direction. They swooped up, around, and behind until they’d settled on top of me. I barely had time to close my mouth before I felt the sting on my lips, them drilling into my nose, my ears. A mass of buzzing, whining, flitting gray matter that crowded my vision. “Shit,” I muttered through clenched teeth, lowering my head, batting the air around me. I felt tiny pinpricks on my face, my neck, my arms.
I braved a glance at my sister through slitted eyelids. She was still doing the batting, swatting mosquito dance, all the while sputtering and spitting, swinging her head from side to side. She finally let go of the throttle to use both hands, and the engine sputtered twice, then died. She stood up, arm still swinging, turned towards the motor.
I held the crook of my left arm over my mouth to minimize the number of blood-suckers I’d have to eat, and started to yell at Angelle to get us out of there, but all I got out was, “Get us—“ before something hit the left side of the boat, jostling me hard in my seat. I dropped the flashlight. “Fuck!”
Something hammered against the boat again, nearly knocking Angelle overboard this time. “Shit!” She grabbed onto the throttle for balance. “Shit . . . shit!”
“What the hell’s doing that?” I yelled, scrambling for the flashlight.
She didn’t answer. Her back was to me now, and she was leaning over, evidently meaning to restart the motor.
The boat bobbled in the open water as I chased the rolling flashlight on the bottom of the boat. As soon as I got a grip on it, I shot the beam over the side of the boat, aiming it into the murky water—and on an alligator with a head the size. . . of a fucking Camaro.
The moment the light hit it, the gator opened its jaws wide and snapped at the thin wall of aluminum, our only protection.
“Go!” I yelled to Angelle. “Get us the hell out of here now! Now!” I didn’t want to take my eyes off the alligator, as if that would make any difference on the timing of its attack.
“I’m trying!” The engine coughed, sputtered—died. Sputtered again, then chugged, the sound of a motor gasping to turn over but flooded with too much gasoline.
“Gelle, get us the fuck—“
“—I’m trying, goddammit, I’m trying!”
The engine whined, then revved, chugged and died.
Suddenly, another THUNK on the side of the boat. The attack came so fast and hard, my butt slipped off the seat, and I fell onto the floor of the boat. That time, though, I kept hold of the flashlight. No way was I going to let it go again. If I was going to die, they’d have to bury me with the sonofabitch.
Whine—chug—whine—grooommmm. . . the engine finally caught, and in the next moment, Angelle had us flying down the slough as if the boat were propelled by rockets. She yelled something to me, but her words were snatched away by the wind.
I held onto the side of the boat, squinted, aimed the flashlight ahead, hoped she could see where she was going.
Too fast . . .too fast. We were going way too fast for oncoming cypress stumps—oncoming cutoffs we needed to take. I yelled over the rush of wind,“Slow down! Slow down!”
Whether it was from the speed of the boat or our location, I couldn’t tell, but my finger suddenly became multi-directional. My entire hand vibrated with fire and electricity, and my finger waggled as if wanting to point in every direction at once. North—east—south—it was as if the kids had exploded, and my hand meant to find every molecule that floated back down to earth.
I shouted to Angelle again, “Slow down! I can’t pick anything up. I don’t know where we have to go. You’re going to slam into something!”
Evidently figuring out that I was trying to tell her something, Angelle geared back the throttle, and the roar of the engine quieted. The boat slowed. “What did you say?”
“I said slow down.”
“I got that, the other thing.”
“I’m not picking up anything specific. Not sure where we’re supposed to go.”
Her shoulders slumped.
On trembling legs, I got to my feet and carefully made my way back to the seat at the front of the boat. Grimacing, I aimed the flashlight out over the water, trying to get a feel for our surroundings. My right hand shook so violently from the pain in my left that the beam of light jittered and jumped. A giant firefly on amphetamines.
I patted the air with my hand, signaling for Angelle to slow down even more. I didn’t feel certain about our direction anymore. Just as before, everything around me looked like everything else I’d seen since we’d left the landing. Left looked right, and right looked absolutely wrong. I threw nervous glances over both sides of the boat to make sure Crocodile Dundee’s mascot hadn’t followed us. Seeing all was clear, I started drawing in long, deep breaths, attempting to refocus. Slow . . . easy . . . breaths.
Calm. . . .calm. . . think about the kids . . . the kids . . .kids. . .
“Which way?” Angelle asked.
I shook my head, still not feeling a clear direction. It was as if my entire left hand had been forced on top of a hot plate that had a short in it. At least the beam from the flashlight was growing steadier by the second.
“Which way?” Angelle asked again.
“Not getting anything specific.”
“Still?”
“I can’t help it. It’s not doing like it was before.”
“God, Dunny. It has to. I don’t know where the hell we are. I don’t even know how far out we’ve come.”
I looked back at her sharply. “I thought you knew these swamps.”
“I said I got out in the boat sometimes. I didn’t say I knew all the sloughs and flats and lakes around here or how one turns into the other. I was only following your direction, and I figured if you could get us out here, you’d get us back.” She was nearly panting with panic now. “You have to do something!”
“Do what? I can’t make it do anything, Gelle, you know that.”
“Jesus . . .” Angelle shook her head, fiddled with her ponytail, swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Fuck . . .”
While she fretted and fidgeted, I turned back to the front of the boat, squinting to figure out what lay ahead of the flashlight beam, beyond in the path of moonlight.
Trees and more trees—water and more water—turtles slipping off logs on the a nearby bank—the plop of fish leapfrogging from their schools—and something else . . .
“Still nothing?” Angelle asked.
Instead of answering, I trained the flashlight beam on something pale near a clump of cypress trees lining the bank about a couple hundred feet or so ahead on the right. It looked like a white seven . . .
My interest piqued, I pointed to it. “Go that way. Slow, though. Go slow.”
“What is it?”
“Just go.”
No sooner did Angelle aim the boat in that direction than the fiery hot sensation radiating through my extra finger did an about face. It turned cold. Antarctica cold. And cold meant dead. Oh, God. . .cold was dead. Whatever was sticking up near the gnarled base of the largest cypress tree was dead. I was sure of it . . .stone cold, dead sure of it.
“Please don’t let it be one of the kids,” I whispered. “Please, not the kids.”
“What did you say?” Angelle called over the sputter of the motor.
“There . . .that white thing by the trees.” I struggled to hold the flashlight beam steady.
Angelle pushed the boat forward a little faster, moving us up closer . . .closer still.
I leaned forward, squinting.
“It looks like a seven . . .” Angelle said, directing the comment more to herself than to me.
“Yeah. I . . . wait . . .” Either I’d cocked my head the right way, or the beam of the flashlight managed to slice through just the right shadow because suddenly that pale silhouette came into stark view. It was a seven all right . . . created by a human leg and foot. And we were coming on it too fast. God . . . shit . . .I threw my left hand up. “Stop! Stop the boat.”
Angelle immediately killed the motor, but not soon enough. The boat continued forward until the bow hit the large cypress, dislodged the leg and sent it sliding under the water. After regaining my balance, I held my breath and pointed the flashlight over the bow and peeked over the edge, not wanting to see, but needing too.
“What was it? Did you see?” Angelle asked, clambering towards the front of the boat.
“Stay back,” I said. And of course she didn’t.
“What is it?”
The flashlight suddenly blinked off, then on . . .off, then on. Then off, and we were left to the milky hue of moonlight. I beat the head of the flashlight against my left palm. “You have extra batteries for this thing?”
“I put fresh ones in before we left the house. It can’t be the batteries. Maybe when you dropped it earlier . . .”
I tapped the flashlight again, harder.
“What was it?” Angelle asked again. “Did you see it?”
In that moment, the flashlight chose to blink back on, and its beam ricocheted from the cap of aluminum on the bow, into the water, and right into the eyes of death. Angelle must have spotted the dead woman at the same moment I did because her scream rang out so loud and long, it made my ears sting.
There was little question it was a woman. Her face and torso bobbed to the surface, tapped against the boat as small waves sought the shore of the bank. Her face was narrow with a pointed chin, and a mole sat high on her right cheek . . . right below an empty eye socket.
“God—oh, God . . .” Angelle scrambled for the back of the boat, causing the skiff to rock, jerk from side to side.
The flashlight blinked of
f again. No light—no life jackets. . . “Calm down or you’ll flip the boat!”
“How the hell you expect me to calm down! It’s a dead woman for heaven’s sake! A dead woman right up against the boat!” She stomped her feet in fear, her shouts echoing through the swamp.
“Stop it Angelle!” The flashlight beam jiggled on again. Off, then on. I aimed the light in her face and saw welts from the mosquitoes on her neck, her cheeks, her forehead.
She threw a hand over her eyes, turned around, and stooped to grab the fuel bulb from the gas tank. “We’re outta here. Poochie was right, we’ve got no business here. You grab—”
THWUMP! A shudder ran through the floor of the boat.
Gasping, I aimed the flashlight at the floor.
Angelle caught sight of it first and screamed as if somebody was gutting her. The light blinked off again, flickered on. Angelle’s arms were pin-wheeling now, trying to move her body away—away from the large brown water moccasin that lay coiled near the supply bag on the floor of the boat.
I stood like an idiot, unable to move. I looked from the snake to my sister, who was scrambling backwards so quickly she didn’t notice the wooden bench coming up behind her knees.
“Gelle, watch out!”
Too late. The back of Angelle’s knees caught the bench, buckled, and sent her careening out of control. Her head bounced against the boat motor, and a loud crack! reverberated through the dark as her skull made contact. In the next instant, I saw her body tumbled over the side of the boat, then heard a splash—a thunk . . .
I was so stunned, it took a second for me to react. And when I did, it was soaked in panic. “Gelle!” I hurried towards the back of the skiff, the flashlight blinking off .. . on . . . off. I beat it against my palm. “Gelle!”
She couldn’t swim. I couldn’t swim. . . what the hell was I supposed to do? The snake . . . I didn’t care about the fucking snake. My sister. . .in the water. . .can’t swim. She’s gonna die—can’t swim—
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