Escape from the Everglades

by Tim Shoemaker

  “I really don’t care.”

  “He’ll totally discount the fact that Parker went in,” Wilson said. “He’ll say Parker only went in because someone went with him.”

  Jelly groaned. Wilson was probably right, which infuriated her more. Clayton was such a sleaze. “I don’t care what Clayton Kingman thinks.”

  “Maybe Parker does.”

  She totally disagreed. Parker despised Kingman. Why would he care what the guy thought of him?

  Parker was taking it slow. Deliberate. But he’d doubled his distance from them already. He turned back for an instant. “Exactly how far am I supposed to go?”

  “Follow the trail markers. I was here early this morning and tied my hat to the trunk of a cypress. You can’t miss it. It’s about a mile out.”

  “A mile out—into the Everglades?” Jelly hauled off and slugged Wilson on the arm—hard. “Are you out of your Miccosukee mind?”

  Wilson ignored her. “Bring back the hat, and you’ve passed your therapy session for today.”

  Parker gave a single nod. He had that determined look on his face. He was putting up a tough front, but he was scared. Only someone certifiably insane wouldn’t be.

  Like Wilson.

  “And for extra credit, walk a little farther until you see a cypress with a massive strangler vine around the trunk. Bring me a picture and I’ll buy you pizza.”

  Parker waved him off, scanning the surface of the water as he did. Without a word, he started wading through the water again.

  Wilson pulled out his phone, set it on the video mode, and took a quick shot. “Just in case Kingman doesn’t believe he did it.”

  “And if something happens to him,” Jelly said, “I’ll turn it in as evidence against you as an accessory to murder.”

  Wilson laughed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? He’ll be fine.”

  No, if Wilson was out there alone, Wilson would be fine. The guy was Teflon when it came to danger. But Parker? The Everglades had marked him. Claimed him. Somehow he’d wrestled free from its death grip, but now he was walking right into its clutches. He may not be so lucky this time. “What about the curse you talked about. The toll, remember?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe that stuff.”

  “I don’t.” But that didn’t stop the sense that she was on the edge of the airboat again. Helpless. Watching. Expecting a gator to drag Parker under at any moment. She shielded her eyes against the sun. In her head she knew the curse was ridiculous. But in her heart? Somehow she had to get her head and heart working together.

  Parker had the sheath off the blade strapped to Amos Moses. Even from this distance she could see Parker’s shoulders were hiked up. Tense. Did he see something?

  If she knew Parker, he was praying at this very moment. She definitely didn’t have the level of faith in God that Parker did. But walking into the Everglades was stupid. And faith or no faith, did anyone have the right to expect God to bail them out when they weren’t using the good sense He gave them?

  “You have any trouble,” Wilson shouted, “just give a whistle, and I’ll be out there—pronto.”

  Parker raised one hand but didn’t turn to look back this time. He kept his eyes on the water in front of him.

  Parker definitely had a loud whistle, but still, the idea of relying solely on a whistle wasn’t making Angelica feel any better. “What if we don’t hear him?”

  “Sound carries across the water. I could hear his whistle from two miles out—maybe more. Unless you don’t shut up, of course.”

  Slogging a mile back into the Everglades? “But what if we don’t get out there in time?”

  “I’ll get there.”

  “Really? And what can you do if he’s attacked? You weren’t exactly jumping off Typhoon into the water to help him when he got mauled.”

  Wilson clenched his jaw but didn’t say a word. But she was pretty sure her words packed a lot bigger wallop than her punch did.

  Parker wasn’t supposed to go back in the Everglades. He was tempting fate again.

  No, not fate.

  He was thumbing his nose at the Everglades themselves. Giving them another chance at the one who’d been chosen by the Glades to pay the ultimate toll—but had lived to tell about it. She didn’t believe Wilson’s Miccosukee superstitions, yet couldn’t totally discount them either. Which bothered her. She just needed more faith. There was no such thing as a place being cursed, right?

  Then again, there were stories of places that were cursed in the Bible. Hadn’t Parker told her that once? Jericho—the famous fortress city whose walls collapsed when the Israelites marched around it seven times and shouted. After the city was destroyed, Joshua pronounced a curse on the site. Whoever would rebuild that city’s foundation and set the city gates in place would do it at the cost of his firstborn and his youngest son. Angelica didn’t understand it all, but years later—when Jericho was rebuilt—it happened just as Joshua said it would. Only God could truly curse a place. Could He have put some kind of a curse on the Everglades as well?

  Honestly, she didn’t know what to think. But to completely throw aside all caution was gambling with Parker’s life, right? That was one thing she could be sure of. Anyone walking into the Everglades alone was on a collision course with disaster—toll or no toll.

  Parker approached a stand of scrub trees maybe fifty yards from shore. The spot where the trail took a turn. He hesitated. For an instant, he looked back and waved Amos Moses at them. The blade caught the sunlight. It flashed and winked at her like it was part of some inside joke. Or was Amos Moses sending a signal—a distress call?

  Parker turned and walked deeper into the Everglades before she could raise her hand to wave back. Seconds later he disappeared completely from view.

  CHAPTER 11

  FIND THE HAT. FIND THE HAT. Parker scanned the trees ahead for any sign of it. The water was over his knees now, but it was clear—when he wasn’t picking up glare from the sun. If he couldn’t see the bottom, he’d have turned back by now. Still, he kept the blunt end of Amos Moses ahead of him in the water, doing a side-to-side sweep of the bottom. Alligators could stay under for who knew how long . . . waiting. For what? Some idiot like him to walk into them.

  The stainless steel blade of the gator stick was just above his head. If anything attacked from behind, he’d raise the blunt end of the stick and thrust behind him. He doubted the dive knife on the other end could penetrate the gator’s armored hide, but it would keep the gator from getting his teeth in him.

  Hopefully.

  He spotted the next yellow spray paint circle. Good. He was still on track.

  Parker glanced behind him, halfway hoping Wilson and Jelly would be there. Waving him down. Refusing to let him do this alone. Trying to catch up.

  No such luck.

  Which was for the better, right? Kingman would never let up on him if he knew Parker didn’t go in alone.

  The truth was, he didn’t care what Kingman thought. It was what Maria thought of Parker that mattered. But right now, it seemed that whatever Kingman thought mattered an awful lot to her.

  What Jelly—and Wilson—thought about him mattered a whole lot right now too. Probably more than it should. And maybe if they stopped labeling him as a coward, he could stop doing it himself.

  The bottom looked like mud, but it was just a thin layer of sandy muck over solid limestone. Which meant his shoes weren’t sinking into it like he thought they would. That was something anyway.

  Twice he stepped into a solution hole—basically a pit or giant pockmark in the limestone base. They were filled with the muck, so there was no way to see it before he stepped in it. His foot would drop down a few extra inches before he hit rock. That split second before he touched bottom was totally unnerving. But he’d step right out of the hole again, and everything would be okay.

  What would Dad say if he knew he was out here? Parker would have to tell him. Anything less would be dishonest, right? But Dad wo
uld definitely question Parker’s judgment on all this. Disappointing Dad was about the last thing Parker wanted to do. He’d rather not have to mention a word about Gator Hook Trail. But if he could pick and choose when to be a person of integrity, he wouldn’t be a person of integrity at all. The more Parker thought about it, the more he was sure that Dad would understand why he had to walk the trail—alone.

  But Mom would have a cow. Ever since the accident, she was just as anxious to move as Dad. There were days he’d come home from school and find her studying lists of US National Park posts, praying for God to lead in His perfect way.

  Keep your head focused on what you’re doing, Parker.

  How far was he from shore? Not far enough to turn around and go back yet. And too far for Wilson to get there in time if he truly needed help. A blue heron flew overhead like there was nothing to worry about. From up there maybe. But down here?

  He studied the surface of the water for an alligator head. For its eyes. Looked for telltale bubbles that might betray where an alligator lurked.

  Nothing.

  But that didn’t mean they weren’t around. Alligators were everywhere. Gator Hook Trail was a place of predator and prey.

  And he was the prey.

  He developed a rhythm. Sweeping the path with Amos Moses. Stepping ahead, each step carefully placed. Not so fast as to slosh the water. That would only attract gators. But not too slow where he’d be out here any longer than he had to.

  He spotted the next yellow circle. How many had he seen so far? Six? Seven? The Glades stretched out in front of him in a wide-open section. Mostly short grasses poking through the water. He could see for probably two or three miles to his left and right. Ahead thick clumps of brush and trees reached out of the swamp like zombies coming out of a watery grave. Would the water trail lead through those? Farther ahead he could see the towering cypress. A whole forest of them growing out of the black waters.

  If he were on dry land this would simply be a field. An open meadow on the edge of a jungle-like forest. He’d be in no more danger than he would in his own backyard.

  But he wasn’t on dry land. He was in the Everglades. The air was heavy. Not a breath of wind rippled the water’s surface. He pressed on.

  Halfway through the still expanse he stopped. He just stood there. Out in the open he felt safer. He planted the blunt end of Amos Moses on the bottom and rested it against his shoulder. Slowly he released his grip and reached for his phone. He took a panoramic shot—but even as he did it he wasn’t sure why.

  Maybe to prove he was really out there. Alone. Or maybe it was something more.

  But if he didn’t find the hat, at least he could show how far he’d gone.

  He stood perfectly still. As if he could somehow blend with nature here. Maybe then he’d not be noticed by any wildlife that would see him as an intruder—or a meal. He willed himself to relax. Not let down his guard, but to take a breath. If Jelly were here she’d be telling him to take in the beauty.

  Parker scanned the horizon in every direction as far as he could without moving his feet. It was gorgeous—in a way that nature always is. Sometimes the most amazing places in God’s creation are also the most dangerous. Dad had told him that how many times?

  “Jesus, thanks for keeping me safe so far. Keep it going, okay?”

  Tiny fish—like minnows—surrounded him. Pecked at his cargo pants. He shook his leg slightly. The fish scattered, but in seconds they were back. Slamming into him. Bolder now. What was up with that?

  “You’re an intruder, Parker. You don’t belong here.” Time to move. Get this done. Get out.

  He found the next trail marker sprayed on the trunk of a tree poking out of the water, surrounded by scrubby bushes and short grass. He made his way toward it, sweeping the water ahead of him with Amos Moses.

  That moment of calm—or whatever it was he’d felt a minute ago—was gone. A sense of dread crept in like the water slowly reaching higher up his pant legs.

  The Glades were rampant with nasty reptiles, and the trail wound through sections that seemed like perfect places for them to wait.

  For a sucker like him.

  How long had he been out here? It seemed like an hour. Still, he hadn’t seen one alligator. That was strange. “Thank you, God.” But he had a growing sense that they were watching.

  Parker’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Probably Jelly wondering if he was okay. Maybe he’d let her sweat a little. Truth was, he needed to stay on high alert—and definitely didn’t need the distraction. He needed to watch. Listen. And keep both hands on Amos Moses.

  He waded through and around patches of grass and brush big enough to hide the most dreaded evils of the Everglades. Gators. Pythons. Venomous snakes. He caught a break when the trail opened up for maybe thirty yards before being choked by the next screen of high weeds and heavy brush.

  And then he saw the hat—tied to the trunk of a marker tree, just like Wilson said. He stood for a moment and stared at it, sensing there was something else there. Something he couldn’t see. He had a sense that evil was closing in . . . and tightening like a noose around him. He got the definite feeling that he’d proven everything he needed to prove. Was it his own fears messing with his head, or was God telling him to turn around and leave the instant he got that hat?

  He’d prayed for God’s protection plenty of times since leaving shore—and didn’t feel one bit of shame about it. And he wasn’t about to stop now.

  “C’mon, Parker. Grab the hat and get out. Grab the hat and get out.” He took a couple of quick breaths and moved toward the orange Wooten’s Airboat Tours cap.

  He scanned quicker now. Left. Right. Behind him. Then back at his target. Maybe it was the way the sun hit the water, but it looked black now—and it rose nearly to his waist. Plenty deep for a gator to come at Parker without him seeing it until too late. He should have never come out here.

  By the time he got to the tree his heart was thumping around in his chest like an animal trapped in a cage. He didn’t bother unknotting the rope. Parker yanked the cap free and stared at it for a moment. Wooten’s slogan ran through his head. On an airboat, nobody can hear you scream. And if a gator pulled him under, nobody would hear him scream out here, either. He stuffed the cap under his belt, noticing his hand shaking even as he did.

  Euhh. Euhh. Euhh. Euhh.

  Parker’s stomach knotted. The cries of baby gators. And they were close. If the babies were around, mama would be nearby too.

  There was no way he was going for the “extra credit” picture of the strangler vine. He had the unexplainable feeling that if he traveled any farther down Gator Hook Trail, he’d never get back to shore. Something was waiting for him just ahead. He knew it. Something bad was definitely going to happen if he stayed on this path. Even when both arms were strong, he was helpless to fight off the alligator. What did he think he’d be able to do if he ran across a gator this time?

  C’mon, Parker. Keep it together.

  He backed away from the tree. Scanning. Scanning. Always scanning.

  And then he saw it. The unmistakable nose and eyes of a gator. No more than thirty yards up the trail. Maybe a nine-footer. Young. Fast. Aggressive. And likely hungry.

  “Okay, easy now, Parker. You’ve got what you came for. Get out before that thing gets what it’s coming for.” He backed a few more steps away from the marker tree, keeping his eyes on the gator.

  But there was no way he was going to walk backward all the way to shore.

  He turned and sloshed back down the trail he’d just come from. The splashing made noise. Plenty of it. But he’d already been spotted. What difference did it make now?

  A shoulder check proved the beast was still there, but the gator’s back was exposed now, showing its full size. The serrated edge of its tail swept side to side lazily, like stalking Parker required no real effort on his part. Or maybe the thing was wagging its tail, sure he’d just found his dinner.

  Parker tried to
step up the pace, but his pants caused such drag he didn’t feel he was going faster at all for the extra effort. He’d need to conserve his strength. If this came down to a fight, he’d need every bit of energy he had.

  Through the thick brush and weeds again. Around the bend. He looked back.

  The gator had cut the distance between them in half.

  “Okay, God . . . you see that thing, right? I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell it to leave.”

  Parker pulled Amos Moses out of the water now. Sweeping the trail ahead was only slowing him down. He gripped it with both hands, like a spear, and pushed forward harder.

  He made it to the vast open section. The swamp-meadow. But it didn’t look the same. The beauty was gone. It mocked him now. The trees marking shore and the trailhead seemed impossibly far away.

  The gator was still trailing him. And gaining. Was it just curious?

  Or hungry?

  Parker hiked his knees higher, almost galloping. But he’d never be able to outrun the gator—not in water this deep. And wouldn’t his frantic moves make the gator bolder?

  He needed something to throw at the beast. Something to slow it down. A stick of dynamite would be perfect. All he could hope for was that the gator waited a little longer to attack. Long enough for Parker to get away.

  He gave another shoulder check.

  Oh yeah. The thing was definitely moving in on him. Its tail swinging rhythmically, like it was enjoying the hunt and didn’t need to push hard to catch him. At this rate the gator would be on him long before he got close to shore. Parker didn’t want the thing blindsiding him. If it got to within twenty feet he’d turn and face it with the business end of Amos Moses.

  He worked himself into a high-stepping trot as he made his way toward the trailhead, glancing behind him every couple of steps now.

  Suddenly a second gator surfaced fifty feet away—dead ahead. Bigger than the one behind him. Between him and shore—and coming his way.

  Parker stopped immediately. How did this happen? He was back in the water. Between two alligators. Something that wouldn’t have happened if he’d stayed out of the Everglades, like he’d promised himself. He’d been an idiot . . . and now he was trapped.