“If you change your mind,” he smiled and jabbed the shotgun toward the black car, “you’ll get a ride in my grandpappy’s Plymouth.” He pumped the shotgun and chambered a cartridge. “Sixty seconds.” He jerked his head toward the trees. “Better git running—cuz maybe I can’t count past ten.”
Wilson bolted for the brush.
“Thank you,” Parker said, then took off after Wilson. They crashed through the brush, leaping over logs and plowing through dense patches of vines rather than around them.
Parker caught up to Wilson. “What about snakes?”
“We’re making noise. They’ll get out of our way. I hope.”
The most dangerous snake was the one following them, anyway.
“Ready or not,” Crawley’s voice shouted from somewhere behind them.
That was no sixty seconds.
“This way.” Wilson pointed.
The yellow spray paint dots marked the route back clearly. But it would lead Crawley right to them, too. Branches and vines slapped at Parker’s face like they were trying to slow him down for Crawley.
There was no point trying to be quiet. Parker pounded through the brush. “God help us. Please. Help.”
“Keep praying,” Wilson said. “Almost there.”
Parker didn’t even realize he was praying aloud. The ground was spongy, and the mangroves grew thick at the water’s edge. They busted through the brush not fifty feet from Typhoon.
“I’ll start her.” Wilson took the lead. “Push us offshore.”
Wilson leaped aboard and scrambled for the driver’s seat. Parker grabbed the front of the airboat and pushed, his feet sinking to his ankles in the swampy oobleck.
Wilson fumbled to get the key in the ignition. “C’mon, c’mon.”
Parker’s gimpy hand was still tingling like it was plugged in. He let it drop and shouldered the boat away from shore. When the water was up to his knees, he pulled himself aboard with his good arm. “I’m in. Get us out of here.”
Crawley crashed through the brush behind them.
“Well, lookee here.” Crawley smiled like this was more fun than he’d had in years. “Seems to me you need a little something to remember how local folks don’t take kindly to trespassing.” He raised the shotgun.
Wilson cranked the engine and it roared to life. He pulled the stick and stood on the gas.
Parker made his way back to his seat on all fours. Chanced another look back.
Crawley waved goodbye, then took aim—but clearly too high. A bright orange blast exploded from the barrel.
The airboat shuddered with the hit. Obviously Crawley intended to scare the living daylights out of them. He was doing a good job of it, too.
“Floor it!” Parker shouted. “Move!” He pulled his cap lower on his head, as if that would give him any protection. Crawley could have taken Parker and Wilson out if he’d really wanted to—and he still could.
Wilson swung the back end around and picked up speed.
He was sure he heard another blast from the shotgun, but with the sound of the engine it was impossible to know. Parker ducked instinctively. “Keep your head down!”
“I’m trying,” Wilson said, “but if I don’t watch where I’m going we’ll both end up in the water.”
Parker looked behind them, but couldn’t spot Crawley through the engine cage. He held his breath—unsure if they were out of the shotgun’s range.
Wilson plowed through patches of grass. Grazed a log. It took everything Parker had to hold on.
It had to be a full five minutes before Wilson eased up on the gas. He did a side-slide, came to a ratcheting stop, and cut the engine.
“What are you stopping for?”
Wilson jumped from his seat, leaned over the side, and puked. Moments later he rocked back on his knees, took a breath, and smiled. “Much better. And don’t let anybody—not even me—ever give you a hard time about being a boy scout. I think you telling Crawley the truth back there saved our lives.”
But he hadn’t been honest with his dad, had he? He’d have to do something about that. And he would. He’d tell him everything. Parker dreaded the thought of how disappointed his dad would be.
Parker scanned the waters behind them. He should have felt terrific at this moment. They’d escaped, right? An unnamed fear crawled up his throat. Crawley? Definitely. But there was something more. The Everglades themselves. The Glades were alive—and on the hunt. Parker felt like he and Wilson were the main course, and something was moving in. “Let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER 67
IT WAS JUST AFTER SUNSET before Angelica heard the sound of an airboat approaching. The sky absolutely glowed with a deep orange—and reflected off the black water. She stood on the dock, up on her tiptoes to see above the sawgrass. “Be Typhoon. Be Typhoon.”
The airboat skimmed around the bend and banked toward her. The red hull and rudders were a dead giveaway. She counted two heads and practically squealed with relief. They were both alive.
The moment Wilson cut the engine and glided to the dock she noticed the damage just behind the propeller cage. The top of one rudder was gone—like it had been blown off by a cannon.
She pointed. “What happened?”
“Crawley gave us a little souvenir to remember him by,” Wilson said. He slid off the seat and tossed Angelica the dock lines. “Isn’t your dad worried about you being out—and on a school night?”
“He’s out in the Glades somewhere with Parker’s dad. And it’s still early,” she said.
Parker stepped off the airboat onto the dock, and Jelly had his cap on her head before he could stop her.
“Tell me what happened out there,” she said.
Parker helped Wilson secure the airboat to the dock and quickly filled her in on Crawley’s bizarre place and everything the man said.
“Don’t you see?” Parker said. “Crawley thinks Maria’s alive.”
“Thinks . . . or knows? Did he actually see something to prove it?”
Parker gave her a questioning look. “He sounded like he knows.”
Wilson turned from inspecting the rudder. “The Everglades have eyes. That’s all he’d tell us.”
“Eyes? What does that even mean?” She looked from Wilson to Parker.
“He saw something,” Parker said.
Jelly’s head was spinning. She had to end this, or Parker would only want to do more searching. Tomorrow was Friday. All she had to do was keep him out of the Everglades that one last day. Saturday Parker would escape Clayton Kingman, Everglades City, and the Glades themselves for good. She had to discredit Crawley—and Parker would give up the goose chase. “If Crawley saw something, why didn’t he come out and say it? And besides, I wouldn’t pay attention to anything that deranged man says.”
Parker looked frustrated. “But what if he did see something?”
Angelica shook her head. “He was messing with you. Playing a game. Yeah, there are eyes everywhere in the Glades. Alligators. Snakes. They all have eyes, but they don’t talk much.”
“Maybe it was a skunk ape.” Wilson grinned. “Sasquatch see a lot, but I’m pretty sure they don’t talk much either.”
Angelica didn’t even grace his joke with a comment. “Look, I don’t want to be Suzy Skeptical here, but I wouldn’t exactly call Crawley a reliable source.”
“But he definitely made it sound like there’s something out there that the rangers missed,” Parker said. “Answers. And he’s the first one who has admitted to seeing anything that might give a shred of hope. That’s got to be worth something, right?”
“Not in my opinion,” Angelica said. She had to squelch any hope Crawley’s cryptic message gave Parker—without raising his suspicions.
Parker didn’t say anything, but he had that determined look on his face like he was processing. Wilson went back to checking out the rudder, manually turning it back and forth.
Angelica opened the Uber app and set up their ride back to the Boy’s Bomb and their bikes,
then pocketed her phone. Parker still looked deep in thought—and he hadn’t tried to get his hat back once. If she truly hoped he was going to let this go, these were not good signs.
“What are you thinking, Parker?”
He stood there, staring out at the black water of the Everglades.
“Parker?”
He didn’t turn. “Five things keep looping around in my mind ever since we got away from Crawley,” Parker said. “Make that six. One. I messed up good by doing this behind my dad’s back.” He gave Wilson the side-eye. “It will be really hard to talk me into compromising what I know is right again.”
Jelly glared at Wilson. “I knew you were behind this.” She focused back on Parker. “And number two?”
“Maria didn’t get eaten by an alligator,” Parker said. “Three. Maria isn’t at Crawley’s place. Four. That ‘eyes’ comment he made . . . somebody knows something. Five. I’m going to figure it out.”
Angelica tried to stay calm. There were things she wanted to tell him. Was dying to tell him. But she couldn’t do that. Not until he was on his way to his new home up north. When there was no chance he’d go back in the Glades. “And number six?”
“I am never stepping foot on Crawley’s property again.”
Wilson laughed. “I’m with you on that one, Bucky. One hundred percent.”
“I am sooo glad to hear that, too,” Angelica said. And she believed Parker would stay away. But it was his wild-card comment about figuring things out that had her worried. “So now what?”
“I want to get home and hit the shower,” Parker said. “I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”
Angelica nodded. So did she.
Parker reached for his cap, but Angelica ducked and stepped back. “You’ll get it back tomorrow. On the way to school—as long as you don’t try another stunt like this.”
The two guys paused to look at Typhoon.
Angelica followed their gaze. “Are you seeing a pattern here? Every time you take your uncle’s airboat out, it has to go in for repairs. What do you think he’s going to say about that?”
“I think,” Wilson said, his face suddenly serious, “he’ll just be glad Crawley only gave us a warning shot. Any lower and it would have been my head.”
Actually, it would have been Parker’s more likely—based on where he was sitting. Parker had cheated death again.
And he would tomorrow, too, with her help. All she had to do was keep him out of the Everglades one more day.
CHAPTER 68
INTEGRITTY. Parker’s eyes had long adjusted to the dim light filtering through his bedroom windows. He stared at the sign. If he really wanted to be a person of integrity, he’d have to confess to his dad about going to Crawley’s today. He’d messed up good, hadn’t he?
Parker’s stomach had been hijacked by a massive knot of dread. Just the thought of telling his dad how he’d messed up cinched the knot tighter. He’d sent him a text with the short version—which made him feel a tiny bit better. But if his dad was out on the Lopez with Uncle Sammy, he wouldn’t get that text until he got within range of a tower—which probably wouldn’t happen until morning.
INTEGRITTY. Not that it mattered all that much to him right now, but what was his Grandpa trying to say with that misspelling? It had to take a lot of hours to carve the sign. Why would he wreck it by purposely spelling the word wrong? It had to be something important. But if it was that important, why not just tell him what it was? Even Dad wanted Parker to figure it out on his own.
He slid out of bed, took the sign off the wall, and climbed back in bed. He flicked on his flashlight and read the back side again.
“Even in darkness light dawns for the upright, for those who are gracious, compassionate, and righteous.” Psalm 112:4-6
Except for the Crawley fiasco, he’d been trying to be the kind of son who did the right thing, hadn’t he? Yet he’d never been in a darker place. “God,” he whispered, “I’d definitely like to see some dawning light here.”
Parker looked at the Sharpie message Grandpa had written below the verse.
I’ve found this verse to be true for a man of INTEGRITTY, Parker. If this is the kind of man you’ll dedicate yourself to becoming, I know you’ll find it true as well. It won’t come naturally, and it won’t come easy. It takes something you’ll find embedded in the word itself.
Lots of love, Grandpa.
Parker wasn’t so sure he had what it took to be that man. But Grandpa said he’d find it in the word. As in the misspelled word, integritty? Or did he mean the Word—which would be the Bible. All throughout the Bible it showed what it meant to be a person of integrity—and what happened when you compromised, as Parker did today. But if Grandpa was referring to the Bible, didn’t that seem a little too obvious? And what did that have to do with spelling integrity the way he did, anyway?
“Why the misspelling, Grandpa?” He’d added that extra “T” in integrity here on the back of the sign, too. Whatever Grandpa was trying to tell him was a puzzle for another day. Right now he had to get back to the real mystery. That puzzling message from Crawley.
He set the sign next to his bed and turned off the flashlight. He lay back and stared at the ceiling, picturing the bizarre encounter at Crawley’s place.
“They’s eyes all over the Glades. They’s all the help you need.” Parker tried to remember Crawley’s exact words. He knit his hands behind his head and stared at his dark bedroom ceiling. “The answers were staring back at the rangers” or something like that. Crawley made no sense.
And his comment that maybe Maria didn’t want to be found. How insane was that?
“Parker?” His mom opened his door and hesitated. Dim light filtered in from the hall, silhouetting her slightly. “You still awake?”
He was pretty sure she knew he was. He raised himself on his elbows.
“It’s after midnight,” she said. She tiptoed in and sat on the edge of his bed. “Can’t sleep—or bad dreams?”
He lay back down and held out his bad arm. “You going to tell me there’s no such things as monsters?”
She smiled at him with kind of a sad smile. “No. I’m not going to tell you that at all.” She stroked his mangled arm. Traced the scars with her fingertip. “You know monsters are real. Your Daddy and Uncle Sammy are hunting one right now.”
“Goliath.”
Mom bit her lip. “Yes, honey. They’ve been at this for too many hours today already. He’ll be home by six, catch a few hours sleep, then head out again if they don’t get him tonight. There isn’t much time left, but they want him real bad.”
“He’s a real bad gator.”
She nodded. “I wish they’d leave it be. I just fear they’re—” Mom caught herself. She took a deep breath and smiled. “I wish we’d skip the moving van. I’d like to hop in the pickup, leave all the baggage here, and make our escape. Just between you and me, I can’t wait to get out of this place. And get my boys out in one piece, too.”
He flexed his hand. God knew he wanted out of this place. But he seriously doubted it would make as much of a difference as he’d once thought. How do you escape the baggage in your head?
“Do you think Maria’s alive?” If someone else believed, it would make it easier for Parker to believe it himself, wouldn’t it?
“I can’t believe she’s dead,” Mom said. “But that’s not the same as believing she’s alive.” She brushed the hair out of his eyes and stood. “Only God knows. Let’s talk about it after school tomorrow.” She smiled. “Last day, right?”
One last day of school. One last day to find Maria—or the answers to what really happened that night on the Lopez.
She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead—just about where Crawley had given him that two-fingered poke. “Sleep good.”
He’d be happy just to sleep. No, that wasn’t true. He couldn’t sleep, even if he wanted to. He had to figure this out. Mom was right, though. Only God knew if Maria was dead or alive.
/> The hall light flicked off, and he heard his mom’s door close.
“God,” he whispered. “It’s me again. Thanks for rescuing us from Crawley—even though I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. And now I need another big favor. I need your help to figure out what Crawley was hinting at.” How long Parker prayed, he wasn’t sure. When he’d said everything on his heart, he went back to Crawley’s riddle.
Eyes. Somehow all over the Glades. Watching the rangers.
Alligators? They were definitely all over—and watching. But how could they tell the rangers anything? Crawley made it sound like the rangers missed something.
He pictured the image from Dad’s camera again. Sunday Bay. The upside-down kayak in the short grass. The cypress tree with the strangler vine wrapping itself around the trunk like a python. Branches hanging over the water’s edge. The water itself black as the gates of hell.
What did the rangers miss? What was Parker missing?
Eyes. Eyes. Watching. But not eyes from an animal—or a sasquatch. Eyes that belong to someone or something that can communicate back. If the eyes belonged to a gator or something that couldn’t talk, why would Crawley make such a big deal of the rangers missing it?
If someone else was there—an eyewitness—why didn’t they come forward and tell what they knew? Unless it was a poacher—like Crawley. There were probably dozens of guys poaching in the Glades that night. Eyes all over the Everglades, right? That’s what Crawley said. Had the rangers questioned guys with prior records of poaching? Maybe that’s how the rangers had missed what really happened to her.
Parker’s heartbeat shifted into a higher gear. Could that be the answer? The rangers needed to do more questioning? And what did Crawley mean about Maria not wanting to be found?
Maybe talking to the right “set of eyes” would answer that question.
Parker stood and paced his room to stay alert. To keep blood flowing to his brain. He tried on his theory like a new pair of shoes. Eyes. Poachers. Seeing something happen but not telling. If they were poachers, they didn’t like rangers any more than Crawley did. Why would a poacher suddenly want to help? How would they explain what they were doing out there in the middle of the night?
Escape from the Everglades Page 29