Perch was unusually quiet too. He looked focused. Anxious, maybe. Piper hadn’t known him long enough to read his serious face. She decided it would be best if she kept her enthusiasm to herself.
After another half hour passed, they came upon a gloomy, gray part of the swamp. It was as if all the color had been leached out of the world.
Perch said, “Stop the boat, Macey,” and she did. “We’ve reached the part of the Oke that got burned up in last year’s big fire. The Rowell’s Island Fire.”
Since they’d departed Billy’s Island, the morning mist had dissipated everywhere else, but here it was corralled by the barren trees, a massive cloud caged by grotesque black spindles covered in scaly, charred bark. There was no green here. The intermittent strips of land looked crispy and fallow. Everything smelled of soot.
“This is horrible,” Piper murmured.
“The trees look like burned pencils,” said Creeper. “They’re scary.”
That’s a first, thought Piper. Creeper had never met a tree he didn’t like.
“Reminds me of the river Styx,” said Tad. “The underworld, in Greek mythology. It’s the river that separates the land of the living from the realm of the dead.”
Piper agreed. It did feel as though they’d entered a murky netherworld, one completely devoid of life.
“It’s the same thing that happens time and again in the Oke,” Macey said. “Lightning.”
“Like Macey mentioned before,” said Perch. “This swamp is notorious for wicked lightning storms. We get them every year, May through September. It’s especially dangerous after a long drought. Swamp fires can rage for weeks, if not months, sometimes smoldering underground for days, undetected, waiting to erupt.”
Somewhere from deep in the mist came a hoarse, screeching wail. Kee-eeeeee-arrr. Piper stiffened. In the story of the Daughters of the Sun, the Seminole warriors heard a horrific cry right before they were hit with the wave that decimated their armada. Piper braced for a tsunami, but it never came.
“Red-tailed hawk,” Perch said. “Nothing to fear. Some animals died in the fire, but most of the birds flew away and the burrowers burrowed. Turtles, snakes, gators, gophers—they’re all fine. Looks like the critters are coming back.”
“The forest itself seems pretty dead,” Tad said.
“It’s not,” said Perch. “The ground plants will bounce back soon, but it may take several years for the canopy to fill in again. Fires are a necessary evil in the Oke. They clear back the invading brush and woody plants that’d otherwise clog the waterways and eventually turn the swamp into a regular forest. Heck, if it weren’t for the fires, this swamp would be mostly woodlands now, and I’d have to hock my boat and start offering walking tours of the Oke. It’ll be slow going, but this burned section is all that stands between us and the circle on Cole’s map. In another mile we’ll be outside the park’s boundaries. Mace and I have never gone this far west before. Y’all ready for this?”
“We’ve come this far,” said Piper, speaking for the group.
“Okay, then,” said Perch. “Take us in, Mace. Go slow.”
“Aye, aye.” Macey adjusted the throttle, and the boat motored into the charred and flooded forest. Perch scouted ahead with keen eyes as he guided them through the maze of mist, crumbling trees, and shadows.
To Piper, it felt as though they were passing through an uneasy dream. In the mist it was impossible to see more than ten feet in any direction. It seemed to roll in behind them, erasing the Mud Cat’s wake. Erasing the world. One by one, black trees emerged from the mist, then faded again as the boat passed. There were untrustworthy sounds everywhere. Some of them Perch could identify—the call of a screech owl, the splash of a turtle slipping off a log, splashing into the water; other sounds he could not, and was sometimes startled by them. Silhouettes were moving everywhere. In a branch hanging low over the water, they spied a large dark shape, like a snake wearing a Dracula cape. As the Mud Cat passed underneath the limb, the shape was exposed as an S-necked anhinga bird fanning its wings.
Underwater, things bumped against the submerged part of the hull. Piper feared there were creatures down there testing the boat’s integrity for nefarious reasons. At least there were no fallen trees to trammel their way. Rather, the dead cypresses loomed tall above them, creaking eerily against the nudge of the hot summer breeze.
“Does this go on forever?” Creeper asked. It seemed that way. He was anxious to be out. They all were.
Perch pointed. “I see something up ahead.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” said Macey. “Jewelwing damselflies.”
The Mud Cat was suddenly surrounded by hundreds of beautiful insects. They looked like dragonflies, only with leaner, teal-blue bodies that glinted like metal in the light. They flew on jet-black wings, jouncing like papery marionettes on wires. Full of curiosity, the damselflies flitted through the gawping group. Some of them landed, clinging to their clothes and hair and even to Perch’s extended index finger, turning him into his namesake. The damselflies hovered around them for a short while, then regrouped into a loose, gleaming cloud in front of the bow. The insects moved ahead of the boat but didn’t abandon it. The Mud Cat followed as they fluttered low above the water trail.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves escorts,” Perch said.
The damselflies ushered the crew and passengers of the Mud Cat out of the mist, and they emerged into a vista of jarringly vibrant greens.
The canopy returned, burgeoned with foliage thick and lush. Lichens and vines patinated the trees. The grasses growing on patches of land were garishly bright, almost neon—mint, lime, mantis, olive, chartreuse, pine green, and more. Even the water was green, carpeted in algae, lily pads, sphagnum moss, and all manner of aquatic plants, most of them exploding with flowers.
“Whoa.” Creeper’s eyes widened to take it all in. “Everything’s so green! It’s like we’re in The Matrix!”
“We must have passed beyond the border of the fire,” Tad said.
“I don’t think so,” said Perch. “Look at the tree trunks. They’re charred and scaly, just like the ones in the mist. This part of the Oke was burned too.”
“How is that possible?” Piper asked. “Everything looks so…alive.”
“I don’t know,” Perch admitted. “I’ve never seen the swamp have such a quick and aggressive resurrection after a fire. This kind of recovery should take decades. Look at that tree—” He pointed at one of the tallest and most grossly blistered cypress trunks. It was veiny with bright green creepers. “Those vines are fresh. They sprouted after the fire. You can tell by the healthy coloring and the buds. But that makes no sense. See how they grew all the way up into the canopy? Normally, it would take ten years for a vine to grow that high.”
Suddenly, as if they’d hit a wall of glass, the damselflies made an abrupt U-turn, orbited the boat one more time, and then fluttered away, back toward the mist.
Creeper craned his whole torso to see them off. “Bye!”
“Well, that was different,” Macey grunted.
Piper sensed that if Macey hadn’t encountered something in the Oke before, it must be truly rare.
The Mud Cat’s motor spit and sputtered, shoving them on down the narrow. For the first time since they arrived at the Oke, Piper saw the swamp through the eyes of Dr. Brisbane Cole and Perch Gentner. Especially here, in this greenest of places, the Okefenokee was a living, breathing paradise. A drowned but thriving Eden. She noticed everything: the cluster of little blue herons stepping high though a field of water lilies; a lovely purple gallinule preening its feathers in the muck, casting a watchful eye at the boat as it passed; a feather-light dragonfly lying in the film of the water’s surface, resting before takeoff; glossy turtles and jewel-eyed alligators sunning. The life here, in all its forms, was beautiful.
“I wish I’d brought a camera,” said Piper.
“I did, remember?” Tad said. “The disposable kind. I forgot about it. It’s
in my backpack, if you want to use it.”
Tad’s backpack was resting on the floor next to Creeper’s feet. “Find the camera for me, will you?” Piper asked him.
He tossed her the backpack. “You find it. I’m not your servant.” His attitude was still downright rancid.
“Ugh!” Piper found the camera and snapped off a few shots.
Tad saw something that excited him. He went to stand up for a better look, felt the boat rock, and sat back down. “Up there, look!” He pointed into the trees. “See those things that look like little tumbleweeds stuck to the branches? Those plants are called Bartram’s bromeliads. They’re named after one of the Oke’s first explorers. They extract nutrients right out of the air. So cool! I wish I had some of those in my greenhouse.”
“That’s sad,” Perch snorted.
“What’s sad?” Tad asked, bristling.
“It’s sad that you have a greenhouse,” said Perch.
“What’s wrong with owning a greenhouse?” asked Piper.
“Greenhouses are nothing but glass cages. Zoos for plants. Look around, kids! This here”—Perch spread his arms wide—“is my greenhouse. All these plants are exactly where they’re supposed to be, out in the wild green yonder, not stuck in clay urns.”
“You mean flowerpots?” Tad was angry now. “My plants do just fine, thanks!”
“You’re a jailer,” said Perch. “A plant warden.”
“You know—” This time Tad did stand up. “I’ve had just about enough of—”
The boat slammed to a halt, sending Tad sprawling across Perch’s bench. Perch caught him and helped him up. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Tad said, checking himself over. “What the heck was that?”
The Mud Cat’s motor was still blubbering away, but the boat wasn’t moving.
“Macey?” Perch asked. “Did you—?”
“Wasn’t my doing,” she said.
They peered over the side. There was nothing there, just black water green-topped with sprigs of algae.
“We’re probably hung up on a sunken tree. Throw ’er in reverse,” Perch suggested. “Let’s give that a whirl.”
Macey tried to take the boat backward. It lurched a foot or two, but then it stopped dead. She went forward, then backward again. After a few tries to shimmy the boat loose, the slack tightened and the Mud Cat was stuck fast. Macey declared the boat “dug in like a tic on a dog’s behind.”
“Now what?” Piper asked.
Perch stood up and took off his shirt.
“Here we go again,” Tad muttered.
“I have to find out what we’re hung up on,” Perch told them. “That means getting in the water and going under the boat.”
“Is that even safe?” asked Piper.
“Safe enough. Cut the motor, Macey,” Perch ordered. “I’d prefer if the blades weren’t spinning while I’m down there. I like my haircuts just a little off the top, and I don’t mean the top of my neck.”
His first mate threw the choke. The motor fell silent. “Be careful, son.”
“Be back in a jiff.” With a nimble leap, Perch was over the gunwale and in the water.
Piper knelt on the bench and leaned over the side. She found Perch bobbing there.
“It’s deep,” he said. “I’m treading. Not touching the bottom.”
“How deep?” asked Creeper.
“The Oke is relatively shallow. Eight feet is considered deep.” Perch said. “It’s deeper than that, I think. Gonna see what’s holding up the Mud Cat.”
Perch took a gulp of air, then dropped down into the murk. All they could do was wait. And wait. And wait.
A minute passed.
“How long can a person hold their breath underwater?” Tad wondered aloud. “Isn’t this pushing it?”
Fretful creases formed on Macey’s brow. “In the navy, I was stationed in Japan for a spell. I met a pearl diver there who could stay under for seven minutes. But for most people, a minute is tricky. Perch was rightly named after a fish—he can stay under for two, but that’s pushing it.”
The second minute passed.
“That’s it. Something’s wrong. I’m going after him.” Tad started to untie his sneakers. The sun had them half-dried, and he wasn’t about to undo that progress.
“No, I’ll go.” Piper stripped off her shirt, revealing a polka-dotted swim top underneath. “I’m a better swimmer than you, Tad. I’ve got the Camp Get-Along Summer Games trophy to prove it.”
“That was six years ago!” he reminded her.
Piper sat on the gunwale and tossed one leg over the side. The last thing she wanted to do was jump into a swamp full of alligators, but if something happened to Perch, the game would be stopped short of the goal line. Her fear of losing Grace was greater than her fear of losing a limb. Plus, if she had to be honest, Perch was starting to grow on her. “I got him into this mess. I’ll get him out.”
“Piper, wait—” Tad reached out to stop her, but she was gone.
For the first several seconds, Piper slowly flapped her arms underwater and refused to open her eyes. She was terrified of letting any invading microscopic monsters get past her lids. Plus she was certain that if she opened them, she would see something big and toothy coming for her, and then nothing ever again. But she couldn’t help Perch if she couldn’t see him, so she pried her eyes open and had a look around.
The water was a little clearer than it had seemed from above. Piper could see the motor’s still propeller. Like the object of her hunt, it had silver petals.
The Mud Cat was completely free of obstruction. Perch had done his job. Piper turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees, but there was no sign of him anywhere. She looked down through her feet and spotted him. He was at the gloomy bottom, ten feet down, struggling inside of a growing cloud of silt. Struggling against something. Perch was snared in a web of thick vines. He must have removed them from the Mud Cat but got himself hog-tied in the process. Piper torpedoed down into the cloud to rescue him.
She grabbed hold of the thickest vine, the one looped around his thigh, and tugged. It was tight, and Perch’s flailing made it even tighter, but she was persistent and managed to unbind his leg. The vine sank to the bottom. Next, they worked together to leverage him loose of the one that had cinched around his midriff. With the first two vines no longer weighing him down, he was able to snap the one around his wrist with a jerky uppercut, and just like that he was free. Completely out of air, Perch couldn’t afford to wait on Piper. He bolted toward the boat like a water-to-surface missile. Piper tried to follow but realized that her ankle was snared in a swaying tuft of vines, and she couldn’t get free. She’d come to save Perch but had merely taken his place.
She reached down and tugged with all her might. With her arms busy pulling instead of treading, she began to sink down into the tangle. There were so many vines, a jungle of them! If she didn’t break away quickly, she’d find herself wrapped up like a mummy. Piper kicked and yanked and twisted, but the vine was like an animal snare, tightening as she struggled.
Something moved inside the tangle. Something big. Piper peered into the vines. Two round yellow eyes snapped open in scaly sockets and peered back.
An alligator burst through the vines, its mouth gaped wide, its pointed teeth exposed and lethal. The beast chomped down hard and missed her face by inches. She could hear the dulled clacking of the two halves of the gator’s jaw slamming together like leather paddles over and over. Perch said alligators weren’t man-eaters. He was so wrong! Piper swished backward to get away, but she knew the beast was in its element, easily the faster swimmer. She braced herself for the coming death roll, hoping she’d drown quickly so she wouldn’t have to watch her limbs being wrenched away from her body then gulped down a monster’s throat. No one should have to witness that.
But the gator was tangled up, too, and so much worse. It could barely move, other than to thrash its head and chomp empty water. Vines had coiled around
its legs, tail, and neck. As desperate as it was, the alligator was unable to cross the distance between them. Why then, Piper wondered, was it so intent on killing her instead of saving itself? Alligators didn’t have gills. They needed air or they’d drown. It didn’t make sense.
Piper kicked at the beast, hoping it would break off the attack. The gator snapped at her foot but missed. Instead it snagged the vine knotted around her ankle and started swinging Piper through the water, before its sharp teeth shredded the vine, setting her free.
Without looking back to thank her savior, Piper swam toward the surface.
“There she is!” Creeper shouted when Piper’s head bobbed up above the surface. Tad and Macey reached down to pull her aboard.
Creeper, near tears, helped her onto a middle bench. He sat close to her and kept patting her hand, asking over and over if she was okay. She answered with nods of her body.
Perch, she saw, was on the floor, unmoving. Tad hovered over his face. “I don’t think he’s breathing! I’m gonna try CPR.” He leaned in to attempt mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Perch palmed Tad’s face and moved it away. “Let’s just stay friends,” he croaked, staring blankly at the sky.
“Suits me,” Tad said. “What happened down there?”
When Perch had regained enough strength to sit up, he squeaked out his story. They realized how lucky he was to be alive.
“When I dove in, I found a fat vine wound around a metal plate on the transom. I managed to yank it over the top of the plate, but then the vine looped around my leg and dragged me to the bottom, where there were more vines. I got all tangled up. Next thing I knew, I was fighting for my life. Honestly, Piper, if it weren’t for you, I’d be a goner. I’m obliged.”
“You’d have done the same for me,” Piper assured him, and left it at that. She didn’t see the point in telling them about the gator. It would only upset Creeper more, and he was already a mess.
Tad handed Perch his T-shirt. “Yeah, yeah, she’s a hero and you’re grateful. Now put this on.”
“Thanks, buddy. I will.” Perch wrapped the shirt around his head like an Arab kaffiyeh.
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