Clint Wolf Boxed Set: Books 16 - 18

by BJ Bourg

  “Are you sure he didn’t fall off the kayak?”

  “Frank doesn’t just fall off of a kayak,” she said. “He’s done some of the roughest whitewater rapids in four states. He doesn’t just fall into the water.”

  I shot a thumb over my shoulder, indicating the kayak tied to the back of our boat. “Is that Frank’s life vest?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t usually wear one.” She studied my eyes. “It had to be a big alligator or something that pulled him in. I felt it rock the kayak. In fact, the force of it knocked me overboard.”

  “You fell in?”

  “Yes, sir. As soon as I hit the water, I started swimming for my life. I was too afraid to go back toward the kayak, so I headed for the land. Thank God I had on my vest, or I would’ve drowned, too.”

  “When you got to the land, did you look for Frank?” I asked. “Did you look out at the water?”

  “Yeah, I turned and looked back.” She frowned deeply. “There was no sign of him. I knew if he would’ve been able to come to the surface, he would’ve done it, but I couldn’t help but think he had made it back to land—that he would come back and find me.”

  “What’d you do at that point?”

  “I saw bubbles in the water and it seemed like they were heading in my direction, so I turned and ran as fast as I could. It was hard. I was barefooted and there were a bunch of roots sticking up in the ground, but I didn’t care. I knew that whatever had gotten Frank might be coming for me, so I kept running. I thought there had to be some houses or more camps out there, but I ran for a long time and didn’t find anything.” She shivered involuntarily. “I was terrified. I didn’t want to go back toward the water. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I found a hollowed out log and that’s where I slept. Well, I had to make sure there were no snakes inside first. I didn’t leave the log much at all. I was just too scared.”

  “You stayed there the entire time?”

  “Mostly. It rained one night, but I was dry in the log.” Nelly put her plate aside. “I heard boats riding by from time to time and I would run toward the lake, but they were always gone by the time I got there.”

  “You said you ran out of water yesterday,” I said, looking her up and down. “Where’d you get the water?”

  “I had a CamelBak on me when I fell into the water,” Nelly said. “Without it, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to survive. As it was, I was tempted to drink the water right out of the lake, but I was afraid the monster would come back and get me.”

  I groaned inwardly, but didn’t challenge her characterization of the incident. Amy, for her part, raised an eyebrow as though to say, “I told you the Letiche was alive and well in these waters.”

  “Where’s the CamelBak now?” I asked.

  “Back by the hollowed out log.”

  “Other than the CamelBak, is there anything else out there?”

  She shook her head. “No, sir, that’s it.”

  I was thoughtful. On the one hand, I wanted to get her to a hospital as soon as possible, but on the other hand, I needed to investigate her campsite. What if this monster had tried to track her through the swamps? There might be a trail—footprints, perhaps. If we could find a footprint, we would know what we were dealing with. If this was some kind of monster—

  I stopped and silently cursed myself. Of course this is no monster!

  “Amy, can you get on the radio and ask Susan to get an ambulance to the boat launch?” I asked. “I want to check for tracks before we leave the area.”

  Amy nodded and snatched up the handset.

  Nelly shuddered. “Tracks? Do you think it was coming for me?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t know.

  CHAPTER 14

  After checking out Nelly’s campsite and finding nothing but an empty CamelBak and her set of tracks leading to the water, I rejoined Amy and we headed for the boat launch. I drove the boat and pulled it directly into the slip, where an ambulance was waiting.

  Baylor Rice was at the launch and he grabbed the bow line and secured the boat in place. Amy and I were helping Nelly out of the boat when I heard a cry from somewhere behind the crowd of onlookers.

  “Camille!” called a man’s voice. “Camille, it’s Daddy!”

  “Oh, no!” My heart sank to my boots.

  “What is it?” Amy asked, steadying Nelly’s right side while I steadied her on the left.

  “It’s Roger Rainey,” I said, scanning the crowd in search of the man. “He thinks we found Camille.”

  “Who’s Camille?” Nelly wanted to know.

  “A girl who went missing on Monday.” I stopped walking when two medics reached us. I let Amy consult with them while I moved toward the voice. Roger was still shouting and drawing nearer. Finally, I saw him squeeze through several people and break out into the opening that Baylor previously had cleared out.

  “It’s okay,” I told Baylor when he gave me an inquisitive look. “You can let him through.”

  Roger craned his neck to see around me. “Where’s Camille?”

  “It’s not Camille,” I said softly, but he seemed not to be listening.

  He continued rushing forward and brushed past me. “Camille!”

  I almost reached for his arm, but decided to simply follow him to the ambulance. In his state of mind, he would have to see for himself that it wasn’t Camille.

  “Camille!” he hollered, ratcheting up his voice as he reached the ambulance. He walked toward the back door.

  Amy stepped aside and allowed him to peer into the back window.

  “Camille!” He jerked the door open and froze in place. An audible gasp ripped from his throat. He stumbled back and sat down hard on the ground. He buried his head in his hands. He began to cry. It had just become very real for him. It was at that moment he realized his daughter was never coming home again. She had finally fought her last fight and had met her match.

  I waved for the ambulance to leave and for Baylor and Amy to clear the crowd away. Among the onlookers were several cameramen and reporters employed by various news stations from New Orleans and La Mort. This was turning into a circus and, from here on out, everything that happened would be broadcast on live television.

  “Mr. Rainey, why don’t you come with me?” I asked. “We’ve got a room waiting for you and your wife. I think you’ll find it more comfortable than being out here, with everyone watching and wondering. You and your wife will have more privacy.”

  To my surprise, he didn’t argue. He allowed himself to be led by the shoulders to where the food tents were located. I spotted his wife standing behind one of them, and that’s where I headed. Odelia saw us coming before we reached her. Her hands were clasped in front of her body and there was an eager expression on her face. However, when she saw the dejected manner in which Roger carried himself, she wailed, “What’s the percentage?”

  Roger only shook his head.

  “Damn it, Roger, what’s the percentage?”

  When he continued walking without offering a number, she screamed like she’d been electrocuted and then collapsed to the ground.

  Roger, to his credit, snapped out of his grief-stricken trance and rushed to be at the side of his wife. Even as the tears fell down his own face, he spoke calmly to Odelia, trying desperately to calm her.

  Susan left them alone and walked to where I had stopped. “What happened out there? Who’d you find?”

  I told her everything, from us locating the kayak, to us locating Nelly, to the way Roger had acted.

  “I think it’s starting to hit him now,” I said in a low voice. “He finally realizes this is a recovery mission.”

  “This ain’t good, Clint Wolf,” Susan said, turning her back on the grieving couple so she and I could speak without being overheard. “I’m hearing whispers that there’s a monster out there killing people. Mayor Cain said parents from all over have been calling and demanding to know if their children are okay. More than one of them mentione
d seeing something online about some kind of creature dragging teenagers to their death. Now that the media’s here, I’m sure the story will spread like a wildfire through a dry forest with a strong wind at its back.”

  I only nodded. I was still watching the grieving couple on the ground a dozen feet away.

  “Is there any connection to the group on Le Diable Lake and this couple on Lake Berg?” Susan asked.

  “Not that I can tell so far. Nelly said she and her husband traveled here alone and rented a camp on their own. They were on their honeymoon.”

  “And we’re sure it’s not an alligator?”

  “Unless it’s an alligator with no teeth.”

  “If not an alligator, then what?” Susan asked. “And why is it killing these kids?”

  “If I had those answers, we’d be home with Gracie by now and the animal would be dead.” My stomach had been grumbling since I’d watched Nelly wolf down Amy’s food. “I need to eat before I head back out on the water. I’m starting to lose my energy.”

  Susan walked with me, but we didn’t go far. We wanted to keep our eyes on Roger and Odelia. Roger had moved his wife to a chair and he was sitting beside her rubbing her back and trying to calm her down.

  “I’ll take them to the shelter when they’re ready to move,” Susan said. “When I do that, I’ll stop in at the house and check on Gracie.” She pulled at the front of her uniform shirt. “I might also take a quick shower and change. We’ll be at it for a few days, I’m sure, and I’d rather not smell like I went twenty-four rounds in my work clothes.”

  I was only half listening at this point, because I was stuffing my face with food. I had found a black kettle that was half filled with shrimp jambalaya, and that kettle had become my new best friend.

  CHAPTER 15

  It was noon the next day and I had just awakened from a power nap. Takecia was driving the Boston Whaler and we were working a grid on the northern end of Le Diable Lake. Takecia and I had been working together since seven this morning, and we had taken turns getting some shut-eye.

  Although I’d only slept for twenty minutes, I felt like a new man. I was fully alert and, thanks to some heavy clouds that had rolled in behind gusts of wind, it was a little cooler.

  “Thank God you’re awake now,” said Takecia in her thick Jamaican accent. “Your snoring was starting to become unbearable.”

  “Hey! I don’t snore,” I protested weakly, knowing she was right. I feigned offense, but then grunted. “At least I don’t fart in my sleep.”

  She gasped, instantly embarrassed. “I do not!”

  I laughed, but didn’t expound on my statement. Leaving her to decide if I was joking or not, I walked to the bow and scanned the water. After having looked at the glaring water for a couple of days, I doubted I could spot an orange life vest even if it were floating ten feet away from me.

  The bow dipped sharply and the boat slowed rapidly. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Takecia staring toward the clouds to her right. I looked in that direction. The clouds were growing angry.

  “Is it a funnel cloud?”

  She shook her head and pointed. “There is a circular motion, but the buzzards are making it. They’re circling the portion of land in that direction.”

  I followed her pointing finger and saw a group of about eight buzzards circling the woodlands to the west.

  “It could be anything,” I said. “A dead boar or deer or muskrat.”

  “It could also be a dead human body,” she surmised. “There are many tributaries flowing to and from this lake. When the tide is high, the body could find its way into the timber and then get stranded there when the tide is low, no?”

  “Do you see a channel through the swamps in that area?” I asked, shading my eyes and suddenly very interested in the buzzards. The water level in the lake fluctuated several times daily based upon the changing of the tide and the amount of rainfall we got. I called Melvin on the SAT phone.

  “Where are you?” I asked when he answered.

  “I’m following the bayou to Lake Berg, just in case she drifted out this way.” He sounded tired. “What’s up?”

  “What time is high tide and low tide for today?”

  “Let’s see…” He paused for a bit. “High tide was this morning, probably about seven-thirty. It’s a little past noon now, so the water level is still falling. I’d say we’ve got another thirty minutes until low tide. Why?”

  “I’ll call you back.” I pointed toward the buzzards and said to Takecia, “Find a way into the swamps!”

  As she got into the driver’s seat, I leaned against the gunwale and studied woodlands, wondering if our search was about to be over. By now, Camille’s body would certainly be floating high on the water. The chances were good that her body had drifted into one of the many tributaries that flowed into the lake this morning while the tide was high. When the tide started falling, her body could’ve easily become stranded in the shallower water. If this had happened, it might explain why we hadn’t found her body on the lake today.

  Takecia worked her way from east to west along the jagged shoreline, attacking it at various angles and trying to find a way into the woodlands. Nothing looked promising. After about thirty minutes of trying, she backed us away from the trees so we could check the position of the buzzards. They were circling lower now and were definitely focused on the swamps directly to our north.

  “We’ll have to walk,” I announced, grabbing my backpack. “There’s a channel to the east that snakes through the swamps in this direction. I saw it yesterday.”

  “Well, let’s go to it.”

  I shook my head. “It’ll be impassable by boat at low tide. If we go by foot and head directly north from here, we should run right into where the channel curves around.”

  “If we go, we’ll need to pack a body bag.” She sighed. “We will be humping her body out of the swamps. I can just see it now.”

  She was right. There was no way to get a boat into that narrow and shallow opening. We might be able to get a pirogue through the channel at high tide, but I wasn’t waiting until tomorrow morning to get Camille’s body out of the swamps. Her parents deserved closure—and they deserved it sooner, not later.

  Takecia pulled the boat into a narrow cut along the bank and I jumped ashore. I tied the line to a stout tree. She shoved a body bag in my rucksack and tossed it to me. I caught it and shrugged into it. She tossed me her rucksack and I held it until she reached me. She wore cargo shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Her dark, muscular arms glistened with sweat.

  “If we find a dead swamp rat at the end of this voyage, I will not be a happy girl,” she said with a grin.

  “And I will not be a happy boy,” I mumbled as I turned and trudged off into the thick foliage.

  “You are no longer a boy.” I could hear the amusement in her voice. “Amy said you just turned sixty, so I would say you are a full grown man by now.”

  I shook my head and laughed. Even when she wasn’t with me, Amy had found a way to hack on me about my age.

  The mud underfoot was soft, but a thick blanket of leaves helped to keep our boots relatively clean—at least for the early going. Within fifty yards, we came upon a slough that was too wide to walk around. Shaking my head, I plunged ahead. My boots were water resistant, but not waterproof, and my socks were almost instantly saturated. I could hear Takecia splashing through the muddy slop behind me, and I thought I heard her cursing a little.

  Once we’d cleared the slough, we hit a wall of trees that were draped in poison sumac.

  “We can’t go through there,” Takecia said. “I am severely allergic to that shit.”

  “I’m not.”

  “The hell you say! It gets everyone.” She began scratching at her arms. “I can already feel it getting me.”

  “What if I cleared a path through it that’s wide enough for you to pass without touching it?” I offered. “Will that help?”

  “And what about you?”

&n
bsp; “I’m immune.”

  “If you say so, but don’t get next to me. If the oils get on your skin and then you touch me, it will spread everywhere. I can’t even look at it too long without getting the itch.”

  I removed a machete from where it was attached to my rucksack and began blazing a trail through a thick patchwork of vines. I had been exposed to poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac as a kid, but I’d never had an allergic reaction to any of it. I was hoping I wouldn’t start now, because the vines and leaves were raining down heavily on me as I chopped.

  Sweat gushed from my pores. Leaf shavings stuck to my wet arms, and sections of vines dangled from my shoulders and head. I had to constantly knock them away.

  “You know,” Takecia called out from behind me, “your sweat is carrying the oils of that poison plant all through your body. If you’re not truly immune, you are in big trouble, my man.”

  As the sweat dripped down my shirt, leaking into every crevice and crack, I said a silent prayer that I hadn’t developed an allergy to the plant later in my life. I’d heard of such things happening with food. I knew of people who had eaten shell fish their entire lives and then woke up one day suddenly allergic to the stuff. If it had happened to me, I was screwed. I’d seen what poison sumac could do to the arms and legs of its victims, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine the hell I would have to endure if my sweat was acting as a conduit and allowing the oils to travel throughout my entire body.

  After working for about fifteen minutes, I had finally cleared a path wide enough for Takecia to slip through without touching the offensive plants.

  “If you break out in hives,” she said, staying away from me as she slipped by, “I’ll say I told you so.”

  I only nodded and followed her along what had become firmer ground. I looked up to see if I had a visual on the vultures, but the green canopy above us was too thick. I had lost track of how far we’d walked—thanks to the battle with the poison sumac—but I figured we couldn’t be far from where the tributary circled back in this direction.