by John Saul
She’d stopped no more than thirty feet from the end of the bridge and waited, controlling her gasping breath by sheer force of will. She’d been able to hear her father’s feet echoing on the wooden bridge as he crossed, and clearly heard his voice as he called out to her.
He didn’t sound as angry now as he had in the truck.
He sounded almost scared.
But what would happen if she went back?
As soon as he found out she was safe, he’d be even madder than he’d been before.
So she’d kept silent, afraid even to move, for fear the rustling of the palmettos would give her away.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he’d stopped calling to her, and then she heard him gunning the truck’s engine, a sound that had quickly died away.
Had he gone home?
She moved deeper into the wilderness, following the narrow track until it finally petered out, then pushing through the underbrush, guiding herself only by following the line of least resistance.
For a while—she wasn’t sure how long—it was kind of fun, being alone in the darkness.
But slowly the night closed in around her and she began to feel frightened.
She moved faster, searching for a path in the darkness, but things looked the same everywhere.
She felt the ground under her feet growing softer, and finally felt water leaking into her shoes.
She turned back, trying to retrace her steps, but everywhere she turned, everything looked the same, and the farther she walked, the deeper the water seemed to get.
It was up to her ankles when suddenly she stepped out of a clump of mangrove and found herself at the edge of the island.
She stared at the channel a long time, trying to determine how deep it might be.
On the other side, the ground seemed higher. Over there, at least, she wouldn’t be wading.
At last, breaking a stick off of one of the mangroves, she started across, testing the water’s depth with the stick. In the middle of the channel she was knee deep, but then the bottom began to slope upward, and a moment later she was back on solid ground.
She waited, listening, wondering if her father might not be calling for her again.
But she heard nothing, and finally started moving again, searching for any trace of a path.
Now, with no idea how long she’d been wandering in the wetlands, she stopped once more, listening.
This time she heard something.
It was almost inaudible at first, just a faint rustling in the midst of a thicket of palmettos and saw grass.
It came again, louder this time.
There was something there, coming closer to her.
Kelly’s heart began to pound and she felt a tightness in her lungs as panic rose inside her.
“H-Hello?” she asked, her voice trembling.
The instant she spoke, the steady droning of the insects came to a stop and the silence around her took on an eerie quality.
She felt as if she was being watched.
Tendrils of fear clutched at her, and she spoke again, unable to stand the hollow silence any longer. “Who is it?” she called. “I know someone’s there.”
Silence. Then, once more, the strange rustling noise. It was closer now, and she thought she could hear the sound of breathing as well.
“I’m not scared of you,” she called out, but her voice, even to herself, sounded tiny, like the whimpering of a frightened animal. Her hand tightened on the stick she still held.
There was another rustling, and then, out of the darkness, she saw a pair of eyes glinting in the darkness and heard a low snorting sound.
A boar.
It stepped out of the thicket, its head lowered, its tusks glinting in the darkness. Above the tusks its eyes fixed on her, and Kelly’s heart began to pound yet harder, as the animal snorted menacingly, pawing at the ground with its great cloven hoofs.
Her eyes flicked around, searching for somewhere to hide, or a tree to climb. But there was nothing around her except the low palmettos and the saw grass.
The boar’s head weaved back and forth, and she sensed that it was about to charge.
“No!” she suddenly screamed, running toward the huge animal, the stick raised above her head.
Startled, the boar froze where it was, and suddenly Kelly was upon it, bringing the stick down, smashing it into the boar’s snout.
Roaring in pain at the blow, the pig whirled, charging off into the underbrush, its immense body crashing through the palmettos. Birds burst up from the foliage, roused by Kelly’s scream and the boar’s bellow of pain, wheeling overhead while they squawked in panic, only to settle back into their nesting places.
Too terrified to move, Kelly remained rooted to the spot, her heart still racing, her breath catching in her throat.
Slowly, the birds fell into an uneasy silence and the insects began a tentative chirping once more.
Kelly felt her heartbeat slowing, and her breath returned to normal. She listened, straining her ears for any sound of the foraging boar, but it seemed to have disappeared into the darkness.
She gazed around, searching for anything that might yield a clue as to where she was, but there was nothing. The trees, the bayous, the islands—all of them looked alike.
She felt the icy fingers of panic reaching out for her again, but steeled herself against them, refusing, this time, to give in.
She’d been in the swamp before, twice.
Neither time had she felt any fear at all.
But she realized that there had been something different then.
The night she’d come into the swamp alone, and the next night, too, when she’d come with Michael, there had been another sound, a faint song rising above the steady monotone of the insects, a song that had somehow spoken to her, beckoned to her.
Tonight, that song was silent.
Tonight, she was totally alone.
She felt the panic edging its way back, grasping at her once again.
No! she told herself.
I’ll be all right. I’ll keep moving, and I’ll find my way out.
But even as she spoke the words silently to herself, she knew she didn’t believe them.
Deep in her heart, she wasn’t sure she would ever get out at all.
17
Michael cut the engine on the outboard, letting the boat drift silently through the bayou. He played his flashlight over the foliage, the brilliant halogen beam slicing through the darkness, illuminating the trees around him. Insects sparkled and glittered in the shaft of light, homing in on the artificial sun until Michael finally switched it off as they swarmed around him.
“Kelly!” he called out. “Kelly, it’s Michael. Can you hear me?”
He listened, but heard nothing except the sound of other voices, also calling. It was as if the whole swamp had become an echo chamber, with Kelly’s name drifting back and forth.
But he knew that unless she was in the immediate area, Kelly wouldn’t hear the searchers, for the thick mosses that covered the trees muffled sound quickly. Only a few hundred yards away, there would be no hint of the twenty-odd men who were combing the wilderness for her.
The cloud of insects that had answered the flashlight’s beacon moved on, except for the mosquitoes that whined around Michael’s ears, risking a landing every few seconds, only to be swatted away. At last Michael turned the light on again, its beam trapping a possum that clung to a tree a few yards away. The animal froze, mesmerized by the light, staring unblinkingly at Michael.
“It’s okay,” Michael crooned softly to the frightened creature. As if responding to his voice, the possum moved slightly. Suddenly a large green form dropped down from the branch above and a tree boa threw three quick coils around the possum’s body. The possum, squealing loudly with surprise and pain, struggled in the grip of the reptile, but the snake, responding to the movement, only tightened its grip on the little marsupial, crushing its lungs.
In a few minutes t
he possum’s wriggling began to weaken, and then as a final breath was squeezed from its body, it went limp in the snake’s grip.
The boa began to move, never releasing the creature from its grasp as it worked itself around so that its mouth was at the possum’s head.
Its jaws opened, stretching wide as it began working the dead creature into its maw. Michael watched, fascinated, as the boa’s mandible dropped away from its maxilla to accommodate the impossibly large body of its prey. Michael had seen it before, and knew it would take the better part of an hour before the possum’s long tail finally disappeared into the snake’s craw and the serpent, sated, crept off to coil in the crotch of a tree while it digested its meal.
At last, as the insects once more began swarming around him, he cut the light again and restarted the outboard. Shifting it into forward, he opened the throttle, and moved on.
He left the light off for a while, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. Around him other lights blinked intermittently through breaks in the foliage, and as he moved from one channel to the next, rounding small islands and crossing the wider lagoons, other boats drifted around him in a surreal, random pattern.
He knew where he was, so intimately acquainted with the geography of the swamp that each time he made a turn, another familiar landmark appeared.
But there was no sign of Kelly.
Once more he let the boat drift to a stop and cut the engine while he sat and thought.
He knew where she’d gone into the swamp, knew the island the footbridge she’d crossed led to. He’d explored every square foot of it years ago, when he’d first started going into the wilderness by himself. It was a long, narrow, strip of land that barely rose six inches above the water. Only at the near end was it truly solid; as it extended into the swamp, it became boggier and boggier, until at last you were wading.
In the darkness Kelly would have been unable to retrace her steps. Even in the full light of day, it would have been difficult, for Kelly had no familiarity with the area.
So she would have followed her feet, testing the bottom, feeling her way. And since she hadn’t come back to the end of the island at the bridge, she must have stumbled onto the one other spot where the island could be left: a narrow, shallow channel, too shallow for anything but the lightest of boats to navigate, with a second, larger island, on its other side.
Perhaps Kelly was still on that island.
Michael gazed around. The rest of the boats had momentarily disappeared, and he was alone. But at least he knew where to go.
Restarting the engine, he began threading his way through the maze of waterways.
Though Kelly was wandering on foot, Michael was confident he could follow her with his mind. In the swamp there simply weren’t that many paths she could follow.
Unless she made a misstep and stumbled into one of the great patches of quicksand that dotted the area.
Michael refused to think about that possibility.
“Help!” Kelly called out. “Someone, please help me!” Though she shouted at the top of her voice, even to herself the words sounded pitifully weak, seeming to die away into the heavy humid air almost as quickly as she uttered them.
She was tired now, but she kept moving, afraid even to sit down, for the last time she stopped to rest, lowering herself onto the damp earth, she felt something wriggling beneath her and leaped up, yelping with fright. So she kept walking, and finally, off to the right, she saw a faint glow in the sky.
Villejeune!
She quickened her pace, and the light grew steadily brighter.
Her spirits began to rise.
Just a few more minutes and she’d be out, emerging from the tangle of trees and reeds to find the canal, and the village beyond.
And then just as she was certain she was nearly there, the moon rose in the east and all her fears crashed in on her once more.
“Please?” she called out. “Can’t anyone hear me?”
No one answered her plea.
How long had she been walking, and in which direction?
Or had she simply been going in circles?
She didn’t know.
There was a high whining sound in her left ear, cut off as the mosquito settled on her forehead. She raised her right hand, slapping at it, then brushed at another as she felt it pierce the skin of her left hand.
Suddenly they were all around her, seeming to come out of nowhere, and she batted at them in the darkness.
She could feel their pricks everywhere on her skin now, and feel them in her hair, as well.
“No,” she whimpered. “Get away! Leave me alone!” Her arms windmilling as she tried to fend off the attacking insects, she broke into a run. Her foot caught in a root, and she sprawled out, feeling a sharp pain in her ankle. She lay still, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass, then sat up, gingerly pulling her foot free from the root, massaging it with her fingers.
Suddenly she sensed rather than saw a movement in the grass a few feet away. Instinctively freezing, she held her breath as she waited for the movement to repeat itself.
For a long moment nothing happened, and then a snake, weaving back and forth as it rippled over the ground, slid out of the grass and into a patch of moonlight that shone through the tall cypresses. Its head rose up from the ground, its mouth wide open, showing its fangs in the moonlight. From the whiteness inside the mouth, Kelly knew immediately what it was.
A water moccasin, hunting in the darkness.
It had sensed her, and now it was waiting, searching in the moonlight for the slightest movement at which to strike.
Kelly’s heart began to pound wildly.
Time stretched into an eternity as she sat on the ground, her eyes fixed on the reptile, every muscle in her body threatening to betray her.
The snake bobbed and weaved in the gloom, its tongue darting in and out of that hideous white mouth.
It moved forward, slithering toward her silently, as if it were now certain where she was.
Kelly tensed, willing her throat to constrict the scream that rose from her lungs.
The snake paused again, coiling back on itself, darting first one way and then another.
It crept still closer, and Kelly felt a shudder go through her as it neared her outstretched leg.
But as it touched her skin, and all her instincts screamed at her to jerk away, something reached into her mind.
Don’t move, an unseen presence spoke silently. Don’t move at all.
The unheard voice calmed her, and Kelly stared mutely at the serpent as it rippled over her calf, its scales making her skin crawl.
And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the snake slithered off into the foliage, its thick black body and yellow tail moving through the reeds with barely a sign that it was there at all.
Her teeth chattering with the sudden release of tension in her body, Kelly stayed where she was until the reeds stopped moving and she was certain the snake had gone. Slowly she raised herself up and carefully tested her weight on the injured ankle.
A sharp pain shot up her leg, but the ankle held, and she took a tentative step forward.
The pain eased slightly, and on the second step, the shock of her weight on the joint was less severe.
She could still walk.
But now she felt creatures lurking everywhere in the darkness, lying in wait, ready to strike out at her. Every vine she saw became a snake, and with every soft rustle she heard in the undergrowth she froze, searching in the faint moonlight for signs of the animals she was certain were there.
She trudged on. Now, straight ahead of her, a pair of eyes glowed brightly, low to the ground.
Another pair appeared beside the first, and then a third.
She stopped short, once again holding her breath.
The eyes moved, and then a raccoon, accompanied by two babies, crossed a small patch of moonlight. As Kelly uttered a sharp laugh of relief, the raccoons, startled, leaped into a tree and scrambled upward, pausing
finally on a branch midway up, where they gazed warily down at her.
Kelly lingered there for a few minutes, watching the raccoons until they moved on, scrambling through the trees, where they disappeared.
And then, in the distance, Kelly saw a light, moving slowly, as if it was floating above the water.
Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she ran forward, calling out, “Help! I’m here! Help me!”
Abruptly the light stopped moving, hanging stationary in the darkness.
Ignoring everything but the light, Kelly bolted through the night. She felt her shoe flood with water but gave it no heed, stumbling on toward the glowing beacon, which now seemed to be coming toward her.
Her right foot struck a log that was half submerged in the shallow water, and she was about to step over it when, abruptly, it moved. The water roiled and an alligator rose up out of the mud and spun around, its tail lashing as its jaws gaped wide.
Screaming, Kelly twisted away as the ’gator lunged at her, and she felt a sharp tug as its jaws snapped closed on the loose tail of her blouse. Her voice rose in another scream and she jerked hard, feeling the material of the blouse give way.
The ’gator dropped into the water, then started after her, rising up once more on its stubby legs, lumbering through the mud. Kelly hurled herself forward, but once more she slipped, lost her balance, and flopped into the water.
The alligator was closing again, its jaws wide, and Kelly raised her arm to shield herself from its attack.
And then, just as the ’gator was starting its final lunge, a shot rang out.
The ’gator stiffened, then dropped back into the water, its tail lashing spasmodically.
Kelly stared at it, a third scream rising in her throat. Kicking out with her legs, her fingers clawing at the soft bottom, she tried to pull herself away from the thrashing beast.
Hands closed on her shoulders and she felt herself being lifted up.
“He’s dyin’,” someone said. “He’s dyin’, an’ I got you.”
Kelly looked up. Above her, gazing down at her in the dim moonlight, was a narrow, pinched-looking face, its pale, deep-sunk eyes all but covered by a battered hat.
