by Kate L. Mary
“Come on! Swim!”
My heart pounds as more water splashes behind me. It could be the rest of the men following us into the swamp, or it could be something else. Something equally dangerous.
I lift my feet off the ground and kick with all my might, trying to propel myself forward. My boots are like anchors though, and no matter how hard I kick or how much I stroke my arms, I don’t seem to be making much progress.
Tara and Walker are in front of me, moving at a snail’s pace as they head for land. Freedom is only six feet in front of them, but I’m a good four feet behind that. The curses and grunts of the men at my back keep me moving, but it feels like I’m swimming through molasses.
My friends reach the bank and haul themselves to dry land. Something brushes against my leg, and my heart almost stops. I scream and kick at it with as much force as I can muster in the dank water. Someone behind me grunts, and the contact my foot makes with his soft body helps propel me forward.
Something splashes to my left. Nowhere near the men chasing me.
My heart pounds and I kick harder, focusing on the land in front of me. Three feet to go. I plant my feet on the mushy swamp floor and do my best to run. Tara screams, and without looking, I know she spots something other than the men. Walker practically throws himself into the water, and I grasp at his outstretched hand like it’s my only chance for survival. And it very well could be.
His hand wraps around mine and he pulls me forward. The water gets shallower until it’s down to my knees and I’m able to move faster. Behind me, someone yells, followed by screams that turn my insides to ice. My feet hit dry land, then Walker and I collapse on the muddy bank. For the first time, I’m able to turn and get a good look at the carnage behind me.
Four men rush in the other direction while a gator that has to be at least ten feet long spins in the water. Death roll. I remember seeing it on Animal Planet or something like that. It isn’t easy to see with the way the creature is spinning, but occasionally a human arm or leg slaps against the surface before being dragged back under. After a couple minutes, the gator stops spinning and disappears into the water with his prey.
Walker is panting and Tara clings to him like he’s a security blanket, but I’m surprisingly calm. The other men are long gone, and I doubt they’ll cry for their lost buddy. But we’re safe.
9
“He got what he deserved,” I say as I climb to my feet. Mud squishes between my toes and swampy liquid runs off me like a waterfall. Walker is busy comforting Tara, but when he looks up his gaze meets mine. “Thanks for coming back for me.”
Walker nods, and Tara burrows her face into his shoulder even more when he tries to get up. Her arms are wrapped around him and she has a handful of his shirt clenched in each fist. Walker lets out a deep sigh, but it doesn’t sound like he’s annoyed. Exhausted, maybe? Curled up against him like that, Tara looks more like a child than ever.
“We need to take a little break. Let our clothes dry and maybe see if there’s something to eat.” He pulls back, forcing Tara to loosen her grip on him, then tilts her face up toward his with the tip of his finger. “I can try to catch some fish.”
Tara’s whole body shivers and she shakes her head once, but one look from Walker and she sucks in a deep breath. “Yes. We need the protein.”
Walker unravels himself from her arms, then unzips his bag. “Maybe I can get a frog or turtle too. I bet that would taste good right about now.” He’s talking to himself, and it’s obvious he’s trying to relieve the tension, but there’s still an edge to his voice.
“Frog legs would be nice, right, Tara?” I say, lowering myself to the ground at her side so I can untie my boots. “I think I have a whole swamp between my toes. How about you?”
Tara watches me pull off one boot and turn it upside down. Water and clumps of mud fall out, and she almost grins. It looks like it hurts her, though. I repeat the process with my other boot to an almost identical result, then peel my socks off one by one. They haven’t been white in a long time, but now they’re a color that got lost somewhere between dark brown and black. The same slimy mud that fell out of my boots a second ago has collected between my toes, and I use my gross socks to try and clean it out. I miss running water.
Walker pulls a net from his bag, then flashes me a grateful smile. “I’m going to see what, if anything, I can catch with this. You girls sit tight.”
He heads to the water, pausing long enough to kiss Tara on her forehead. It reminds me of something a parent would do more than a boyfriend or lover. But maybe that’s what relationships have come to now. There’s no time to savor the bliss of being in love, so little gestures like that have to suffice.
Maybe.
After a second of watching Walker in silence, Tara takes off her own shoes and socks. They’re not quite as full of mud as mine—probably because Walker hauled her to land—but they’re just as wet.
The area we’re sitting in is mostly shaded by cypress trees, but there’s a small patch of light about three feet long where the sun has managed to break through the branches. Tara and I rinse our socks in the water, then lay them in the sun with our boots. Hopefully, they’ll have a chance to dry.
It’s pretty nice here. The shade can’t fight off the mugginess completely, but it takes the edge off just enough that I don’t feel like I’m bathing in my own sweat. The mosquitoes for some reason have decided to leave us alone, meaning the bugs are minimal. For Georgia, anyway.
Tara and I sit in silence while Walker gets to work at the bank of the swamp. He holds both ends of the net, lowering it into the water, where small anchors weigh it down until it’s resting on the muddy bottom. Once it’s there, he doesn’t move a muscle while he waits for fish to swim up. I hold my breath and lean forward, trying to get a better look through the murky water. Without warning Walker jerks the net up, making me jump. I slam my hand over my mouth to stop a laugh from popping out, and he grins my way as he untangles two small fish from the net. They aren’t much bigger than your average goldfish, but food is food. I hold my breath when Walker repeats the process, this time catching three. They flail around on the ground at Walker’s feet as he goes back for more, and just thinking about the flaky, white meat makes my mouth water. I actually cross my fingers as he yanks the net up for a third time.
Walker holds the net up, searching the intertwined strings, and his face breaks out into an adorable grin when he sees his spoils. “Seven!”
He leaves the fish in the net, then scoops the other fish off the ground before heading our way. The smile on his face is unwavering and bright enough that it makes even the shade under the cypress trees feel sunny.
Tara still has her knees pulled up to her chest like she’s trying to protect herself, but when Walker stops in front of her, she smiles up at him adoringly. She holds her hand out and Walker drops four fish into her palm, making her smile grow wider.
“You are the best,” she says.
The love that flashes in Walker’s eyes makes me squirm. Neither one of them seems to think I’m in the way, so I’m inclined to stay with them as long as they’ll let me. It’s nice and comfortable for the most part. Even though Walker and I had our little tiff this morning after I cut myself, there’s something about being with him that makes me feel safe and protected.
Tara stares at the fish in her hands while Walker unravels the others. When he gives me my share, they flop wildly on my palm. Their little gills and mouths open and close rapidly, and their tiny eyes are brimming with panic. Or maybe that’s my imagination. Either way, it feels cruel to let them suffocate like this.
“Eat up,” Walker says.
I tear my eyes away from the squirming fish and stare at him, blinking three times before what he’s saying registers. “Aren’t we going to cook them?”
Walker’s blue eyes sparkle as he pops a fish into his mouth. He chews slowly, holding my gaze the entire time. His smile never faltering.
Once he’s swallow
ed the whole thing, he says, “Too wet here. We’d never get a fire started.”
My stomach turns, and I glance down at the fish in my hand for a second before looking toward Tara. She puts a fish in her mouth, but she doesn’t chew it up. Instead she swallows the thing whole, gagging slightly as it goes down. She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows a few more times like she’s trying to force it to stay put. Less than thirty seconds later, she repeats the process with a second fish.
Walker eats another, savoring it like it’s a perfectly cooked lobster at a four-star restaurant. Grinning at me the whole time. His eyes never move from my face, and I know he’s dying to see what I’m going to do. My stomach rolls so much I have no idea how I’m going to be able to get this little guy down, let alone its three friends.
I take a deep breath, then slowly exhale.
You can do this, Eva.
A tiny fish isn’t the worst thing I’ve eaten over the last four years, not by a long shot. Plus, swallowing it whole didn’t seem like such a bad process. Better than chewing it up, that’s for sure.
I hold the fish up by the tail and it flops around, but the movement is becoming less and less frantic. Walker watches me with a huge grin on his face, but Tara is busy swallowing her third fish. She gets it down and I square my shoulders. If she can eat three, surely I can manage one. Right?
I squeeze my eyes shut and open my mouth, shoving the fish in before I have a chance to second-guess myself. It’s way too fishy, and the flopping makes me gag before I’ve even had a chance to swallow. But I do. I take a big gulp and force the fish down my throat. It tickles, like it’s flopping against the inside of my throat on the way down. And it moves slowly, scratching my esophagus and causing my throat to contract.
I swallow again and the fish finally reaches my stomach, but I keep my eyes shut while my insides protest their new visitor. I imagine the fish trying to break out, desperate to escape the acid that will digest it. My stomach jumps, and I inhale slowly through my nose, forcing myself to keep the little guy down. It takes three swallows before I’m sure it won’t make a reappearance.
When I open my eyes, Walker is grinning like he’s at a comedy club. I have the urge to slap him upside the head. Then my eyes meet Tara’s and I see that she’s smiling too. It probably was a pretty funny thing to watch.
Tara’s fish are gone, and Walker plops his last one into his mouth. I take a deep breath and attempt to get number two down. It fights a bit more and I have my eyes squeezed shut for what seems like hours while my stomach tries to evict it.
This time when I open my eyes, I hold the other two fish out. “I can’t do any more or I’ll throw up. I don’t want to waste them.”
Walker bursts out laughing, slapping his hand against his knee like he’s just heard the best joke of his life.
Tara smiles but shakes her head. “I can’t either. Walker can have them. He’s bigger anyway. He needs more food. Plus, he actually likes them.”
My stomach twists and my nose scrunches up. “You really like how they taste?”
Walker scoops the two fish out of my hand and shrugs. “It’s like eating sushi. No biggie.”
He throws both into his mouth and starts chewing. I have to look away so I don’t toss my fishies. No way that’s the same as the stuff they used to serve in sushi restaurants.
My socks are dry by the time we’re ready to leave, but my boots still squish beneath my feet. Which means my socks are soggy again after two steps. Trying to dry them was a waste.
The tension from earlier is gone. Tara is back to normal, and our detour seems to have helped Walker forget my little cutting incident. At least until tomorrow morning when I make another notch. I run two fingers up my arm, right over the bumps left behind by my knife. Feeling them gives me a strange sense of calm.
We leave the swamp behind us and head into the woods, but the further we walk the more I can feel Lilly slipping away. We’re way off track, and I’m almost afraid to ask if Walker knows how to get us back to where we need to be.
“Do you know where to go?” I ask after ten minutes of trudging deeper into the woods.
Walker nods and shrugs at the same time. “We were headed south, so that’s my goal for now. We’ll get out of the woods and see what’s around, and if we can find a town I should be able to get us back on the right road pretty easily.”
“He’s a good navigator, Eva, don’t worry,” Tara says, patting my arm reassuringly. “We’ll get you to Valdosta.”
I chomp on the inside of my cheek. Navigating isn’t something I’ve had to worry about. Since I left camp, I’ve pretty much been wandering around aimlessly. It never occurred to me until now, but I guess I didn’t have much of a plan before this. Other than to stay alive, that is. And avoid the refugee camp.
When we step out of the forest, we find ourselves on the edge of a field. Acres and acres of land stretch out in front of us, overgrown with weeds that twist around long-dead cotton plants. Here and there a tuft of white is visible through the green, but for the most part, the weeds have taken over.
Walker moves forward, pushing his way past the weeds and into the field. Tara and I follow, but only a few feet into the field, I wish I’d stayed in the woods. Thistles and other prickly plants stab at my legs with every step I take, scratching my exposed skin. Probably drawing blood.
In front of me, Tara gasps and rubs her right leg. “We need to get out of here, Walker.”
He shoots her a concerned look before pointing to the left, over toward the edge of the field. “Let’s go back out and walk along the side.”
We don’t argue, but we’re a good ten feet from the edge and with each step I take, more weeds prickle at my skin. By the time we make it out of the weedy field, Tara has blood running down her leg. My own legs are scratched up pretty good, but luckily none of the thorns broke the skin.
Walker kneels in front of Tara and digs a semi-clean shirt out of his bag. He pours a little water on the cloth before dabbing it at her wound.
“Sorry.” His voice is thick with emotion, like she’s been stabbed and he’s somehow responsible.
Tara runs her hand across his head, and he pulls his hat down over his eyes. When he gets up, he starts walking without another word. Tara stares at the back of his head for a few seconds before trailing after him.
The more time I spend with Walker, the more I come to realize that Tara was right. He’s a very sensitive guy.
We trudge along the side of the field in a silent line as the sun beats down on us from above. It’s high in the sky now, meaning it’s late afternoon, and I’d guess that we have maybe five more hours of light left in the day. Then another six days of walking. At least. I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to stand waiting six more days to find out if Lilly is alive without going insane. I need something to distract me.
“Where have you guys been since you left the camp?” I ask, raising my voice to be heard over the sounds of nature.
Walker slows down, probably so he doesn’t have to yell back to me. “We started in Ohio. It took us a few weeks to get through Kentucky, then Tennessee.” He presses his lips together and I don’t miss the way Tara is staring at the ground. “Once we got out of there we started making our way through Georgia. Tracking down all the refugee centers and prison camps.”
“And we stopped by my house,” Tara says. It’s so quiet I can barely hear her words over the birds singing in the trees above.
“What was there?”
Tara stops walking and turns so her gaze holds mine. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
She starts walking again. “The whole town was empty, and every house on my block had been flattened. It was like a bomb went off.”
I swallow because every word that comes to mind gets stuck in my throat. How has she been able to cling to hope all this time? Her family was most likely killed during the first wave of invasions four years ago, and odds are they probably never made it to a refugee center.
Let alone a camp. Yet she’s been looking for them this whole time…
We walk a bit further in silence. Tara passes Walker, and he slows until we’re moving side by side. I stare at him out of the corner of my eye, marveling at the smile that seems to be permanently tattooed on his lips. That’s when I notice how red the tops of his ears are. They look like they hurt.
“We should find you some sunblock.”
Walker shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, which is just as red as his ears. “I’m used to it. Being as fair-skinned as I am, it’s just a normal part of summer. I start off resembling a ghost and slowly morph into a lobster over the first few weeks of summer. Then I shed a layer of skin just like a snake and start the process over.” He grins and shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “You can see why I’ve always been so popular with the girls.”
I snort and pluck a little yellow flower off a weed as we walk by. “Makes sense.”
He watches me out of the corner of his eye for a few seconds, then says, “What about you?”
“I don’t burn,” I mumble, twirling the flower between my fingers.
Walker grins, and I do my best to ignore the way it makes my insides tingle. “I mean, did you have a boyfriend?”
I focus on the flower. Ripping the petals off one at a time and letting them fall to the ground. “Not really. There was a boy named Matt that I liked, but he was a couple years older. Kara, my best friend, told me Matt liked me.” I shrug and drop the leftover flower bits, watching them scatter to the ground and disappear. “Doesn’t matter. He’s dead now. So is she. None of that really seems important anymore.”
“Why?” he asks, a note of surprise in his voice. “Don’t you think we can start over? It won’t always be like this, you know. One day we can have a life and we’ll be able to get married and have kids and start something real.”
