by BJ Bourg
My arms had grown numb by the time I reached the shallow and muddy edge of the lake. I pushed my way through thick seaweed and stumbled through the mud. I pulled myself onto solid ground. I threw myself to my back and groaned as my muscles unwound. While I wanted to remain there forever, I knew I couldn’t. I rolled to my knees and ripped my radio from my belt. I pressed the button, but the familiar scratch was absent. Water dripped from the cracks in the radio. I shook it in an attempt to clear it of water and pressed it again. Nothing. I remembered my cell phone, snatched it from my pocket and flipped it open. It was dead, too. I cursed myself for not purchasing the waterproof case the mayor had recommended.
Night was falling fast. I stood to my feet. My drenched uniform clung to my body. I surveyed the area, trying to figure the quickest route back to the canal. The lake was a couple hundred yards across, and I didn’t think I could swim it. Even if I thought I could, I didn’t want to get in the water with that monster alligator. I peered through the trees, trying to penetrate the deep shadows. I didn’t know what was beyond the tree line, but I didn’t have time to find out. It appeared the only way to get back to the canal was a long walk around the perimeter of the lake. Not wanting to waste any more time, I set out to my left, walking through the thick grass in my socked feet.
It didn’t take long for the mosquitoes to realize I was there and swarm over me. I felt a sharp sting on the back of my neck and slapped at it. More stings followed, and I swatted at them, but it was futile. I would kill one or two and then ten or twelve would replace the dead ones. As I trudged on, I stepped on a cypress knee. The pointy stump pushed into the arch of my right foot, and I stumbled forward, cursing out loud. I flexed the pain out of my foot and moved on, picking my way through the swampy jungle. I couldn’t see very well due to the growing darkness and I had to feel with my feet, which made the going slow. The ground was soft in places so I sank to my ankles often.
Before long it was completely black and the swamp came alive with crickets and frogs and other unfamiliar sounds. Unable to see, I stumbled into the shallow water of the lake’s edge. Something large splashed in the water nearby and to my right. I froze, reached for my Glock, but cursed when I remembered I’d lost it. Sweat dripped from my forehead. I opened my mouth, turned my head so I could better hear any follow-up movements. The mosquitoes continued their relentless assault and made it difficult to concentrate. I eased back up the bank of the lake and continued onward, trying to put some distance between myself and whatever it was that had made the splash.
When I had gone what I figured was twenty or so yards, I stopped. I had to do something about the swarming mosquitoes. They buzzed in my ears and dove in like kamikaze planes, attacking from all directions. It was a monumental distraction and, in this environment, I had to be sharp. A thought occurred to me, and I dropped to my knees and began grabbing up clumps of soft mud. I smeared the mud on my neck and face, and then on my arms. I caked it on thick, sighing as it cooled my flesh. When I was done, I stood and paused. The mosquitoes continued to buzz around me, but the mud had formed a barrier they could no longer penetrate. I smiled in the dark, continued on.
My saturated socks swished as I reached a patch of solid ground where the walking was easier. The moon had risen above the distant tree line at the opposite side of the lake and it glowed off the water, making it easier to differentiate between the water and the land. I was also able to make out the faint shadows of the trees and bushes, which helped make my travels easier. I had walked about a mile along the rounded perimeter of the lake when I reached the canal that Dexter and I had traveled along.
I studied the bank along my side of the canal. Even in the dim moonlight there was no mistaking the impenetrable wall of green in front of me. I reached out and grabbed a branch to test its strength, but winced as a million pickers embedded themselves in the palm of my left hand. I pulled my hand back and began digging the tiny spears from my flesh. Even after I removed them all, I was left with a burning sensation at the site of the pricks.
Not wanting to spend the night out there, I used my foot to pick my way toward the mouth of the canal so I could weigh my chances of swimming across. If I could reach the other side, I might be able to traverse the opposite bank and make my way back to Bayou Tail. I knew I had reached the water’s edge when my foot sank into the damp mud. I paused, studied the water directly in front of me. The canal was alive with movement—a swish here, a croak there, and a violent splash every now and then. I took a step and felt the cool water wrap around my ankle. I took another step and sank to my knee in the mud. The water was up to my waist. As I worked to free my leg, my movement must’ve spooked something nearby because the water exploded in action. I threw myself to the side and clawed, trying to get back to the shore. Soft mud and underwater weeds squished between my fingers, and my feet slipped on the bottom of the canal. A coarse object brushed against my back, and I propelled myself forward. It took several desperate attempts, but I finally dragged myself to the packed earth of the canal’s bank. I continued rushing forward until I had left the mouth of the canal behind and was once again standing along the banks of the lake. I stopped and bent over, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
“How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?” I called out loud. As though they were responding to my question, dozens of mosquitoes stabbed their tiny syringes into my skin all at once. The mud had washed away and I was exposed to their relentless air assault. They swarmed around me, buzzing. I waved my hands like a wild man and searched for another patch of mud. When I found one, I dropped to my knees and clawed chunks of earth from the ground—some of it sticking up under my fingernails—and smeared the cool clay onto my bare skin. I sighed as the layer of mud began to cover large patches of my flesh and kept the mosquitoes at bay.
Once I was done, I rose to my feet. I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.” I needed to find a place to bed down. I knew if I stayed on the ground I’d become alligator bait. I walked to a tree with a low-lying branch. I scrambled up onto the branch and then continued higher up the tree until I reached a limb that was about eighteen inches across. I stretched out on my new bed and rested my back against the trunk. I was exhausted, wanted to sleep, but knew I couldn’t. I dared not.
I tried to occupy my thoughts with plans of escape. Tried to remember every turn Dexter Boudreaux and I had taken on the ride to the lake. When morning came I would have to find a way back to the bayou. If I can make it there, I should be able to swim to Red McKenzie’s camp and call for help.
I felt my eyelids drooping, but I struggled to keep them open, struggled to keep my mind busy. I stared into the darkness for what seemed like forever. The sun finally started to come up, and I sighed. I’d made it through the night without falling asleep. I relaxed, allowed my eyes to slide shut. Abigail’s face suddenly came into view and I recoiled in horror.
CHAPTER 5
Tuesday, June 24
Once the sun was up, I scrambled down from the tree. Just as I reached the bottom, I heard the roar of a jet engine, but it approached from the direction of Bayou Tail. I rushed toward the canal. When I reached the water’s edge, I splashed forward until I was waist deep in the muddy soup. I stared toward the bayou, excitement beating a rhythmic tune in my chest as I waited for my rescue craft to arrive. I didn’t have to wait long.
A large green hull, backed by an enormous fan, came into view. An airboat! The engine was deafening. Water sprayed from the back of the boat like it was being pushed away by a category five hurricane and the trees bent under its force. Perched atop the elevated captain’s seat was one of the officers I’d met yesterday. I was almost sure his name was Melvin—Melvin Saltzman.
I waved my hands and immediately drew Melvin’s attention. A large smile split his thick face, and he jerked the boat toward my location. I stumbled backward to make room for the wide hull. When it pulled up beside me, I grabbed onto the side and hoisted myself over it. My drenched
socks smacked the deck of the boat when I landed and water quickly pooled at my feet. I wondered how ridiculous I looked.
“Damn nice to see you again, Chief! I thought you’d gone off and quit on your first day,” Melvin hollered above the noise of the engine. He hit the kill switch and ripped off his earmuffs, then dropped from his elevated position to greet me.
“Dexter’s gone,” I said. “That alligator—it took out the boat and pulled Dexter in the water with it. I shot at it, but it was no use. I couldn’t stop it.”
“We figured it was one of y’all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Beaver killed a gator in Lake Berg that had an arm in its mouth. We figured it was either you or Dexter.”
“Who’s Beaver?” I asked.
“Nobody important.” Melvin tossed me a set of earmuffs. “He’s at the boat launch.”
I was thoughtful, then asked, “Did anyone notify Dexter’s wife that he was missing?”
“Sergeant Wilson did. She’s real good with talking to people. Told Mrs. Boudreaux we were doing all we could and that we would know more as the day progressed.”
I nodded, took the earmuffs Melvin handed me, and settled in for the deafening ride. My stomach turned. My mouth was dry. That poor lady, I thought.
The wind felt good against my itchy and bumpy flesh as we rushed toward the boat launch. Melvin handled the airboat like a pro—zipping around logs in the lake at breakneck speed and dodging underwater debris that I couldn’t even see. I wondered if I would ever be able to navigate those waters half as well as Melvin, but quickly dismissed the thought. That kind of skill was developed over a lifetime of traversing these waters. I grunted. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
Melvin drove us through the south-side pass and we connected with Bayou Tail. We continued travelling toward town and when we rode by Red McKenzie’s weathered gray house, I saw his two boys still fishing on the wharf with their feet dangling in the water. When Melvin slowed as we passed them I could hear myself think again.
“We told them to be careful yesterday, but apparently they don’t listen,” I yelled over the lower drone of the idling boat. “We even told their dad.”
Melvin grunted. “Red McKenzie thinks he’s the law out here. Thinks rules don’t apply to him. He’s always catching over the limit and hunts out of season. I’ve caught him red-handed a half dozen times, but he keeps getting off on it. Each time he does, he gets more and more arrogant—and his attitude is rubbing off on his boys.”
The engine roared to life again, and we resumed our trek up Bayou Tail. After a short time, I recognized where we were and pointed toward Mrs. Dupont’s backyard. “Drop me off at Mrs. Dupont’s house,” I mouthed. “I need to get my Tahoe.”
Melvin drove the airboat up against the bank behind Mrs. Dupont’s house, where we found her sitting on a backyard swing. I jumped from the airboat and made my way across the yard to her. She stood as I drew near. Concern was etched into her face. She closed the last few feet between us and stared up at me until the roaring from the airboat had faded enough to hear each other talk.
“You poor man,” she said. “There’s so much pain in your eyes—old pain. I thought I noticed it yesterday, but I wasn’t sure. I see it clearly now. What have you seen? What have you done?”
I smiled. “No pain, ma’am. Just a little disappointed that I couldn’t do more for Dexter.”
“Ah, yes. I heard one of y’all had gotten eaten by that gator. It was like none Dexter had ever encountered. It was too much for him.” Mrs. Dupont waved her hand to encompass our entire surrounding. “No one around these parts has seen a gator like that.” She stared off into the clouds, and I swore she could see something that wasn’t there. “My dad would’ve welcomed the challenge of capturing that beast.”
“Well, we got it. It’s over. Some guy named Beaver killed it. He’s at the boat launch.” I stepped back to walk around her. “I’m heading that way now.”
Mrs. Dupont grunted. “Beaver Detiveaux’s a coward. Anyone can kill a gator with a gun. That’s nothing to brag about.”
I started to walk away, but stopped. “Mrs. Dupont, I saw Buddy, but I wasn’t able to retrieve him. I’m sorry.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Did it look like he suffered?”
I hesitated. My instincts told me to say, He didn’t feel a thing, but lying was something I only did if I absolutely had to. “I can’t be sure.”
She pursed her lips. “Thank you for telling the truth.” She turned and waved a hand at me. “Come with me before you leave.”
I hesitated, looked toward my Tahoe.
“It’ll only take a minute, Chief,” she called over her shoulder. “Your SUV is not going anywhere without you.”
I sighed and followed her across the manicured yard, around a wooden shed, and to a large dog kennel that housed eight whining pups and one quiet pup. The quiet one was solid black with a splash of brown on his front paws and chest. He lay on the ground with his head held high and proud and his eyes alive and alert. I chuckled to myself when I noticed his ears. The left ear drooped over the left side of his head and the right ear leaned toward the left one. They looked too big for his head.
“Which one do you want?” Mrs. Dupont asked.
I jerked my head around to look at her. “Excuse me?”
She nodded her head toward the litter of puppies. “Pick one. You risked your life to try and get my Buddy back. The least I can do is give you one of his offspring. He would want it that way.”
“That’s a very generous offer, Mrs. Dupont, but I can’t accept it. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I want you to have one. I know you’ll take good care of it.” Mrs. Dupont’s eyes softened. “Besides, you need something to love.”
I frowned and glanced back at the quiet one. The last time I’d had a dog was when I was twelve. It had been a white German shepherd that had died during a storm when a tree fell on her house. My dad had never bought another dog—he was that upset over losing her—and I’d gone the rest of my boyhood wishing to have another canine companion. I didn’t know what Mrs. Dupont saw in me, but she was right that I could use something to love. “Okay,” was all I said.
Mrs. Dupont’s face beamed. “You’ll take it?”
I nodded. “But under one condition.”
“Yes?”
“You let me give you your normal asking price.”
“No, I couldn’t—”
“It’s the only way I’ll be able to take it.”
Mrs. Dupont sighed. “Okay. Which one would you like?”
I pointed to the quiet one, which was also the biggest.
“Good choice,” Mrs. Dupont said. She opened the gate and picked her way through the warm bodies until she reached the quiet one. His ears perked up and it was only then that I noticed how huge they were. He gave Mrs. Dupont an inquisitive look as she bent to lift him. “I named this one Achilles.”
“Cool name,” I said. “I won’t mess with it.”
“He won’t poop or pee where he sleeps, but you’ve got to remember to take him outside every few hours.” Mrs. Dupont cradled him in her arms as though he were a fine piece of fragile china. Achilles looked bored. When she had made her way back to me, she handed me Achilles, and I wrapped an arm under him. He sniffed my chest and chin, trying to decide if he liked me.
“Hey, big man,” I said. “I’m Clint—I’m your new buddy.”
Mrs. Dupont tried to slip quickly through the gate, but a few of the puppies were right on her heels and she had to stop long enough to shove them back through the opening with her foot. When she’d locked the gate, she grabbed a large animal crate from beside her fence and held it up. “You can use this until he’s housebroke.”
I waved her off. “He should be fine in my living room. As long as he doesn’t pee everywhere.”
“Do you have a sofa?”
I nodded.
“Do you want it scattered around your living ro
om?”
I sighed. “How much do I owe you?”
“Five dollars for Achilles. You can bring the crate back when you’re done with it. I’ve got plenty of them.”
“No way,” I protested. “He has to be worth at least a thousand dollars.”
“Not for you.”
“Ma’am, I told you I was only taking him if you’d let me give you your normal price.”
“It is my normal price—today.” Mrs. Dupont nodded her head toward Achilles, who had his head leaning on my shoulder. “You can’t very well give him back now, can you? Five dollars and we’re even. It’s my final offer.”
I sighed, and Mrs. Dupont followed me to my Tahoe and tossed the crate in the back. I opened the driver’s door and leaned, letting Achilles jump from my arms. He bounded to the passenger’s side as though he knew it was where he belonged, sat proudly and waited patiently as I fished a wet five-dollar bill from my wallet and handed it to Mrs. Dupont.
She took the money, shoved it into her bra without a second thought and waved goodbye to Achilles. “Take care of our new chief,” she called. “He’s a good man.”
You don’t even know me, I thought, but only smiled and slipped into the driver’s seat. It was warm from sitting in the sun and felt nice. Achilles went into high alert when I cranked the engine. He sniffed the air and scanned the interior of the vehicle, as though looking for danger. I reached over and rubbed his pointy ears.
“It’s okay, little man. You’ll get used to this.”
CHAPTER 6
My new puppy and I arrived at the boat landing just in time to see Melvin pull up in the airboat. Other searchers were there and had formed a rugged circle around what had to be Beaver’s boat at the edge of the long pier. The boat launch was nothing more than a large shell parking lot with a couple of spots to launch some boats. Having just blown into town, I wasn’t sure how much activity the launch saw on a regular day, but the place was crowded today. Townspeople stood at the far end of the pier on the outside of a line of yellow tape that one of my officers must’ve strung up, and a group of reporters huddled at the edge of the pier near Beaver’s boat. Cameras were trained downward at whatever was in Beaver’s boat, and the reporters held microphones in Beaver’s direction.
