The Vanishing

by Jana DeLeon

  He heard rustling in the brush behind him just as he clasped his fingers around hers, but he was barely able to turn to look before the alligator lunged out of the brush to his right.

  Chapter Ten

  Colette emitted a strangled cry as she clenched his fingers and yanked him toward the boat. He launched at an angle toward the side of the boat, praying that the mud would turn his feet loose in time to get away. He felt the tug on his legs and for a moment thought it was all going to end, then he felt his boots break free and tumbled over the side of the boat, knocking Colette down into the bottom beneath him.

  A giant splash of water showered them and Max peeked over the side of the boat just in time to see the twelve-foot monster glide silently away. He looked down at Colette, who stared up at him, her eyes wide. The entire weight of his body was pressed against hers and he suddenly realized that his current position was no less dangerous than being on the bank with the alligator.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he pushed himself up from the bottom of the boat. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” Colette assured him as she sat up. “Except for the heart attack, I’m fine.” She glanced out at the bayou. “Is he gone?”

  “Yeah. Probably off in search of easier prey.”

  Colette looked at the bank. “Do you think there are any more in there?”

  “Not likely. They’re not the most sociable of creatures.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  Max extended his hand to help her rise from the bottom of the boat. She stood and took one nervous step back from him.

  “If you don’t want to go into the swamp,” he said, “I completely understand. This is not what you signed up for.”

  Colette shook her head. “I want to find the village and Anna’s mother, but if you think I’ll get in the way of your progress, I can stay here with the boat.”

  “No, I don’t want you out here alone. You’d be a sitting duck for predators of the two-legged variety.”

  Her hand flew up to cover her mouth for a moment. “I’m sorry. That was a silly thing to suggest.”

  “It wasn’t silly. I don’t expect you to think like a criminal. That’s what you’ve got me for.”

  She gave him a small smile. “I guess so.”

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She glanced once more across the bayou and then back at the brush where the alligator had been hiding. “As ready as I’m getting.”

  “Then that will have to do.”

  * * *

  COLETTE CLASPED MAX’S extended hand and stepped out of the boat and into the mud. She struggled to walk up the bank to solid ground while he tied the boat off to a piece of driftwood on the bank. She peered into the cypress trees in the direction Max had indicated they needed to proceed, but she couldn’t see anything but a dimly lit wall of decaying foliage.

  Max reached into the boat and pulled out the backpack and the shotgun, then handed the shotgun to her. “It’s pumped and ready to shoot, so be careful with the trigger.”

  She took the shotgun, trying to keep her hands steady, and she grasped it at the barrel and the stock. It felt good to have the weight of the weapon in her hands, and she knew how to use it. It was all the reasons why she might have to that had her nerves shot.

  That alligator had seemed to come out of nowhere—a harsh reminder of the deadly things the swamp contained and her complete lack of knowledge about any of them. Max knew the swamp and its creatures, but even he seemed to be extra cautious, extra alert.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Colette nodded and followed him into darkness.

  They started at a good pace at first, Max able to discern the faint tracks in the bent marsh grass, but as they moved farther away from the bayou, the marsh grass disappeared and gave way to vines and moss. Signs of Anna’s passage, if that’s even what they were following, became more sparse and harder to locate—a bent branch, a broken vine. The pace slowed to a crawl.

  Max stopped to tie a strip of white cloth around a branch each time they changed direction. It was something Colette would never have thought of given her lack of knowledge of the swamp or tracking, but it made perfect sense. It also gave her comfort as they moved deeper into the swamp that they’d be able to find their way out with ease.

  Despite the fact that it was October, it was still warm, and the humidity made the air thick and made it hard to breathe. Sweat formed on her brow and she wiped the beads away with the back of her hand. The only sound was their footsteps on the dying vines that seemed to echo in the dead silence.

  “Shouldn’t there be more noise?” she finally asked, unable to stand the silence any longer.

  “In other swamps, there is. You can hear insects and birds all around you. But the swamps in Mystere Parish are always silent.”

  Like a giant tomb.

  Her hands tightened on the shotgun. “How is that possible? Surely there are insects and birds here.”

  “There are, but they don’t make noise very often.”

  “Is it something genetic—a mutation in the swamps of Mystere?”

  “That’s one theory.”

  “What’s the other?”

  “That they’re scared.

  Despite the warmth of the swamp, a chill ran down Colette’s spine. No wonder Anna had fled from this place, this cocoon of fear and death. The bigger question was, why did people remain?

  “How do people live with this? Vodoun is surrounded by the swamp.”

  “It’s a nice small town with mostly nice people. Those who make a living on the water get their job done and get off the water before nightfall. No one much messes with the swamp unless they are fishing, hunting or earning a living.”

  “Not even kids?”

  “We tromped around the swamp a lot when we were kids, but there was always that feeling that you were somehow intruding. We never went into the swamp at night. No one ever talked about it. It was just something we all knew.”

  Intruding. That single word so accurately described what Colette had been feeling since they’d entered the swamp. As if she were somehow walking on hallowed ground without permission. That every step she made was against the desire of something much larger than herself.

  All of a sudden, Max stopped and Colette bumped into his back. He held up his hand, signaling her for silence. Every muscle in her body strained to keep her absolutely still, and she held her breath, afraid that even the tiny sound of exhaling would echo in the silence.

  Max turned to look at her and whispered, “I see something ahead about fifty feet. It looks like the top of a building. Stick close to me and tread as quietly as possible, but don’t be surprised if they already know we’re here.”

  “Do you think it’s Cache?”

  “Maybe.”

  They crept through the brush, each being careful to deliberately choose every step for stealth. Colette kept both hands on the shotgun, ready to swing it around and fire in an instant. She mimicked every step Max took, keeping her body only inches from his. Over his shoulder, she could see the tops of buildings begin to appear, the old wood barely visible against the wooded backdrop.

  When they reached the edge of the clearing where the building stood, Max drew up short. She eased up beside him and peered through the brush. Before she could stop it, she sucked in a breath. It wasn’t just a couple of buildings. It was an entire village.

  Cache.

  Her heart fluttered as she scanned the rows of shacks that lined makeshift dirt paths. She pointed at a steeple, visible above the roofs of the row of shacks. A church.

  Max glanced at the church and continued to scan the village. His worried expression made Colette stiffen slightly and she looked back at the village, trying to determine what it was that was bothering him. And that’s when it hit her.

  The village was empty.

  It was the middle of the afternoon and the weather was reasonably clear, but not a single person stirred in the streets of Cache. Not a single nois
e wafted through the dead air.

  “We’re too late,” she whispered.

  “We don’t know that,” Max replied and stepped out of the brush and into the clearing.

  He paused for several seconds, probably waiting for the alarm that would never sound, then motioned to Colette and started walking toward the first shack. He stopped before they reached the doorway, and sniffed the air. She felt a sliver of horror run over her as she realized he was smelling for decomposition.

  She sniffed the air as well, but could detect only the scent of bayou mud, dying brush and dust. Max must have been satisfied because he stepped into the shack. She followed close behind, with no idea what to expect, but bracing herself for the worst.

  But all they found was an empty cabin.

  Clothes hung on nails along one wall. A tiny table and chairs sat opposite a wood-burning stove. The table was set, as if the occupants were about to eat. Max walked over to the stove and lifted the lid of the pot.

  “Oh,” he said and covered his nose with his hand as he quickly replaced the lid.

  The smell of spoiled meat hit Colette and she felt her stomach roll.

  “Let’s check the others,” he said and left the cabin.

  It took only a matter of minutes to determine that the entire row of shacks revealed the same thing—meals left untouched, laundry left unfolded—but not a single sign of a human being.

  She looked back down the row of abandoned cabins. “It’s as if they…”

  “Vanished?”

  “Just like the legend says.”

  Max gazed around the village and shook his head. “It’s not possible. No matter how strange these swamps are, they do not swallow up an entire village of people and leave no trace of what happened.”

  He started walking toward the center of the village and entered the church. Rows of handmade pews lined the assembly, and a pulpit carved from driftwood stood at the front. Colette reached down to pick up a book from one of the pews and was surprised to find it was a traditional hymnal that she’d seen before.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, “If they observed the old ways, why have a church? This is a Christian hymnal.”

  “I’ve known people who practiced both.”

  “How do they reconcile the two?”

  “I never asked.” He walked to the front of the church and opened a cabinet behind the pulpit. “Look at this.”

  She joined him at the front of the church and peered into the cabinet, then gasped. It was filled with candles and jars of crushed herbs. A wooden bowl and pestle stood on a shelf just below a black mask that looked as if it were carved from wood.

  “What is that?” she asked, pointing at the mask.

  “A ceremonial mask.”

  “What kind of ceremony?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t think I want to.” He slammed the cabinet door. “These people did not disappear into thin air. They must have left. Maybe they knew the threat Anna spoke of was coming, and fled the village.”

  “But if they’re in the swamp, how can we find them?”

  “I’m not sure we can.”

  “You can’t track them, like you did Anna?”

  “Anna was running from her attacker. She didn’t take the time to cover her tracks, but the villagers probably did. My guess is that we’ll find no sign of their passage.”

  “But we have to help them. They’re in danger.”

  Max blew out a breath, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know that we can. We have nothing to go on.”

  “Surely somewhere in one of these cabins there has to be a clue…something that gives us a starting point.”

  Max didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “We can try.”

  As they stepped outside the church, the light dimmed. Colette looked up to see a dark cloud passing in front of the sun with more surrounding it.

  “We need to work fast,” Max said. “You take the row of shacks to the left that we’ve already given a cursory look. I’ll check the next row. I wish I could tell you what to look for, but at this point, I honestly have no idea.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll know it if we see it.”

  She glanced once more at the dark sky overhead and hurried into the first shack. She was afraid for the villagers, but she was afraid of being caught in the swamp in the storm even more. Even if they found something, they wouldn’t be able to act on it today.

  It took very little time for her to dig through the villagers’ meager belongings. The shacks contained only the most basic of necessities—food, dishes and clothes. In one of the shacks toward the end of the row, nearer to the tree line, she found a handmade sock doll that made her pause and sigh. She hadn’t thought about the villagers in terms of families, but of course, there must be children. What must they be thinking—fleeing their homes at a moment’s notice? Hiding in the swamp from an unknown enemy?

  Unless they knew him.

  Maybe he’d tried to kill Anna in the hospital because she could identify him. If Anna knew him, other villagers might, as well. Or maybe she was completely wrong about everything.

  She tossed the doll on a cot in the corner in disgust. Her throw was a bit too hard and the doll slipped off the side of the bed and fell between the cot and the wall. Then, feeling guilty that a little girl would come home and be unable to find her doll, she sat on the cot and reached down the side to retrieve the doll, hoping nothing else was dwelling on the floor with it.

  Her fingers grazed the top of the doll and she leaned farther over. As she wrapped her hand around the doll, her fingers brushed something hard. She pulled the doll out and peered in the space to see what else was down there. It was dark, but she could barely make out the straight edges of a book. She reached back down and drew the book out.

  It wasn’t dusty, which meant it hadn’t been down there very long. Grimms’ Fairy Tales. Figures. Cache was weird enough to belong in a Grimm fairy tale. She flipped through the first couple of pages, and a sheet of paper slid out. Her breath caught in her throat.

  It was a pencil drawing of a young woman who looked exactly like Anna.

  She turned the pages of the book, removing sheet after sheet of drawings. The quality was amazing. Whoever the artist was had captured the personalities of the people as well as their features. She studied each portrait to see if any others looked familiar, thinking if others had left Cache, they might be living in Pirate’s Cove, and they might know where the villagers would hide.

  The last drawing made her pause. The face was somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on where she’d seen the man. He was old with heavy lines across his troubled face. He had a scraggly mustache and beard and his hair was down to his shoulders. None of his hair showed any sign of recent grooming. Where had she seen him, and was it during their investigation?

  Maybe Max would know.

  She placed the book and the drawings on the table and hurried out of the shack to find him. As she stepped out the doorway, a shadow appeared across her path, but before she could spin around, something hard hit her across the back of the head, sending her down to the ground.

  Colette’s vision blurred and she struggled to maintain consciousness. Turning around, she tried to get a look at her attacker, but all she saw through blurred vision was a black mask. She felt herself slipping away as her attacker grabbed her under the arms and started dragging her into the swamp. She tried to yell, but the strangled cry probably wasn’t loud enough to attract Max’s attention.

  Think! She concentrated, trying to focus her fuzzy mind on her options. Even if he hadn’t hit her, she probably couldn’t outmatch him physically. She reached out, trying to grab on to something, if only to slow his progress, but he yanked her even harder, ripping the branches from her fingers.

  She felt the flesh on her hands tear as the sharp branches sliced across them, and she cried out. Her attacker dropped her and a second later struck her head again. Then she sank into darkness.

  Chapter Elevenr />
  Max stepped out of the last cabin in the row he was searching and immediately checked the sky. The light had dimmed even more and the accumulation of dark, swirling clouds was the answer. It was time for them to leave even though they hadn’t found the answers they were looking for.

  He walked around the corner and down the row of shacks that Colette was searching. “Colette?” he called as he walked.

  Only silence greeted him.

  A spike of panic hit him full force. Something was wrong. He ran down the row of shacks, ducking in and out of every doorway, but found nothing.

  “Colette!”

  She wouldn’t have wandered off, of that he was certain. He walked the line of shacks again, this time studying the dirt path that ran down the middle. At a shack close to the edge of the clearing, he saw two lines in the dirt that ran straight into the swamp. Like the lines the heels of rubber boots would make if they were being dragged.

  He pulled out his pistol and hurried into the swamp where the line trailed off. Brush was flattened by the passage of something large. Tracking as fast as he could, he hoped he wasn’t already too late.

  And that’s when he heard a faint cry.

  It took him only a second to zero in on the direction of the sound and he was off like a shot, running directly through the brush, not even bothering to try to follow the trail. It had to be Colette, which meant she was still alive.

  He burst through a clump of bushes and almost tripped over Colette before sliding to a stop just inches from her body. A patch of blood glistened in her hair above her ear and he felt his heart skip a beat as he felt for a pulse.

  A wave of relief washed over him as he placed his fingers on her wrist to check her pulse. He scanned the swamp surrounding him for sign of her attacker and heard the crack of gunfire. He dropped to his knees and pulled Colette behind the bushes he’d charged through earlier. Then he peered through the foliage, trying to locate the shooter.

  The shot sounded as if it came from the right, but sound direction wasn’t always easy to interpret in the swamp. Still, right was a better guess than nothing. Aiming his pistol toward a thick grouping of brush to the right of him, he squeezed off a couple of rounds.