Escape from the Everglades

by Tim Shoemaker

  “Incoming,” Wilson whispered. “Chevy Silverado.”

  “Rosie Santucci’s truck.” Parker tucked the binoculars in his pack. “Maybe Jelly called Rosie, hoping she could talk some sense into her.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Wilson said. “If Maria isn’t listening to her dad or her sister, I doubt her best friend will turn her around either.”

  Parker rubbed down his bum arm. The sun cowered low in the sky, reflecting off the windshield. “Can you tell if it’s really her driving?”

  “Too much glare,” Wilson said. “I wouldn’t put it past Kingman to use her truck.”

  The driver backed the Chevy into the drive.

  “If it’s him, I open fire, right?”

  Why give Clayton a chance to get near Maria? Parker nodded.

  Wilson smiled. “This is shaping up to be a really great day.” He raised the paintball marker to shoulder height. Steadied it on a short stack of crab traps.

  Parker gauged the distance between them and the truck. “We’ll have a good lead on him if we have to run for it.”

  Wilson took aim. “I’ll slow him down a little first.”

  The cab door swung open, and Rosie stepped out. Instantly, Parker relaxed his shoulders. He hadn’t even realized how tense they were.

  Wilson lowered the paintball marker, clearly disappointed.

  The front door opened and Maria flew out of her house to meet her. Perfectly faded jeans. Oversize L.L.Bean fishing shirt with the sleeves rolled up and buttoned in place with those strappy things. Small backpack over one shoulder. She looked really happy. Like the old Maria.

  “Well look who came out to play.” Wilson sighted down the barrel. “Nice of her to wear a bright orange shirt.” He closed one eye. “I love an easy target.”

  “Hold on. Let’s see what’s going on first.”

  Maria held Rosie in a long hug the way some girls do. She tossed her pack in the bed of the pickup. Then they walked around the side of the house arm in arm, both of them chattering and smiling like they hadn’t seen each other in years. “Wish we could hear what they’re saying.”

  They disappeared behind the house—but seconds later were back, each carrying one end of Maria’s single-seat kayak. Maria held her paddle in the other hand. They were still chattering—and moving fast.

  “Kayaking now? It’ll be dark soon,” Wilson said, “and the truck bed is empty. If they’re going out in the bay, where’s Rosie’s kayak?”

  Parker sensed some kind of warning alarm ringing in his head. “She’s dropping Maria someplace.” Kayaking alone—at night with no lights? Definitely a bonehead move. “Jelly said Maria was going to do something really stupid—and she was going to try to talk her out of it.”

  “I guess Jelly failed.” Wilson took aim. “Take ’em out?”

  “Definitely.” Parker wished he’d brought his own paintball gear. “Don’t hit her face.”

  Wilson squeezed off a shot. Probably more for gauging distance and aim than anything. The shot went wide. The girls didn’t seem to notice.

  “Got you now,” Wilson adjusted and fired off a burst of rounds.

  Instantly Maria jerked and screamed. Blue splotches exploded on her shoulder, stomach, jeans. She dropped the kayak and curled up behind it. It was positioned sideways, like a red wall across the driveway.

  Wilson nailed Rosie twice before she found cover behind the kayak. He peppered the side of the kayak with a long burst. “Raise your head,” he whispered. “I dare you.”

  Parker grabbed a handful of paintballs and topped off the hopper. “Keep them pinned down.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Wilson grinned.

  “Why didn’t I bring my paintball gun?” Parker said. “She’s giving us easy shots.”

  Rosie crawled closer to Maria. She kept her head low, but not her rear.

  “Christmas comes early.” Wilson took steady aim. Squeezed the trigger. With a scream, Rosie dropped out of sight.

  “Yes!” Parker clapped him on the back. “Let’s make sure they keep their heads low too.”

  Wilson sprayed the side of the kayak with blue paint. “They aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Not unless they’re trying out for the Blue Man Group.”

  Wilson laughed. “Exactly.”

  The front door opened and Jelly bounded out—heading straight for the kayak. “I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anybody!”

  “What’s she doing?” Whose side was she on?

  She stopped just behind the kayak—standing right out there in the open. “I promise you—I didn’t snitch.”

  Maria said something to Jelly, her body rising above the protection of the kayak as she did.

  “Thank you, Angelica.” Wilson sighted in and squeezed off two quick shots.

  Maria screamed and dropped behind the kayak.

  “Stop it!” Jelly scanned the stacks of crab traps, looking their way. “I know it’s you. Stop!” She stepped in front of the kayak and spread her arms out wide, making herself a human shield.

  What was up with her?

  “She’s crazy,” Wilson growled. “She’s going to mess up everything.”

  Maria and Rosie stayed low, but pushed the kayak toward the truck. Jelly kept just ahead of them—blocking an easy shot. In her efforts to protect Parker, she was actually helping Maria escape? He couldn’t live with that. “Ping her.”

  Wilson hesitated and glanced at Parker. “Jelly?”

  Parker grabbed the gun from Wilson. “We have no choice.” He took quick aim and squeezed off a shot.

  Jelly screamed and clutched her arm—but didn’t move. The kayak kept inching toward the truck.

  Parker couldn’t believe it. “Don’t make me do this, Jelly.”

  “Take her out,” Wilson said. “Or give me back the gun.”

  Parker went into rapid-fire mode. Jelly shrieked and lurched as the paintballs pelted her legs, stomach.

  “It’s a new dance,” Wilson said. “We’ll call it the Herky Jerky.”

  Jelly doubled over and took one on the top of her head. She clutched her noggin and dropped to her knees.

  “Oops.” Parker stopped, but kept the sights on her. “Load me—just in case.”

  Jelly stood and took another step even as Wilson scooped handfuls of paintballs into the hopper. “What is she thinking?”

  Parker pegged her knee. Thigh. But she didn’t drop behind the kayak for cover. “Stubborn, isn’t she?”

  “I love that about her,” Wilson said. “Finish her off.”

  “Gladly.” Parker took careful aim. He squeezed the trigger—and hit the back of Jelly’s hand.

  Shrieking, Jelly dropped to her knees again and shook her hand. She cradled it, and rocked back and forth.

  “So many bones—so little padding,” Wilson said. “Nothing worse than a shot to the hand—except maybe one to the face. That still out of bounds?”

  Jelly stood—spread her arms again—and marched for the truck.

  “C’mon, Jelly,” Parker growled. “Back off.”

  “She’s insane,” Wilson said. “We’re trying to help her, right? If I had a sister, I wouldn’t just stand there and let myself get shot for her—no matter how much I loved her.”

  It wasn’t love for Maria that was making her take the hits, and Parker knew it. The truth of it fried him. “Stop it, Jelly.” He pulled on the trigger again and again. “Stop.”

  Jelly howled, stumbled backward, and fell over the kayak. She stood immediately, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked right at the crab traps. “Why are you doing this?”

  Parker lowered the gun. He couldn’t bear to see her get hit. But he couldn’t live with the thought of Jelly doing this to protect him either. “I don’t need your protection,” he shouted. “Your sister does. So let us do what we need to do.”

  “Just let her go,” Jelly shouted. “You don’t know what you’re doing—and you’re going to mess everything up.”

  “We’re messing things up
?” Wilson snatched up the gun. “My turn.” He sprayed the side of the kayak again. Jelly didn’t dive for cover. “You asked for it, Jelly.”

  Wilson let her have it. “I almost feel bad hitting her. Almost.”

  Jelly staggered backward, then turned and hobbled for the front door. “Finally.” Wilson painted her back to help her along the way. Jelly disappeared inside.

  “One down,” Wilson said. “I should slap on a new cartridge soon. Just to be sure we have maximum force. Gotta make every shot count. And if the shot doesn’t raise a welt, it doesn’t count.”

  Parker scanned the area just to be sure nobody was watching. Somebody making a helpful call to the police was the last thing they needed.

  The girls pushed the kayak toward the bed of the pickup—still sideways—careful to stay low.

  Wilson took aim. “They’re not giving me a shot.” He kept the rounds flying anyway. He burst more paintballs off the kayak and the ground around it, but the kayak didn’t stop.

  In fact, they were moving the kayak faster now, closing the distance between them and the back of the pickup truck. “We gotta stop them.” Parker wondered if Rosie left the keys in the ignition. He could run over there, grab the keys—

  The girls stood—picking up the kayak as they did—and hefted it along with the paddle into the bed of the pickup. The girls stayed behind the tailgate. Perfectly protected.

  “Shoot ’em,” Parker said.

  “I got no shot.”

  The pickup worked as a shield now.

  “Not good,” Wilson said.

  “Don’t try to hit both of them.” Parker scooped more paintballs into the hopper. “Focus all your fire on Rosie. Maria isn’t going anywhere without a driver.”

  Suddenly Rosie rounded the back of the pickup, heading for the driver’s door. Maria ran for the other side at the same time.

  Wilson let Rosie have it. She screamed and twitched her way to the door, yanked it open, and scrambled inside. Maria slammed the passenger door closed.

  The engine roared to life.

  “Paint the windshield,” Parker shouted.

  Wilson half stood, half crouched, and went wild with the semi-automatic, splattering paint against the windshield, blocking their view the best he could.

  The wipers and washers came on, smearing the paint—but clearing it enough to see. Tires spinning, Rosie fishtailed out of the driveway, across the street onto the neighbor’s lawn, then made a jerky correction back onto the road. The kayak and paddle slid from one side of the bed to the other. For an instant, it looked like it might topple out. But it settled in as the pickup roared out of range.

  “I can’t believe it.” Wilson lowered his paintball gun. “Now what?”

  Parker was already standing, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “We go after them.”

  CHAPTER 40

  THEY’D NEVER CATCH THE PICKUP, but maybe Parker could get to wherever Maria was launching before she paddled off. Talk to her—like he should have days ago. Tell her how sick Kingman really was, and the danger she was in for sticking with him. “Only two likely places to put in this side of Everglades City. Let’s divide and conquer.”

  Wilson unscrewed the barrel from the paintball marker and stuffed it in his pack. “I’ll hit the marina. I can watch the bridge from there too.”

  If she crossed the bridge and left Chokoloskee, they’d never catch her. “I’ll check Smallwood’s.”

  Jelly flew out the front door—still covered with paint and storming their way. “What’s wrong with you two?”

  “I didn’t know the Blue Angels were in town,” Wilson said.

  Definitely blue—but the expression on her face wasn’t angelic. Angry tears streaked her face. “She thinks I broke our deal. She’ll tell Kingman—and he’ll be out for blood.”

  Parker’s blood, to be specific. “I don’t need your protection.” Okay, Parker said it with too much force, but she was stepping way over the line here. How could he live with the thought that Jelly let Maria do something stupid—because she was protecting him? He helped cram the last of the supplies in Wilson’s pack.

  “Let’s go, Bucky.” Wilson slung the backpack over his shoulders. “Before Jelly slows us down.”

  Wilson was right. And the pickup was already out of sight. Parker stood on the pedals. Pushed hard—with Wilson right beside him.

  Jelly ran to cut them off, but they swung wide around her.

  “It’s over,” Jelly shouted from behind them.

  Their friendship or the chance to stop Maria? Parker wasn’t sure. He kept pedaling.

  Minutes later Wilson peeled off and headed for the marina. “Good luck.”

  Parker prayed aloud and pushed hard, the wind roaring in his ears. No sign of the red pickup—until he neared Smallwood’s. The Chevy pulled out of the entrance and back onto the road just as Parker got there. No kayak in the bed. No Maria in the cab.

  If Rosie figured Parker was part of the paintball ambush she might have run him off the road, but she flew right by without even swerving. With all the paint on the windshield, she probably didn’t see him.

  His legs felt like concrete. Almost there. Almost there.

  A blue and white pickup was parked in front of Smallwood’s with a boat on a trailer behind it. He recognized the boat immediately. Night Crawler.

  A man stood in the shadows of the wood beams under Smallwood’s Store. For an instant, his face glowed orange as he lit his cigarette. Creepy Crawley himself.

  Parker didn’t like the idea of talking to the man, but maybe he saw what direction Maria paddled. Then he’d hop in the Boy’s Bomb, give chase, and talk some sense into her. He’d be honest. Put it all out there. She’d listen. He was sure of it. She’d always been such a good listener.

  Parker headed right for Crawley. They guy didn’t move. Just stood there, eyeing him suspiciously. Even as Parker slowed he spotted Maria. Wearing the backpack, she was already in the kayak no more than twenty yards offshore beyond where the Boy’s Bomb was beached. She had a cap on her head, with an LED headlamp strapped to it—but turned off. Going out in the bay alone, at this hour? It was way beyond risky. He veered off and pedaled for the beach.

  Her paddle was slung across the cockpit. Even from here he could see the blue paint. She held her phone up, taking a selfie.

  Seriously?

  “Maria!” He dumped his bike by the Boy’s Bomb and hustled across the crushed shell beach to the water’s edge. “Wait!”

  She stowed the phone and picked up the paddle. “Go home, Parker.” No smile.

  “You’re not my babysitter anymore—in case you didn’t notice.” He kicked off his shoes and waded into the water.

  She dipped one end of the paddle into the water and pushed back a few feet. “You’re begging for trouble. I’m warning you.” Her voice . . . stone cold.

  “Warning me?” He couldn’t believe those words came out of her mouth. He hesitated. He’d never catch her like this anyway. A kayak could skim across the water a whole lot quicker than he could get to her. But he’d overtake her easily with the Boy’s Bomb if he had to. “This is me you’re talking to.”

  She scooped handfuls of water onto the kayak, rinsing off the blue paint. “What do you want from me?”

  “To listen.”

  She looked toward where the sun had ducked below the horizon. “Too late for listening.”

  “You could have your pick of any guy. Why a clod like Kingman?”

  She angled her head slightly. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what? That he’s got a cruel streak as long as the Chokoloskee bridge? That he’s a controlling, manipulating, narcissistic snake? Or are you talking about—”

  “I love him, Parker.” She scrubbed at the paint on her sleeves. “I honestly love Clayton. I’m so tired of my dad, my sister, you, and everyone else telling me who I can and can’t love.”

  It sounded like she pulled the line from some sappy chick flick.

&nb
sp; “I want a guy who will fight for me. Every girl does. It’s romantic. Heroic.”

  How could she not see this? “He’s dangerous, Maria. Scary dangerous.”

  “More than you know,” Maria said. “Which is why you should back off. He’ll hurt anyone who tries to get between us. Even a nice kid like you.”

  “Kid?” Is that how she still saw him? He was only three years younger—and at least that many inches taller than her.

  She scanned behind him, as if she was afraid someone else may show up to stop her. “Who did you phone? My dad? Your dad?”

  Parker shook his head. “Nobody. There wasn’t time.”

  “Good. And keep it that way,” she said. “Consider yourself warned. I won’t protect you forever.”

  What was it with girls protecting him? “You’re the one who needs protection.” Parker brushed his pocket, making sure the keys for the Boy’s Bomb were there. If he had to give chase, all he’d have to do is drag the skiff into the water and start her up. She didn’t have a chance. But if he stalled a bit more, maybe Wilson would join him. “Kingman is a maniac. A monster. He’ll hurt you.” He couldn’t believe he actually said all that. To her.

  She laughed. Like Parker was some kind of joke. Naïve. “You don’t know him like I do. Nobody does.”

  “And what does that tell you, Maria? You really think your dad, and Jelly, and me, and every other sane person I know are wrong?”

  “I don’t see him the way you do at all.”

  “Love is blind.”

  She shook her head. “Not my love.”

  “Oh my goodness, Maria—do you hear yourself? You’re in denial. Kingman is going to burn you. Everybody has been risking their neck to pull you out of that fire—but you want to jump right back in.”

  Her face clouded over. “You’re the one who’s jumping into a fire. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But like you said, I’m not your babysitter anymore. Guess you’re going to have to learn the hard way.” She paddled backward a few strokes like she was antsy to get going.

  The sky-glow from where the sun dipped below the horizon had weakened massively. Darkness crept in from all sides—cautious and slow, as if making sure the sun was really gone. “So what’s this kayaking at night all about . . . what are you going to do?”