Escape from the Everglades

by Tim Shoemaker

  “I don’t know all the details,” Dad said, “but the police considered an abduction. They questioned everybody whose trailer was parked at the marina overnight.”

  “Did they check his house?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know.” Dad took another bite of his spaghetti. “But I’ll tell you this much. Every cop wanted to find Maria. If they had any reason to suspect this Crawley character—or anyone else they questioned—they wouldn’t have hesitated to do exactly that.”

  Parker wished he could be as sure as his dad seemed to be that the Crawley angle was a dead end.

  “Look,” Dad said, “I’ll check this guy out myself if I get even a hint that there’s something more to your hunch, okay? But until I do, I have to stay close to Sammy. He’s in a bad place.”

  Obviously finding the gator was important too. It might hold the answers they were looking for. Literally. Parker’s gut twisted at the thought.

  “This is a tough time for all of us, Parker,” Dad said. “Uncle Sammy is obsessed with finding that gator. I’ve got to be there. It just isn’t safe for him to be out there alone. Especially with a gator that big.”

  Mom leaned into him. “It’s not safe even for two grown men hunting that beast—and you know it.”

  Dad kissed her on the forehead. “The thing is, if we don’t get Goliath before moving day Saturday, Uncle Sammy will keep hunting the thing on his own. That has disaster written all over it.” Dad stood and pulled Parker close in a bear hug.

  There was so much strength in his dad beyond muscle alone. And Parker would be like him some day. Prayed to God he would be. But even now, at this moment, Parker wrestled. Would he tell Dad more? Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do? How was he ever going to be a man of strength and integrity if he compromised and wasn’t truthful? But what if Dad said no to him checking out Crawley’s place? Honestly—how would he not say no?

  And if Dad said no—and Parker went anyway—he should just yank that INTEGRITTY sign off the wall. Yeah, then hide it in the closet and “forget” to pack it when they moved north. The idea of asking his dad for permission was like stepping out onto a football field against a team a whole lot bigger than he was. What chance did he have? He took a deep breath. “Dad, how about Wilson and I do some recon on Crawley?”

  Dad released the hug and held him at arm’s length. “Run that by me again.”

  “Vaughn.” Mom’s face had worry all over it. “You handle this. I can’t even bear to hear more.” She shook her head and left the kitchen.

  Not a great start. He was already losing yardage. Parker took a deep breath, blew it out, and told his dad what he hoped to do—and how he’d be super-cautious. He really sold the part about being careful.

  Dad listened. Sat back down at the table. “Parker, there’s a part of me—a big part—that wants to let you do this. It’s important to you. I get it.”

  He paused, and Parker resisted the urge to blurt out something about how he just had to check this angle. Had to.

  “I wasn’t wild about you going up the Lopez to help search. If you’d snuck off and did it without talking to me, I wouldn’t even consider this. But you followed my guidelines. Never missed a time of texting me. That builds my trust in you, son.”

  And Parker was determined to continue working on that.

  “And I trust God in all this, too. Not perfectly, sad to say, but I’m working on it.” Dad seemed to be searching for the right words—or maybe an easier way to say no. “But as a dad, part of my job is protecting you too—even if you don’t think you need it.”

  Parker groaned. Dad. Mom. Even Jelly. Why was everyone so worried that something bad might happen to him? Time to play some defense here. “You said it yourself. I’ve been building trust, right?” It was a cheap shot, using his dad’s own words against him.

  “I trust you, Parker. More and more. But it’s the devil in others that I don’t trust. And if this Crawley guy is half as bad as you’ve described, it’s just not going to happen.”

  The ball game was as good as over—and Parker knew it. Time to throw a Hail Mary pass and hope for a break. “Dad—before you say no, just pray about it tonight, okay? You always like to pray before making a tough call—right?”

  Dad looked him in the eyes for a very uncomfortable and long five seconds. “Fair enough. I’ll let you know before school tomorrow. Deal?”

  Parker nodded. “Thanks, Dad. Set up any ground rules you want. We’ll use the Boy’s Bomb—so we won’t even get close to his house. I’ll use binoculars—from a safe distance offshore. If we see anything suspicious, we get word to you.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Pump the brakes, son,” Dad said. “I’ll pray about it—as you asked . . . but don’t start making plans just yet. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  It was way too late to stop Parker from making plans. And he wasn’t going to let go of them unless he got some kind of rock-solid “no” from his Dad in the morning. And if everything went according to that plan, Parker would be checking out Crawley’s after school.

  CHAPTER 60

  ANGELICA HAD NEVER SEEN WILSON and Parker more hyper. When she pedaled up to Parker’s house before school Thursday morning, she found them both around back, stuffing a backpack. Binoculars. Parker’s survival knife with the leg straps. Machete—that nasty-looking curved one that Parker had been so excited to get when they moved here. “Packing for the moving van?”

  Parker smiled. “You wish. You know what I’m doing.” He quickly explained how he’d asked his dad for permission to scope out Crawley’s.

  Angelica couldn’t believe it. “Your dad was okay with that?”

  “Not exactly.” Parker glanced at Wilson. “But I’m still hoping he changes his mind. And if he does, I want to be ready to head out in the Boy’s Bomb right after school.”

  “Changes his mind?” Angelica watched Parker’s eyes. “Either your dad green-lighted this thing, or he gave it a red light. It was a yes or a no. I’ve never known your dad to be wishy-washy.”

  “I was with Bucky,” Wilson said. “Heard every word his dad said. I wouldn’t call it a full-on red light.”

  Were they talking themselves into checking Crawley’s place anyway—without his dad’s okay? How dumb was that? She stared at him. Parker had been working so hard at the whole integrity thing. Did this mean he was thinking of tossing all that away?

  Thankfully, she was one step ahead of them—and if they tried going through with this, they definitely would not be taking the Boy’s Bomb. She didn’t smile, which took more than a little control on her part. “You bring that pack to school and the only place you’ll be going is Kingman’s office.”

  Wilson snorted. “We’re dropping by the boat on the way, Einstein. We’ll stow it under a seat so we don’t have to stop home after school. We’ll need every minute we can get.”

  This time she did smile. She was more like two steps ahead of them. And she was going to stay ahead of them until Parker left with the moving van. If he didn’t have enough sense to stay out of the Everglades, she’d make sure he did.

  Parker slung the pack over one shoulder, and both boys mounted their bikes. His dad’s truck was already gone. Uncle Vaughn was likely already with her dad. Two sleep-deprived men hunting a gator the size of a nuclear sub? Angelica didn’t even want to think about how dangerous that was. Everybody was taking greater and greater risks.

  Parker kicked off. “Try to keep up, loser.”

  Wilson raced to catch up—and actually got a wheel ahead of him.

  “That pack too heavy for you, Bucky?” Wilson smiled. “Maybe I should carry it so you can keep up.”

  “Then you’ll be begging me to stop every few minutes so you can rest.”

  What was it with guys? They turned everything into competition. But it was the first time Parker had seemed like his old self in a while—and it was good to see it. Too bad it couldn’t last. Jelly didn’t push hard to catch up. There was no point. By the time the boys
passed Smallwood’s Store, she was nearly fifty yards behind them—and holding her breath for what had to be coming next.

  Suddenly Parker stopped pedaling. He shouted something to Wilson and both of them poured on the speed again.

  Here we go. She’d have to do some pretty convincing acting. More lies.

  The moment Parker got close to the boat he dumped his bike and ran the last few yards.

  ValuJet #592 was spray-painted in black across the entire length of the Boy’s Bomb. She could read it clearly even from this distance on the teal fiberglass hull. Somehow what she’d done last night looked so much worse in the daylight.

  Parker dropped to his knees and rubbed furiously at the graffiti. He was still working at it when Angelica pedaled up.

  God, forgive me.

  “No, no, NO.” Parker licked his thumb and rubbed the letters. The paint didn’t budge.

  Wilson went around to the other side. “Starboard side is clear.” He hustled back and dropped down beside Parker. He used his fingernail on one of the letters. “You’ve got enough wax on this thing. I think you’ll get the spray paint off with a little Miccosukee muscle.” He cleared an area the size of a dime. “We can do this.”

  Which made Angelica feel a tiny bit better.

  Parker turned to her—pain all over his face. “Do you believe this?”

  Angelica shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Parker said.

  Well . . . actually?

  “This was Kingman,” Wilson said. “That stinking coward. I thought he left town.”

  “Looks like he came back to leave me a little message.” Parker stood and stared at the side of his boat.

  “What does it mean?” Jelly tried to sound like she was clueless. But she had to make sure Parker got the message—or this whole thing was pointless.

  Parker’s face was as red as she’d ever seen it. “It wouldn’t be hard to guess.”

  “It’s obvious, Jelly,” Wilson said. “ValuJet #592 was one of the flights that crashed in the Everglades. No survivors.”

  “What does that have to do with the Boy’s Bomb?” Angelica looked at Parker. “Or with you?”

  “He’s warning me that if I take this boat out there,” Parker motioned toward the Lopez, “I won’t be coming back.”

  Okay. So Parker got the message. Angelica tried not to look as relieved as she felt.

  Wilson stepped back, inspecting the boat, arms folded across his chest. “I’ve never met anybody who had such a streak of bad luck. And the thing I really don’t get? You’re the Christian. The boy scout. Always so zeroed-in on doing the “right thing.” Ever wonder what you get for all your trouble? I mean, what does it gain you, Bucky?”

  “Gain me? Like there’s a reward or something?”

  “Exactly.”

  This wasn’t about winning a prize for choosing to be a person of integrity. But Angelica kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t exactly the poster child for integrity at the moment. She’d let Parker handle this.

  “It’s not what I get, but what I become. That’s the reward. And because I try to do the right thing here,” Parker said as he fisted his chest, “I build trust.” He stopped for a moment like he was remembering something specific. “And that’s a big deal.”

  “I’ll tell you what I see, Bucky,” Wilson said. “Way back in June, I fed the gator—but you got pulled off Typhoon. Not me. You died on the dock at Wooten’s. Not me. You’ve got the arm that’s all weirded up. Not me. Who got cornered on Gator Hook Trail? That would be you.”

  He took a breath and motioned toward the side of the Boy’s Bomb. “And now this. Don’t you ever wonder if it wouldn’t be a whole lot easier if you weren’t, you know, such a boy scout?”

  Jelly snorted. “And be more like you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yeah.” Wilson smiled. “I’m no Christian. I’ll admit it. But I’m not so sure I see the plus for me if I were.”

  Parker thought for a moment. “So besides the fact that my faith in Jesus promises me a place in heaven someday—and forgiveness from everything I’ve ever done wrong—and that Jesus will never leave me . . . that I’m not alone . . . ever? You’re thinking I should have more advantages besides those?”

  Wilson laughed. “I’m talking about all the bad things that happen to you.”

  “Maybe it’s all how you look at it,” Parker said. “Sure, I got pulled off the airboat, but God rescued me. There was no other explanation. And my heart stopped on the dock, but it wasn’t my time yet—and God restarted it. Sure, I got cornered on Gator Hook Trail, but He got me away from two gators.”

  “Actually,” Wilson said, “I kind of helped on that one. Just saying.”

  “Even better. God provided reinforcements, and I didn’t even have to face the gators alone.” Parker shrugged. “As for upsides to being a Christian? The way I see it, they’re endless. God reminds me over and over that He’s got me—and won’t leave me—no matter how messy things get.” He rubbed at the spray paint again.

  Wilson grinned. “Well when you put it that way . . .”

  “So,” Jelly said. “What are you going to do now?”

  “After school today?” Parker shrugged. “This really messes everything up. I gotta get this paint off the boat before I even think of doing anything else—even if my dad does change his mind about the recon mission at Crawley’s. I’m afraid the longer this paints stays on, the more impossible it will be to get it off. I’ll never sleep tonight if I don’t work on this.”

  By the time he got the paint off, it would be too late to go out looking for Creepy Crawley. Angelica tried not to look elated.

  “I need to tell my dad about this.” Parker stepped back and took a couple of pictures with his phone. “I’m not sure there’s enough daylight to even get this done after school.”

  “And after seeing this, I got one more thing to add to your list of things to do today.” Wilson pointed to the graffiti on the boat. “Stay clear of Kingman.”

  CHAPTER 61

  SOMETHING INSIDE PARKER SHIFTED the moment he finished talking to Wilson about God. Like some invisible toggle switch flipped in his head. But it was as real as the graffiti on the side of his boat. That urgency to leave the Everglades lost a little traction. He still wanted out—and didn’t hate the place less. But wherever Parker was, God was with him. Suddenly that counted—or mattered more than it did before.

  The instant Parker locked his bike in the rack at school, he texted his dad about the damage to the boat. He stared at the picture of the Boy’s Bomb before sending it. He’d hoped Kingman was long gone, like the rumors said. The idea that the guy was still around would definitely keep Parker looking over his shoulder.

  First period was a blur. ValuJet. Spray paint. Kingman. Crawley. Parker’s mind looped on those four things way more than on anything the teacher said. Even in the hallway after the class was over, Parker couldn’t stop thinking about them. Parker was ready to walk in to second period when an incoming text dinged his phone.

  Dad!

  Go to the office---pronto---and text me after you’ve talked with the principal.

  What?

  Principal Kingman met him before he even got to the office. “Ah, Mr. Buckman. Just the one I want to see.” He flashed his whitened-teeth smile. Honestly? His nose still seemed to angle off to one side a bit. He’d always had a schnoz for sniffing out “devilry.” Maybe this was his secret weapon. With that hook in his nose, maybe he smelled incoming trouble easier—especially from around corners.

  “It seems your father needs your immediate services in the worst way. He’s asked permission for you to leave, which I have granted in light of the fact this is your last week.”

  Parker couldn’t believe it. Had his dad changed his mind about Crawley’s? “Right now?”

  Principal K made a brushing motion with both hands like Parker was a pesky fly. “This minute. Vamoose. But . . .” He poked his finger at Parker. �
�I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  Parker turned and bolted for the exit before the principal changed his mind.

  “Walk, Mr. Buckman.”

  He slowed to a power walk and broke into a run again the instant he pushed through the exit door crash bars. He pedaled a full block away before stopping to text his dad—so he’d be out of earshot just in case Principal K called him back.

  Moments later his dad returned a text, like he’d had the thing written and was just waiting to send it.

  We don’t want the graffiti baking on the hull so I thought it best you get on it. Stop at marina on way and pick up rags and rubbing compound. I’ve already paid. Wish I could be there to help, but call me at the boat and I’ll tell you how to use it.

  He waited for a second text—saying Dad had a change of heart about the recon mission. But after a long minute, he had to face the facts—and at least be glad for the gift he’d just gotten. His dad probably felt bad about saying no to Crawley’s in the first place, and saw this as a different way he could help Parker. He fired off a quick thanks—then a text to Wilson and Jelly saying he was leaving to work on the graffiti.

  Wilson texted back in seconds. Want company?

  Parker didn’t want to encourage Wilson to ditch school, but he wasn’t going to turn down the help, either.

  Wilson caught up to him at the marina. Ninety minutes later, the rubbing compound did its magic on the Boy’s Bomb. Way faster than Wilson’s earlier method with his fingernail. Wilson and Parker stepped back and inspected the job. The boat looked like new.

  Parker snapped a picture and sent it to his dad.

  “You know,” Wilson said, “I’ve been thinking about what your dad said this morning. And the other half of my brain has been focused on Crawley. What if he’s got Maria?”

  Parker gave him the side-eye. Was Wilson messing with him? Trying to get him to check out Crawley’s behind his dad’s back?

  “He saw Maria leave—from this very spot.” Wilson looked across Chokoloskee Bay. “How hard was it for him to guess she’d headed for the Lopez? He took off for the marina and I saw him launch his boat.”