Terror at Bottle Creek Page 12

  “Looks bad,” I said.

  “We’ve got some work ahead of us, that’s for sure.”

  “Let’s rest a minute.”

  “Go ahead and sit down,” he said. “No rush.”

  We sat at the top of the hill.

  “Linda told me we could stay at her place until we get things figured out,” Dad said.

  “We have insurance or anything like that?”

  “Well, not exactly anything like that.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Paul Davis has an RV he said we could use for a while. I can bring that over tomorrow once we get the road cleared.”

  “All right,” I said. “Then what?”

  “What you think about buildin’ a house?”

  “A house? Where?”

  “Around here somewhere. Linda said she’d sell us a half acre or so.”

  “How you gonna pay for that?”

  “I don’t have to do it all at once.”

  “How you gonna pay for a house?”

  “There’s gonna be plenty of cleanup work for a few months. A man with a chain saw can get after it and do pretty good. Good enough to get started, anyway.”

  I stared out over the dirty river.

  “You’re not doing it for Mom, are you?”

  Dad picked up a twig and snapped it and let the pieces fall between his legs.

  “I prob’ly should have done it a long time ago,” he said.

  “I don’t think it would have helped.”

  He grinned. “Prob’ly not,” he said.

  The more I thought about it, Dad’s idea about the house didn’t sound too far-fetched. We’d built camp houses before. We knew how to frame and wire and plumb.

  “We can do it, Dad.”

  He put his arm around me. “Man,” he said, “a couple of nights ago when I was up the road at your mother’s house, I was sittin’ there watchin’ the storm, worryin’ about you kids. And it was just all empty there, you know. I mean, your mother was there, and Linda, but it was just empty.”

  I drew my knees up and studied the tips of my shoes.

  “Your mom and I used to be happy together,” Dad continued. “Believe it or not. But we just won’t ever be that way again. I think I’ve finally got my head around that. Sometimes things just don’t work out no matter how much you want ’em to.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You gonna be any good around here with a bum leg and one hand?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Let’s get this place cleaned up.”

  44

  Dad got Mr. Stovall’s old chain saw working and spent until late afternoon clearing the road into the landing. I had a slight limp, and my leg was sore, but I was able to help. I put a glove on my hand with the stitches and could pick up some of the lighter trash. We used the Stovalls’ truck until we were able to drive ours down. Then we got both of them working, hauling debris from the yard and tossing it in a burn pile near the river. Much of the lumber we found was still good, and we made a separate stack of boards to clean of nails and salvage. We’d use them to help rebuild the bait shop and the dock.

  It was going to be days before the utility lines were restored. Just before dark I refueled the generator while Dad wired it directly into the house’s electrical box. When he was done I started it, and we had power throughout the entire house.

  Once we cleaned up and got settled Dad called the hospital to check on the girls. Mrs. Stovall told him she’d be bringing Francie home in the morning. They were going to keep Liza for a few more days.

  After Dad hung up the phone he went over to the sofa and fell onto it heavily.

  “I’m beat, son,” he said.

  “We can get the boards off the windows in the morning,” I said. “Where we sleeping tonight?”

  “I’m sleepin’ right here.”

  “I’ll take the floor, then. You hungry?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ve got a few cans of soup I brought up from the houseboat. I’ll get ’em out of the garage.”

  I walked through the pantry and opened the garage door. Catfish strolled past me, his toenails clicking across the linoleum like he’d only been gone a few minutes. He was wet and muddy, and briars were tangled and matted into his hair.

  “Catfish!” I shouted.

  He stopped and turned. I knelt and he came to me and I hugged him to my chest. I saw Dad’s feet approach.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  I rubbed my dog’s neck, and he whined and cowered into me like he suddenly remembered all he’d been through.

  “Looks like he’s wore out,” Dad said.

  “Come on, boy,” I said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and get you something to eat.”

  I gave Catfish a bath outside the garage, rubbing him down and feeling for any major injuries. Aside from some welts on his body and scratches on his face, he seemed okay.

  “You’re sleeping with me tonight,” I told him as I got some food ready for him.

  He trembled with excitement.

  “Nobody’s leaving anybody again.”

  * * *

  Dad rose early the next morning to go get the RV. I was taking the plywood off the house windows when Mrs. Stovall’s car pulled up. Francie got out carrying her Elmo doll. She had a few small bandages on her face and arms, but otherwise she looked healthy. I lowered my hammer and went to meet them.

  “How you feeling, Francie?”

  She looked around. “This place looks terrible, Cort. You need to clean this up,” she bossed.

  Mrs. Stovall and I both laughed.

  “I didn’t know you’d be home so soon,” I said. “I tried to get it ready for you.”

  “Where’s Catfish?” Francie asked matter-of-factly.

  I looked at Mrs. Stovall. “You told her?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and widened her eyes with a look that said, Not me.

  “He’s around here somewhere,” I said to Francie. “He’s been looking for you.”

  “I know,” she said flatly.

  Mrs. Stovall approached me and rolled her eyes. “I think she’s feelin’ just fine, Cort. A little full of herself after all the attention she got at the hospital.”

  “Good,” I said. “How about Liza?”

  “She’s better. I’ll go sit with her tonight. They think I can bring her home on Sunday.”

  “Maybe we’ll be off generator power by then. Just let me know if you need me to crank it. Dad should be back with an RV soon.”

  “Okay,” she said. “You two feel free to use the house for anything you need.”

  “You go by Mom’s place?”

  “No, but she was fine when I left.”

  “Dad knows she’s not coming back.”

  Mrs. Stovall nodded.

  “She’s prob’ly happier now. I guess I ought to go by there in a couple of days. See if she needs any help.”

  “That would be nice,” she said.

  I looked at my shoes. “Think she’ll move on eventually?”

  “I don’t know, Cort. But sometimes people get along better than ever with a little distance.”

  “I’m not counting on it.”

  “This isn’t the life for everybody,” she added.

  “I know. But Dad says it’s in our blood.”

  “Your dad can be a little extreme.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know.”

  45

  The utility company restored power to the house that weekend. By Sunday morning Dad and I had the landing mostly clear of debris and the RV parked near where the bait shop used to be. The river was finally flowing at a normal level, but it was muddy and foamy and thick like chocolate milk. The yammering of chain saws and the beeping of utility trucks rode the crisp fall air, and I knew those sounds would carry into the winter and through the spring.

  Liza came home Sunday afternoon. Her entire left leg was bandaged and braced. I knew the doctors had cut it and pinned it open to reliev
e the swelling. Then they’d sewn it back together. She’d keep the leg, but she’d always have a scar from her foot to her thigh.

  I helped her off the backseat while Mrs. Stovall held her crutches and Dad went to open the front door of the house. Francie stood behind us, watching.

  “Hey,” Liza said to me.

  It was awkward seeing her. There was a lot I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how or where to start.

  “How you feeling?” I said.

  She gave me a weak smile. “Okay.”

  “Catfish is home,” Francie said.

  I got under Liza’s arm and helped her stand. I heard her gasp and hesitated.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I’m okay.”

  “Cort said Catfish didn’t get back until Wednesday,” Francie said.

  “Go inside, Francie,” Mrs. Stovall said. “Get the pillows off Liza’s bed and put them on the sofa.”

  Mrs. Stovall passed Liza the crutches and she steadied herself on them. Then we all helped her inside. Once she was settled onto the living room sofa, Dad and I left Mrs. Stovall to finish getting her comfortable. We walked down to the riverbank without speaking. I followed him to a stack of salvaged lumber that we’d been de-nailing. It was hard to get the gruesome thought of Liza’s leg operation out of my head. I could tell Dad was thinking about the same thing. He grabbed a hammer and shook his head. “She’s lucky to still have it,” he said.

  I made hamburgers for us in the RV that evening. After dinner I walked uphill again. I found Liza alone in the living room, lying on the sofa watching television.

  “You need anything?” I asked her.

  “I’d like to get up for a little bit,” she said. “Let’s go on the porch.”

  I helped her to the front door and onto the porch. We sat on the rough boards with our backs against the wall, looking over the landing and the river and swamp beyond.

  “Dad’s gonna build a house,” I told her. “The RV’s just temporary.”

  “Mom told me about it,” she said.

  “It might take a while.”

  Neither of us said anything for a moment.

  “I don’t want you to be scared of any of the stuff that happened,” I said.

  “I’m not scared,” she said.

  “Do you still wanna move?”

  She looked at me. She shook her head.

  “No?”

  “No. Not if you’re here.”

  “I’m here,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere. But all that out there was just a bunch of bad luck. It could never happen like that again in a hundred years.”

  “I’m not scared of that,” she said. “I mean, it’s hard not having a father around. It’s scary in a different kind of way. Especially in a place like this.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said.

  “It’s like riding in a car without your seat belt. I mean, you don’t think you’ll wreck, but you think about not having the seat belt on. You feel it.”

  “I think Dad’s gonna be better for both of us now that Mom’s gone.”

  “As long as you’re here, I’m fine.”

  I looked at her. “Yeah?”

  “You make me feel safe.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah. That’s all I want.”

  “That’s all?”

  She nodded.

  “What if I asked you to the fall party?”

  She made that cute smile. “Ask me.”

  “Do you wanna go to the fall party?”

  “Of course I do. Why didn’t you ask me last year?”

  “Well, I thought—”

  “I had to go with Jason. All he did was talk to everybody but me the whole night.”

  Something freed in my chest like sprung rubber bands. I looked at the ground and chuckled to myself.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Liza grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I felt warm all over.

  “And you have to get your mom to take you to basketball practice, Cort. You’re too good to quit.”

  “I didn’t quit.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” I said. “But I’ve already been thinking about it. And I’ve got a plan. It’s kind of crazy, but it might work.”

  46

  That night Dad slept on the sofa while I lay beneath him on the floor with Catfish beside me.

  “Dad?” I said quietly.

  “Yeah, son?”

  “What do you think about what the bear did?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you think he saved us?”

  “Maybe,” he finally said. “I’ve seen stranger things happen.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You havin’ a hard time gettin’ it out of your head?”

  “There’s a lot in my head. I thought about what you said … About pulling back the curtain. About how it can get evil real fast. I never knew what you meant before.”

  “Yeah, that swamp’s not any place man was meant to survive for long.”

  “Maybe that’s why the Indians left Bottle Creek.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe it happened to them. The same thing.”

  “Somethin’ sure run ’em off, didn’t it?”

  I could tell Dad was sleepy, but I had too much on my mind. I looked at the ceiling. “Do you ever think Mom was right? That maybe we should move?”

  Dad rolled over and looked at me. “’Cause of what happened in that hurricane?”

  “No … Because maybe this isn’t an easy place to live.”

  “What do you think?” he said.

  “I think you’ll always wanna be here.”

  “No. I mean, what do you think is the right thing to do?”

  I turned back to him. “I love this place, Dad … But I wish I was around other kids more. If I could just get to basketball practice, or anything like that, it’d be enough.”

  “Uh-huh,” Dad said.

  “I’ve thought about driving the Stovalls’ boat downriver and docking at Stimpson’s. It’d only be about a mile to school from there. I’d have to watch the weather, but it’d be a way.”

  Dad studied me.

  “I mean, it’d be weird, but it’d be a way for me to do it,” I said.

  “I’ll take you,” he said.

  “But you’ve got to work.”

  “Look, your mother ain’t comin’ back. It don’t appear she’s gonna be much help where she is either. Way I’m seein’ it, we got one less mouth to feed. So I can spend a little less time on the river.”

  I looked at the ceiling again and smiled to myself.

  “You good with that?” he said. And I heard the satisfaction in his tone.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m good with that.”

  “Hey, Cort?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I don’t expect you to be a river guide like your old man. It ain’t for everybody. You do what you wanna do.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “You heard me.”

  “I know. Thanks, Dad.”

  As I lay there in the dark it occurred to me just how much a few blurry pieces can ruin a picture. Now, with everything coming into focus, my image of life at the landing went from something I wanted to get away from to something I was proud of again. My heart swelled for the days ahead. Basketball with the guys in the gym. The fall party with Liza. Dry October leaves drifting out of the trees into the river. Gusty breezes sending patches of ripples across the calm black water of the swamp.

  Dad began to snore and I imagined that I was still on the houseboat, sleeping in the bunk above him. I missed the soothing sounds of the frogs and the crickets. I missed the water against the pontoons. And I started to imagine how we could build a new house so that we didn’t completely lose touch with the river at night. Something out of wood, maybe. A house with a screen sleeping porch.

  “Dad?” I whispered.
>
  He continued to snore. I wanted to tell him how good I felt about it all. I wanted to tell him he was right, the delta was in my blood. It was my home, and there’s something comforting about a place you’ve lived your entire life, as long as the people you love are with you. Take them away, and it’s hard to figure out where you belong.

  I didn’t know if I wanted to be a river guide, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t know. I had plenty of time to figure it out. And everybody I needed was sleeping around me, and they’d be there for me no matter what I did. What I decided.

  Author’s Note

  I’ve been through more hurricanes than I can remember. They come with life on the Gulf Coast. Even as I began to write this novel, Hurricane Karen was just off the tip of Louisiana, about to make landfall. As the storm approached, I wrote down some impressions.

  The storm arrives tomorrow and will sweep over our house on Sunday. It is 8 a.m. and out my office window I see the sky is blue and cloudless. The storm is still hundreds of miles away, but there is already a sense that something is not right. The birds are quiet and the squirrels aren’t twitching about in the yard. The air is too still and heavy. It seems that everything is already cowering before this unseen chaos rolling toward us. As the old saying goes, it is the calm before the storm. Late this afternoon bands of clouds will arrive. Intermittent rain will patter the leaves. I’ll have boarded up most of the windows by then, but I won’t park the cars in the garage until tomorrow, when the police force everyone off the roads.

  I have a mental checklist of things I do before a hurricane. The routine has been the same for years: make sure you have enough plywood for windows before the lumber store runs out, fill the jerricans with gasoline, get the boats out of the water, and get everything off the dock.

  Once the rain starts it won’t stop for days. For those who stay, there’s nothing to do but board up your windows and get inside your box and wait it out. Even though I’ve always lived on the coast, I have only evacuated once. I was eight years old when my father drove our family to the north end of Baldwin County in front of Hurricane Frederic. We stayed at a friend’s house in the country. All night the rain pelted the windows and tree limbs fell on the roof. When we woke the next morning it looked like a bomb had gone off outside. Days passed before the roads were cleared and we were able to make our way south again. When we arrived at our home there was not a pine tree standing. I remember thinking it looked like a giant had crushed them beneath his feet like blades of grass. Where there used to be a lawn was now mud and sand. Pieces of people’s houses and docks were wedged in the trees. It didn’t seem possible to clean it all up.