Terror at Bottle Creek Page 9

32

  I reached out and picked some juniper berries and chewed them into the sappy paste. I pressed some gently against the slice I’d made across Liza’s fang marks. She jerked slightly but didn’t complain.

  If we live she might lose her leg. And it will change her. But it won’t change the way I feel about her. She’s the bravest person I’ll ever know.

  I picked more of the berries and chewed them. I looked into the treetops and studied the swamp canopy. It wasn’t whipping and thrashing as it had during the night. Occasionally a quick gust rocked the juniper and sprayed us with leaves and wet cold. The sky was a rain-drizzling blanket of dirty cotton. Igor wasn’t done with us, but it was weakening. I imagined we were now beneath a wide expanse of tropical storm the hurricane collected and dragged in its wake.

  I applied the juniper paste to the gash on my leg, trying to ignore the dull pain of it. Then I studied the scene below. I couldn’t see the edge of the floodwater through the tangle of tree limbs, but I knew it could only be forty or fifty feet downhill.

  Suddenly Rusty squealed from somewhere to my left and I heard the smaller pigs crash away into the underbrush. I turned to see him stomping and ripping the dirt with his tusks. In a moment he backed away with a snake in his mouth, shook it several times, and slung it. The lifeless body slapped limp and wet against a tree trunk. Rusty grunted and pawed the dirt again. Then he made a sideways dash and repeated the routine on another snake.

  As Rusty continued to find and kill snakes, the small black pigs reappeared. One of them went over to a dead cottonmouth and sniffed it. Then it began tearing it apart and eating it.

  Liza moaned something and I turned back to the girls.

  “It’s just the pigs,” I said. “They can’t get up here. Francie, what do you want for Christmas this year?”

  She didn’t raise her head, but she answered me. “A fire truck,” she mumbled.

  “A fire truck?”

  She moved her chin against Liza’s shoulder. “A real one,” she said. “So Catfish can ride in it.”

  I smiled.

  “Liza, do you remember when we watched that movie about the people that went to the center of the earth? Remember, we got the shovels and started digging a hole in your backyard?

  She didn’t respond.

  “You don’t have to answer,” I said. “I’ll talk and both of you can listen. We did that, Francie. We thought we could dig a hole to another place where there would be dinosaurs and underground lakes. It got to be a pretty big hole. Then it rained and filled—”

  Something slammed into the tree below. It sounded like a person hit it with a baseball bat. I looked down to see Rusty backing away. Blood ran down his mouth, and his body trembled and shook in a crazed, rabid way. Francie began to whimper softly.

  “He can’t get up here,” I reassured her. “It’s all right.”

  Rusty pawed the dirt and charged again, throwing his body against the juniper like he wanted to knock us out of it. The tree didn’t shake much, but I found myself gripping the limbs tightly. Rusty ran at the tree again, this time hitting it with his tusks. Then he swung his face against the bark and dug his cutter teeth into it, sawing them back and forth, shredding long white gashes into the trunk.

  He’s gone insane.

  I reasoned he’d been snakebit, but I’d never seen an animal acting so enraged.

  The hog spent several minutes sawing at the juniper until he suddenly spun and charged the bear’s tree. He hit and attacked it with the same force. The bear groaned and I looked over at him. He had his face tucked down so that I couldn’t see his eyes, but I saw his stomach rising and falling. The groan seemed to enrage Rusty more. He circled the water oak, waving his head up and down, shredding the bark.

  After a few minutes Rusty stopped attacking the trees. The other pigs were picking through the leaves, finding dead and live snakes and eating them. Rusty suddenly charged one of them and toppled it into the underbrush. What followed was a deafening blend of squeals over a blur of brown and black hair. The other pigs scattered away in terror. Soon the bushes were still and Rusty appeared, his tusks dripping with blood. He studied the juniper for a second, then turned and charged into the underbrush again. For several minutes there was more squealing and thrashing. Something crashed into the water. Then a few soft grunts. Then silence.

  He wants us to think he’s gone.

  I grabbed a stick and dropped it. The second it hit the ground Rusty came charging from the underbrush and stomped it to splinters. Though I knew he couldn’t get to us, his determination convinced me at last that the mound was going to kill us one way or another unless I did something about it. Staying in the tree was as good as giving up.

  “I’m going for help,” I said.

  Liza didn’t look at me, but she reached over and put her hand on my arm and squeezed gently.

  “I have to get both of you out of here.”

  She lifted her head slightly and turned to me and opened her eyes.

  “Can you hang on for a while longer?” I asked.

  “I feel sick,” she said.

  “I know. Drink more water whenever you can. Don’t lose that fabric.”

  “I’m afraid I’m gonna drop Francie.”

  Liza had three parallel straps securing her flotation vest. I unclipped the top one and tugged it. She moved slightly to allow it to pass through the loops on the back side. I got it free and pulled the clips to the extreme ends of the strap. I saw it wasn’t going to be long enough, so I took another one and tied the ends together.

  “I’m gonna strap both of you to the tree,” I said.

  She squeezed my arm again. “What can you do?”

  “I don’t know. I have to try something. I can’t just sit here.”

  I ran the strap around the trunk and passed it beneath the shoulder of Francie’s vest and then fully around Liza. I clipped the two ends together and cinched it snug. Then I got the spear and placed it before Liza.

  “The pigs are killing the snakes,” I said. “I don’t think any more will be coming up the tree … But take this in case.”

  “There’s nobody out there, Cort.”

  “I know. And there’s nobody coming. And this floodwater isn’t gonna back off any time soon.”

  “But the alligators.”

  I glanced at Francie, then back at Liza, and I saw in her eyes that she knew what I didn’t want to say.

  “We don’t have much time,” I said.

  She started to reach for the life vest beneath them and I grabbed her arm and stopped her.

  “It’ll just slow me,” I said. “I’ve thought about it.”

  She pulled her hand into her lap again. She began to cry softly.

  33

  Rusty panted and paced in a circle below. I didn’t see the smaller hogs. I reasoned he’d killed at least two. If there were survivors, they were probably hiding in the underbrush.

  Even if I figured out some way to get past Rusty to the water, I’d still have the alligators to contend with. But we had made it past them the first time. I just had to do it again. Through more.

  I looked out into the canopy. I wondered if it was possible to leap through the trees until I was past Rusty and out over the water. But the only trees close enough to jump to didn’t look like they’d hold my weight—except for the large water oak the bear was in. From there the ground began to slope down and I saw some other saplings that might hold me.

  Crazy. The bear looked like he had the same sickness as Rusty. He could tear me to pieces.

  But I knew Rusty wouldn’t hesitate to attack. I wasn’t so sure about the bear. Even if he was as crazy as the hog, he wasn’t in an ideal position to attack anything.

  If I could jump out and grab the tree below him … Maybe I’ll have time to jump again before he can get at me.

  My heart beat faster as I fully comprehended what I was setting myself up for. I fought back my fear and tried to reason with myself.

  There’s no
other way. Not unless you can outrun Rusty … Which you can’t.

  There was no safer option.

  I got the spear from Liza and walked out on the limb. The bear turned his head and looked at me. I held the pole out slowly and saw his eyes follow the end of it. I gently nudged him on his haunch.

  “Come on, big fellow,” I said.

  The bear shifted slightly and growled with irritation.

  “Don’t hurt Elmo,” Francie mumbled.

  “I’m not,” I said.

  I poked the bear again and he shuffled a few inches up the tree.

  “There you go,” I said.

  I gave him another poke and he continued another five or six feet and out of my reach. I wished he were higher, but that was all I was going to get.

  I returned to Liza and placed the spear in her lap again.

  “Cort?” she muttered.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve got to go. There’s no other way.”

  She lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were still red and wet. “Is Francie gonna fall?”

  “No, I’ve got her strapped in good. She’s not gonna fall. Neither one of you are.”

  She nodded and lowered her head again. I brushed the hair out of Francie’s face and checked the straps again, making sure they were tight. Then I stood and walked back out on the limb.

  I studied what I was about to do. After a minute I saw there was no good way to go about it. I just had to jump and start grabbing for a handhold. Then get to another tree as fast as I could.

  I leaped out and crashed into the limbs of the bear’s tree, flailing my arms for a handhold, images of snakes and Rusty flashing through my head like a nightmare. In the midst of it all I heard Elmo roar like he was right at my ear. Everything was fast and blurry and confusing.

  I caught a weak limb six feet below where I’d jumped. I heard Rusty going mad beneath me, tearing at the water oak. I quickly looked up and saw the bear looking down at me. He hadn’t moved.

  I clawed my way to the tree and hugged it, trying to smother the paralyzing fear racing through me. I heard the bear moving and felt the tree rocking. When I looked up again he was climbing higher.

  Yes, just what I needed. Time to think.

  Even with Rusty enraged below, I had to calm myself and get my thoughts together. The water was still out of sight. But as the hill descended, so did the tops of the trees. I thought it might be possible to jump into the upper branches of another water oak at least once more. I stabilized my feet and judged my options. I soon found another small tree and leaped out, into the thick of it.

  When I was secure against the second tree, I looked down to see Rusty still stalking me. Suddenly a doe crashed away through the underbrush. Then I saw a nutria, a giant rat the size of a beaver, scamper under a log. There were still other animals alive on the mound. Rusty hadn’t killed them all. I looked out through the weave of leaves and sticks to where I glimpsed the reflection of water. It was the color of chocolate milk, undulating and wavy. But there were no more large trees to leap into. I’d gone as far as I could go.

  I was still high in the tree and decided to get below the leaves to fully assess my options again. I started down, watching my feet as I felt for branches, looking for snakes. As I dropped closer to the ground I saw the three remaining hogs uphill of my position. Rusty stepped closer and snorted and watched me. About eight feet from the ground I was able to better study the water. None of the animals were standing near it. Even Rusty seemed hesitant to come farther downhill. And then I saw why.

  Four alligators lay black and still at the water’s edge. They were impervious to the wind and rain. They had nothing better to do than float there and wait patiently. About them were the torn pink rain-washed carcasses of partly eaten animals. Mostly hogs, a few deer, and snakes. Beyond them were several other alligators. I’d never seen so many in one place. And there was no telling how many more were on the other sides of the mound. Everything, including me, was going to have to get past their cold eyes and teeth sooner or later.

  34

  I clung to the tree, delaying what I knew was probably a leap to my death. Rusty snorted again and rubbed his face in the dirt.

  Get it over with, I thought.

  I returned my attention to the few remaining trees downhill. There were no more within reach that would support my weight. The only option I saw was a thin hackberry. I reasoned if I could leap to its trunk it might bend with me toward the water’s edge. Perhaps enough to drop me over the alligators on the bank. Then I would have to swim for my life. I was fast in the water, but Rusty and the alligators were certainly faster.

  I need a better plan.

  “Dad,” I said aloud.

  But no one was there. It seemed pointless to even make a plan. There was no good plan.

  The situation is impossible. I am going to meet the same agonizing death as the rest of the carcasses in the water.

  So I thought of pain instead, to brace myself for death. Dad told me once that animals gripped in the jaws of predators didn’t feel pain. That a body overloaded with instant deep-tissue damage was numb. But the thought was no comfort. I looked back toward the girls. I couldn’t see them. Then I felt crushing loneliness and I wanted to be back with Liza. I didn’t want to die alone.

  Think. What are your options? You can’t hang on to this tree for long. And you can’t go back. There’s only one choice.

  “Dad,” I said again.

  I remembered something else he’d told me. Don’t thrash. Don’t excite them. Don’t swim like you’re scared. Walk if you can.

  I looked at Rusty again. His eyes were locked on me.

  He won’t get closer to the water. Not while the alligators are there.

  I didn’t want to think about it anymore. Any of it. I just wanted it over with. I leaped out and crashed into the hackberry. It gave little resistance and bent and snapped, and suddenly I was in the water, sinking in a cold, murky blur. I felt adrenaline rush through me like an electric shock, and I clenched my teeth and fought it away. I put my arms forward and made a wide, controlled stroke to the surface. I broke the water slowly and made an effort not to look until my feet were on the ground. Something rough brushed my leg and swirled the water to my left. Panic flared white-hot inside me. My muscles locked and I felt my heart drumming like something in a hollow barrel.

  “Come on,” I muttered. “Hold it together.”

  I fought back the fear and lowered my feet. I found myself standing in chest-deep water. The ground still sloped beneath me and I realized there wasn’t going to be any walking. Everything before me was too deep. In my immediate area I saw no alligators. I was sure they had submerged themselves, startled at the disruption. But I turned and saw the ones behind me, still on the bank, a few of them with their heads up and turned, studying me.

  Go, I thought. Stay calm, and get out of here.

  I leaned forward and pulled my feet up and breaststroked in the direction of Bottle Creek. Slow, smooth, controlled strokes. Keeping my chin up and eyes ahead of me. Trailing my feet and kicking them as little as possible. I felt something else swirl beneath my stomach. I remained calm. Kept moving.

  Something scraped my chest and threatened to send panic screaming through me again. Then I realized it was just a small tree or the top of a palmetto plant.

  Keep going.

  The noises of the mound faded behind me, and then there was nothing but the rain and the wind in the trees. A cottonmouth passed me on the left, head up, looking not for a fight but a late arrival at the mound. As much as I feared for the girls, I was overwhelmed with relief to be leaving that place.

  My fear of the alligators faded and my thoughts turned to my newest problems. I was confident I could swim the mile or so back to the Tensaw, but could I find it? Now I had no compass and everything looked different under floodwater. And if I did find my way back, how would I get across the river?

  35

  When I arrived at a gap in th
e trees I knew I’d reached Bottle Creek. I hugged a water oak to rest and look and think. I sensed it was late morning, though it was hard to know with the sun blotted out behind the thick cloud cover. The storm gusts were louder as they howled down the break in the swamp canopy like a canyon wind.

  Other than the break in the trees and the ripples on the surface, there was nothing to distinguish the creek from the rest of the water. It all flowed like one mass to the south. I realized that maybe at least one of my problems had a simple solution. Since the entire swamp was flowing like a river, if I swam perpendicular to the current my course should take me east toward the Tensaw. Using the wind against my face had worked earlier. Now I would use the water in the same way. It was rough navigation at best, but even that small clue was enough information to encourage me.

  I was no longer fearful of the hogs and snakes and alligators. That was something behind me. Now, water and time were my real enemies. I had a lot of dangerous water and not enough time. As if prompting me to move on, minnows nibbled at my tusk wound, sending tiny jets of pain up my thigh. I moved my legs again, like waving flies underwater. The swamp wasn’t going to allow me even a short rest.

  “Hang on, girls,” I said aloud.

  I pushed out into the creek and kicked my legs and swung my arms against the current. Any other time the swim I faced across a mile of flooded swamp might seem like a death threat in itself, but compared to what I’d been through the night before, it was a vacation. I entered the trees on the other side and passed once again into the shadow of the canopy.

  I kept my head up, breaststroking through the strange flooded land. Keeping the current on my cheek, my eyes on the next distant tree ahead, I passed at eye level with squirrels and raccoons and opossums in the treetops. There were more snakes and more ants. I didn’t try to avoid them. I had no sense of time, no sense of distance.

  Keep your head up. Stroke. Find the tree. Stroke.

  I thought about my mother. For the first time in years, I wasn’t angry with her. I just wanted her to be okay. I wanted all of us to be okay. The boil of problems between her and Dad seemed like so much time wasted.