In One Fell Swoop, page 9
Chapter 32
He's just bluffing. He's not going anywhere.
I looked out the window, pretending to not care, and watched the landscape as it flew by me. When we reached I-75 southbound and he sped up, I leaned back in my seat, wondering if I had been wrong. Was he actually going somewhere? And if he was, then where?
"Shouldn't we just stop this nonsense now before we spend all day like this?" I asked. "I kind of have other things to do today."
"Well, you're the one who didn't want to get out," Pete said.
"Ha, ha very funny," I said and looked out the window. I didn't want him to see that I was actually nervous that I had made a mistake. I turned and looked at him again, sighing annoyed. "Why can't you just tell me?"
"Because I don't have any answers yet. Theories, yes, ideas, yes, but I am a scientist, Patty. I need proof."
"Okay, then let me in on your theories," I said.
Pete didn't answer; he was driving behind a truck that was going extremely slow.
"Why don't you just pass him?" I asked when he grunted. "Why are you going so slow? Everybody else is passing you."
"The speed limit is there for a reason, Patty."
"Yeah, and you're doing ten below it right now."
"No, I’m not."
"Yes, you are."
"Am not.
"Oh, my God, you're like a child. Just pass him already."
"Why do you care?" he said, looking at me.
That shut me up. I really didn't want to go anywhere, so why did I? "Well, it just annoys me, is all."
"I can stop here and drop you off if you like. You aren't going to like where we're going anyway."
I stared at him. Up until now, I hadn't believed that he was actually going anywhere. But now I did.
"Exactly where are we going?"
"Everglades."
"And just why are we going there?"
"Research," he said, as the truck in front of us took an exit and the road was clear in front of us again. He smiled victoriously. "See, I told you there was no need to pass him."
I made a grimace, then hoped he didn't see it.
"Just let me know when you've had enough," he said. "I can drop you off at a gas station and then you can call someone to pick you up."
I didn't say anything. Simply because I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to be dropped off. I was too stubborn. If I did, then all this would be in vain. I would be stuck somewhere till Danielle could get there, or maybe even till Grace was off from work. Julia didn't have a car, so she couldn't come. I would have lost this entire day and not gotten any closer to any answers. No. I wasn't going to let him win.
We drove in silence for a long way. Nothing but the quiet hum of the wheels going steadily south on I-75. Soon, I got bored and started to sing. It started out with low humming, but soon after I was singing loudly the tune of Carry on My Wayward Son.
"Please, stop," Pete complained.
I stopped. "You don't like my singing?"
"I don't like anyone singing," he said. "It ruins my concentration."
"Ah, you grumpy old man," I said and continued my song.
"Stop. Please, just stop."
"Make me," I said.
"All right. What does it take?" he said, his face strained. It hurt me a little since people usually loved to hear me sing.
I scoffed. "You tell me what you're going to do in Everglades and I'll stop singing."
Pete grunted again. "Guess there’s no harm in a little singing, then."
"Really?" I said. "You want to keep the secret that bad?"
"Like I said. There’s no harm in a little singing," he growled.
I fell back in my seat, arms crossed over my chest. "There’s no harm in actually reaching the speed limit either," I grumbled, then continued singing with my own version of Nine-to-Five, blasting it out as loud as my lungs could carry it.
Chapter 33
Mayor Ingram felt heavy at heart. It was afternoon and he was with his family, sitting on the porch outside in their huge backyard that reached all the way down to where the swamps began. The day at City Hall had been hectic, to put it mildly, yet he had accomplished nothing, he felt. At least nothing of what he really wanted to accomplish, and that was to find the missing campers and his buddies, Harry and Jeff, of course. All day, just like the day before, he had answered questions from the media and been interviewed for several TV stations, all of them asking the same question.
"Where are the missing campers? What happened to them and when will the relatives get some answers?"
All of them good questions, only he still couldn't answer them. Fact was, he knew just as little as anyone else. Since the military had taken over control of the site, no one told him anything anymore.
And now there was the matter of the tree that had crushed Dawson's house? He still had no answers to provide for his citizens. He had called the county and asked them for answers, but they knew nothing either. No one knew what the soldiers were doing out there and no one knew what had happened to that tree, how it could all of a sudden grow so fast it crushed a house and killed two people in the process. Not that he was going to miss that Dawson fellow; he was nothing but trouble, but still.
A person is a person, no matter how small.
Mayor Ingram had taken the rest of the day off. Walked out of City Hall at noon and told his secretary he wasn't going to come back today.
"But…what about…?" she had protested and showed him a stack of small yellow post-it notes where she had written phone numbers and names. "What do you want me to tell all these people?"
"If you take the rest of the day off too, you won't have to answer to them," he had said.
So, she had done just that, and now they could call all they wanted to, asking all their questions. Meanwhile, Mayor Ingram took the day off and spent it with his family, with his precious teenage twins, Mary and Margret. He had asked his wife, Carolyn, to make them some iced tea. When growing up, his mother always used to make him iced tea when he came home from school.
"Dad, you seem a little off, are you all right?" Mary asked.
He sighed. "I was just wondering, that's all."
"It's been awhile since you cut the grass, Marty," Carolyn said. "It’s long overdue."
Mayor Ingram chuckled. His wife knew how much he loved doing yard work, especially cutting the grass, ever since he bought that tractor at the Farmer's Supply Store on Main Street. They had a pretty big property and the grass grew like—well, like grass—in the Florida heat. With the old mower, it had taken him days to cover the entire backyard, but with the new one, he could do it within two hours. Plus, it was fun driving one of those things. It always made him feel like a kid.
Ingram knew that was why his wife mentioned it now. She believed it would make him feel better. He smiled at her. She was a good wife to him.
"I think it's about time you do something about that grass, Marty. Don't you?" she asked.
He smiled and finished his iced tea. "I sure do."
"I think if you start now you can be done around dinner time. I’m making grits and pork. Your favorite."
Ingram smiled and looked at the barn, where his Craftsman forty-eight inch, four-cycle, 724 cc Briggs & Stratton Platinum V-twin engine was waiting patiently for him. The thing had cost him nearly three thousand dollars at the store, so it better get used often enough to be worth it.
"You know what? I think I'll take the bad baby out for a spin."
"About time," she said. "About time."
Chapter 34
It tasted salty. Much to Sam's surprise, the plant wasn't sweet or even sour, but salty. Extremely salty. So much so that he felt like throwing up every time he took a bite of it. He spat out the bites as soon as he had pulled them from the walls, but still they rested long enough in his mouth for him to taste them. He felt so extremely thirsty after only a few bites. And there wasn't any more rainwater he could drink inside the trap. The water he hadn't drunk himself had evaporated in the heat. And since the trap had sealed, there wouldn't be any more even if it did rain again. It was getting hot in there and the darkness surrounding him caused his anxiety and pulse to rise rapidly. He was sweating and gasping for air while biting into the side of the salty plant.
It has to work; it simply has to work.
Sam kept thinking about his dad, his poor dad who had stopped talking when the plant had wrapped itself so tightly around him that he lost consciousness. Was Sam too late? Gnawing through the plant took forever and he wasn't even sure he would succeed, that he would be able to eat his way through the thick shell.
It has to work. It's my last chance.
Sam felt so tired. So weak and tired. He wondered if he could actually eat the plant, if it could give him the energy he needed to continue if he swallowed it. He tried to imagine the plant being a massive steak or a burger as he bit into it, but it didn't help. As soon as the plant touched his taste buds, he had to spit it out, coughing and barking, then spitting, again and again, to get the bad taste out of his mouth.
He envisioned it being a big fluffy marshmallow and once again sunk his teeth into it, then ripped the piece of meat off and spat it out, coughing, gasping for air while dreaming of rivers of water to drink.
Sam cried and caught his breath. His body was still fighting the sticky glue and he couldn't let himself be still for too long. If he did, some of it would run down over his hands or feet, then kind of harden around them, trapping them. He had to keep moving and every time any body part came into contact with the mucilage, he had to remove it or wipe it off to make sure he didn't get stuck. After the trap had been sealed, it was like the plant had started producing an enormous amount of the slimy stuff; it was everywhere, running down the sides and ending in the bottom of the trap, soaking his feet, and soon it reached up to his thighs. He kept moving like it was mud or even quicksand and fighting the panic as the level of mucilage rose faster and faster, soon covering his stomach and chest.
It's gonna reach your face soon and you'll drown. It's gonna run slowly into your mouth and your nostrils and run into your lungs and harden inside of you, making a statue of you.
Sam gasped in fear, turned to the side of the plant, and bit into the flesh once again, this time ripping out a piece big enough for him to spot light as he pulled it out.
Sunlight! I made a hole!
New hope grew inside of him—rose even faster than the mucilage—and he looked at the hole, then poked his pinky through it and felt the outside. He was certain he could actually touch the air. It was so much lighter that what he was breathing inside the trap. He leaned toward the hole, the stiff mucilage hardly allowing him to move, then breathed in the air coming through the small hole not bigger than his pinky, but still big enough to give him the confidence to lean over and take another bite. The hole grew bigger, and now Sam could poke his fist through it. He punched the sides, ripped pieces of it out, then managed to poke his head out and breathe in the fresh air. With newfound energy and power, he punched the plant’s sides so hard pieces of it broke, and soon it was big enough for him to grab the sides, then pull himself free from the mucilage and crawl out.
He sat in the hole and looked down at his dad, still wrapped in the Cape Sundew beneath him, then let go of the flytrap and jumped down.
Chapter 35
I stopped singing when we reached Naples and he turned off towards The Everglades. I couldn't believe he was actually going there. It wasn't a bluff to get rid of me. I just wished I could get him to tell me what he was doing there. I had a feeling that it had something to do with what was going on in our swamps further up north. I tried sweet-talking him instead.
"So, how have you been, Pete?" I asked. "It's been a lot of years."
He grunted. "I liked it better when you were singing."
"What? No small talk? No—hey, you look great, can't believe how long it’s been—talk?"
"You're just trying to sweet-talk me because you want me to tell you stuff," he said, as he blinked and turned. He held back to let another car in front of him. I would never have done that, not in a million years. I would have cut the guy off, then rushed past him while he gave me the finger. Pete turned the car into a gas station.
"What are you doing? I asked. "We have gas."
"Tank needs to be full. You don't want to run out of gas in the middle of Alligator Alley. Believe me," he said and got out and filled the tank.
Always so darn careful.
"Can I get something to eat?" I asked, rolling down the window. "I’m starving."
"Sure," Pete said. "Go ahead."
I opened the door to get out, then paused. "Wait. How can I be sure you're not just going to leave me here?"
Pete shrugged. I looked into his eyes, then decided I couldn't. "Food can wait," I said and closed the door again.
"Suit yourself," he said again while my stomach rumbled loudly.
Pete was soon back, then got the car out on I-75 towards the glades. Seconds later, there was nothing but swamp on both sides of the road. I had always loved it down here. So much rough nature.
"How about you just tell me where we're going?" I asked.
"I told you. Everglades."
"Yeah, well, but Everglades is kind of big, what are we doing in here?"
"We are not doing anything," he said. "I am."
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, you are, then. What are you doing in here?"
"Still not gonna tell you," he said.
"And we're back to only doing small talk, then," I said.
"Or we could just not talk at all, how about that?"
I pretended to be thinking about it and then shook my head. "Not doable, I’m afraid. I need to talk. Unless you’ll tell me what I need to know."
Pete exhaled, annoyed.
"You look great," I said.
He didn't say anything. I answered for him, altering my voice to make me sound like him. "Well, you look great too, Patty. You're still beautiful. Can hardly see it's been thirty-plus something years. You look just like you did back then." Then with my own voice: "Geez thanks, Pete, so you do."
"Now, why would I say such nonsense?" Pete said.
"Because that’s what people do, Pete. Polite people. People who are nice, cultivated, civilized."
"But, it's not true."
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, all right, you do look good, Patty; I like the extra pounds you're packing. There, you happy?"
"What did you just say?" I was offended, but not as much as I pretended to be. I knew he was right. I didn't mind having a little extra weight. I was never one of those who believed she should look like she was eighteen for the rest of her life. I didn't mind that people could see I had lived my life. My offended tone had made Pete insecure. He was trying hard to save it.
"No, no I mean it's good, right? I’m packing a little extra myself," he said and grabbed his stomach.
He was bigger than he had been back then, but not like me. He was still handsome. Actually, even more than he had been back then. It wasn't fair how men just grew more handsome with age. Or maybe it was fair, for us women to be surrounded by these handsome men once we grew older. Maybe it was God's way of saying, Hey, I know it’s been tough the past thirty years, but here's your reward. One piece of very handsome man.
"At least you don't have many wrinkles, right?" Pete continued. "I mean, the extra fat kind of makes you avoid getting lines because it stretches the skin out. It's very interesting when you think about it. I always thought fat people looked younger than skinny people."
I stared at him. I spotted a smile start at the tips of his lips. It wasn't a smirk, more like a nervous smile. He was being serious. It became obvious to me that he had no idea on how many levels he was offending me right now. He actually thought he was complimenting me.
No wonder the man wasn't married.
Chapter 36
He met her at the market. The only supermarket in the small town, located on Main Street, like most of the shops in town. He had just filled his cart with beers when he spotted her by the meat.
He ran a hand through his hair, pushed his cart towards her, then yelled: "Hey, there."
Danielle looked around till she realized he was talking to her. She looked fine in her black pants, white shirt, and pearl earrings. Billy always had a thing for women wearing pearls. They were the classy girls. Out of his league, yes, but that only made them even more interesting.
She smiled. It was forced. Billy didn't mind. A smile was a smile and it looked good on her pretty face.
"You remember us?" he asked.
She looked at Emily, then nodded with a polite smile. "Yes, yes, of course I do. How's the leg?"
"It's doing good," he said. "I’m up and running."
"I see that."
"So, you're buying meat," he said, looking down at the pack of rib-eye steaks in her hands.
"What? Oh those, yes. My husband likes a good steak."
"Looks really good, but those over there look even better," he said and pointed at another package.
She smiled, grabbed the other pack and looked at it. "I think you're right. They do look better. Thank you."
"You're very welcome. We like steaks too," he said and looked at Emily, who looked like she could die.
"Well, you’ve come to the right place, then," she said and put the meat in her cart on top of a pack of lettuce. "This is regular cattle-land. Every Thursday, the cattle farmers bring all their cattle to the market for the auction. It's quite the show if you like that type of thing."
Billy did. He always loved cattle auctions. He had grown up on a farm himself and always dreamt of getting his own. Didn't have to be big, just enough to have ten to fifteen head of cattle and maybe room to grow his own vegetables and potatoes. That was his idea of heaven on earth, but it had never been Darlene's.
"Well, maybe we'll check it out, huh Emily?" Billy said. "Emily loves that type of thing."
