Set on a slight oversized forehead with a
balding top, Russell’s roundish gray-blue eyes peered through the driver’s side
window. With an index finger aimed at the approaching Gator Bait Bar, he said,
“Lunch?”
“Gotta get beer anyways,” said Edmond who
then proceeded to slow the vehicle and its following boat trailer.
The thirtyish-aged men of similar slender
build and dress of ragged edged blue jeans, white tank top undershirts, and
checkered flannels, passed through the screened-door entrance. Inside, they sat
at a high top table across from a group of native men playing cards. Edmond’s slim
pointy chin ran up the sides of a narrow face and disappeared into a matted
bowl of black hair. His eyes squinted above a short nose at the map that Russell
unfolded.
“Moccasin road takes you back to the spot,”
said Russell, pointing. A native from the game rose to his feet, stumbled
across the room, and steadied himself on a stool. Staring with glossy red eyes
and a leathery weathered face, he blew a foul odor of rotten teeth, tobacco,
and liquor,
“Aniwye … beware Aniwye …”
“Excuse me?” said Edmond.
“Get back Crazy Joe,” said the elderly
bartender, “natives believe the swamp to be haunted by a giant man-eating skunk
monster. Load of horse manure. It’s the real-life gators that I’d be looking
out for.”
“We ain’t scared no gators,” said Russell.
“Still there’s been some unexplained
deaths,” said the barkeep, “best to stay clear.”
Russell held the aluminum boat’s side and
guided it from the half submerged trailer into the river at the end of Moccasin
road. Like a routine act in a play, he felt the scene repeating itself for they
had poached together numerous times in the course of their two year friendship.
In an hour after sunset, moon-glow made
dark shadows of the trees and river banks and lured the frogs and crickets from
their slumber. Spray from Russell’s insecticide attempted to repel a mosquito
swarm while he flailed with his flashlight.
“Shine that out the front,” said Edmond. His
counterpart directed the beam and panned left to right and stopped. Two red
embers like hot coals hovered as the swamp looked back at them. Edmond put his
paddle down, picked up his rifle, and fired. The discharge sent a shockwave
through the wilderness.
“Holy moly that’s a big gator,” said
Edmond when the boat reached the spot where it floated. After a scuffle with
the rope, they heaved it into the craft.
“Too easy,” said Russell.
“We’re going to need another boat if this
keeps up,” said Edmond, rolling up his soaked sleeves. Russell noticed that Edmond
became harder and harder to see.
“Seems like the moon is going behind a
cloud,” he said. Edmond trembled from a chill.
“Weird.”
“What?” said Russell.
“I don’t hear a single frog, bug, gator, nothing.”
“That blast woke half the place,” said Russell.
“Shhh.” A low intense growl like a raging
dog flooded the trees, its volume increased with each second but then dissolved
into an echo and then to silence. The gator’s armored tail smacked Edmond’s leg
causing his hand to flinch and fire off a round into the boat. In that instance
Russell half-stood, lurched backwards, caught his foot on the seat, and catapulted
overboard into the murky abyss. Russell’s head broke the surface and he
screamed for help. “Something’s pulling me under!” Edmond grabbed a paddle but
Russell was nowhere to be found. While the boat filled with water Edmond
rowed to the shore and leaped into the soggy mud. From downriver came a
voice,
“Edmond!” The rifle man hurried inland
through the brush.
“I’m coming!”
When Edmond reached Russell he found him
lying on his side.
“Gotta catch my breath.”
“I thought you a gonner,” said Edmond.
A
screeching roar seized their attention and they stiffened with fear.
“What do you suppose that is?” said
Russell.
“Maybe a panther. I still got the gun.”
They heard branches cracking and a tree fall.
“It’s coming and we can’t see a damn thing,”
said Edmond. They heard a rumbling angry snarl.
“It’s very close,” said Russell who searched
with desperation for some branch for a weapon. In the near total black they waited
for the impending arrival of the adversary and then they saw its red violent eyes
darting between trees moving closer until it was upon them. Resembling a giant
shaggy bear it opened a rodent-shaped massive mouth full of razor-teeth. Its
eyes were angry flames. Edmond took a shot and then another until the gun
clicked out of ammo. The beast stretched out two enormous, hairy, animal paws
and invoked a rushing wind. Edmond fell on his back convulsing and vomiting after
which he crumpled into a fetal ball. Russell ran through vines, between pine
trees, and then burrowed through thick undergrowth in a mad-scramble to get
away, but with every step of progress his feet slipped on dry leaves. Tripping
and tumbling, he landed in dense saw grass that sliced his flesh. He lay on the
plants screaming and then heard the gurgling howl of the beast. Upon bounding
to his feet, he ran most of a mile before diving face first into a pile of
dirt. While trying to gather strength, there was a sharp pain on his face and
then another. In moments he was covered in a viscous frenzy of ants. He smelled
a sickening odor and heard a haunting wail. To his feet again, he hobbled
forward, wavered, and fell unconscious.
A morning bird’s song woke Russell. He rolled
from his stomach onto his back and sat cross-legged. He watched the silent woods
and tried to sort out the night. Even in daylight the dense vegetation and close-fitting
trees made it seem more like a cave. A breeze fanned his ear and its wisp brought
a faint echo and an unexplained shiver when he heard a distinct whisper,
“Russell … help … me … help … me …”
