The Swamp

Ride through the mud and wade through the marsh with Shannon.

Just as she entered the roadway, a large clap of thunder smashed through the night. A deluge of Louisiana rain poured down as if someone dumped a bucket of water onto her windshield. She pulled to the side of the road to get her bearings and to wait for the rain to ease up.

        She saw distant headlights behind her. It made her nervous to have someone driving right behind her on such a dark road in such bad weather, so she decided to wait until the car passed. It didn’t pass, though. It slowed down. Spears of lightening reflected off the pouring rain pierced her eyes and distorted her view. The car filled with yellow light. Through the rear window headlights loomed up from behind.

        Slices of fear jimmied beneath her skin. She jammed the little car in gear and hit the gas. She strained to see the white markings on the road, then her car lurched forward. She looked into the rearview mirror and was blinded by bright headlights. She slowed to pull to the side of the road again. The car behind her slowed, too.

        Shannon’s heart stopped for a beat as she realized she might be in trouble. Instead of stopping, she slammed her foot onto the accelerator, fishtailed, then sped off. To her dismay, the looming dark car behind her sped up, too. She slowed. He slowed. She accelerated. So did he.

        What kind of game is this jerk playing? Shannon glanced up into the rearview mirror and saw only headlights glaring back at her like the yellow eyes of an angry feral cat. She stomped the gas pedal to the floor and felt the tires lose contact with the road. She eased up on the gas and the Escort straightened out. The little Ford hydroplaned as she raced down the highway.

        This section of the road was known as ‘no man’s land’—fifteen miles of wetlands with no streetlights or services of any kind. Staring into the darkness, Shannon missed her turn-off to the highway, and knew that the only other way back to one—and traffic—was on one of the old bayou roads that cut through the swamp. She squinted through the sheet of rain on the windshield through the dark, wet, murky air. She knew the road wasn’t far. If only she could see it when she got there.

        Bang! Her body slammed backwards against the seat as the little car suddenly lurched forward. The angry cat’s eyes stared at her in the rearview mirror. They receded, then, Bang! Another smash and lurch. Shannon’s body lunged backward and her head slammed back against the headrest, then snapped forward. Her skin turned cold. My God! He’s ramming into me!

        Thoughts crashed into one another as she tried to absorb the situation and figure out what to do. Her brain felt bruised from the backward and forward snapping of her head. She was thinking and seeing through a bubble. She ignored the pain in her belly, shoulder and neck. Her survival skills kicked in The little Escort slowed as Shannon took some deep breaths. As long as they stayed behind her ….

        Watching the big black shadow through the mirror, she turned the wheel to the right toward the side of the road, hit her brakes and rolled to a stop. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. The car behind her slowed, then stopped. Her eyes darted back and forth from the side view to the rearview mirrors.

        The driver’s door and the passenger’s door of the black car opened at the same time. Her stomach flipped. She watched. A shadow of a foot come out of the driver’s side and hit the concrete. Cold fingers of fear wrapped themselves around her chest. When the second foot came out and landed next to the first one, she took a deep breath, then jammed the accelerator. The small car skidded, then caught hold. She sped down the road, gaining a few seconds and a murky distance from her pursuers.

        Her eyes strained to find the turn-off. She didn’t dare slow down. She was sure that the bayou road was about three miles down this highway. She glanced in the rear view mirror and saw only darkness. A shuddering sigh escaped her body. She slowed down a bit, fearful of slipping off into the deep mud hidden in the thick growth at the side of the road.

        There! She saw the cut-off road, turned off the lights and, without hitting the brake, cut a sharp right and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The little car bounced and slid sideways in the mud. Shannon slowed just enough to get control, then floored it and raced down the road. Visions of wild muddy rides down bayou roads with Tamantha shot through her brain.

        The only light was that of a dirty yellow moon filtered through the dense swamp air. Shannon’s pulse banged in her temples. All she could see beyond the road was heavy darkness with occasional silhouettes of Cypress. Their grotesque arthritic arms, clothed in moss, reached out toward the road.

        A long, dark rope of moss smashed against the windshield. Shannon jumped. Then electricity crashed through her body when she saw the lights. He’d found the road and was gaining on her!

         Headlights loomed and skewered harsh light through the rear window. Shannon stomped the gas to take the next curve, but the car waggled, then skidded sideways into the ditch. She was stuck in the thick muck. She looked behind her. The black car was just coming out of the curve. Adrenaline raced up every nerve in her body. Reaching to kill the engine, her shaking fingers dropped the keys. Her eyes shot back for another glance. The headlights were bigger, brighter, closer. The Escort had landed in the boggy ravine at a 45 degree angle. Climbing over the gear shift console, she pushed open the passenger door and slid out of the car. Then, Shannon charged into Satan’s Swamp.

        Hammering rain hit as she stumbled, tripped and slid into the tangled foliage and Cypress roots of the marsh. The thick muck sucked the shoes off her feet. She grasped at hanging moss and branches to pull herself along, then stopped to listen. A muted splash somewhere ahead, then a louder one as if from a tree …. That one sounded like it was just ahead of her. Bile threatened to rise in her throat. Falling branches, that’s all, she told herself. Then, she froze sounds behind her. Sloshing footsteps in the marsh. Voices.

        A fresh dose of adrenaline fed Shannon’s fear and shoved her forward. A big Cypress stump. I can hide behind it. In the sour, misty dark, she kept her hands stretched out in front of her to head off the whack of a branch or the blunt force of a stump. She stumbled, then fell face first into the rancid marsh water. Ugh. Scrambling to her feet, she coughed and gagged, then spit out a mouthful of rancid water. She rubbed her hands over her face and up and down her arms. The putrid swamp was still in her mouth and nose. She could smell it like it was part of her. She gagged and coughed, then covered her mouth with both hands and dry-heaved into them, willing herself not to vomit into the stagnant decay that surrounded her.

        Foot splashes. “Hey, man. Let’s look over there.”

        The voices were closer. Her sour stomach began to squeeze itself with fear. Had they heard her?

        With her next step, Shannon’s left foot sank up to her ankle. She tried to pull it free and it sank up to her calf. It was as though mushy hands below had grabbed her foot and held on. She felt her leg sink up to her knee, then her other foot submerged to her ankle. Quickmud! She screamed the word in silence. Her heart thundered in her ears.

        Mud that sucked its victim into a dark and dank place was all over Satan’s Swamp and the surrounding marshland. Shannon had heard the stories. Once caught, attempts to escape result in its victim sinking further. Grainy, slimy mud seeps into the mouth, fills it up, then clogs the nose. While the victim suffocates, invisible arms pull downward. Eyes, wide with terror, disappear beneath the brown slog. There seemed to be no bottom to the swamp. Bodies were never found.

        Panic electrified Shannon. She propelled forward, flailing her arms, struggling to free her leg while the right foot sank to her calf. I’m going down! Please, God help me! Her thrashing right arm slammed backward against something solid. Terror overshadowed the pain in her hand. She turned her torso while a crashing rumble of thunder smashed the air. A flash of lightening illuminated the dark, roots of the giant Cypress tree right next to her. Tendrils reached deep beneath the black water and were about two feet in diameter. The mud had crept up to her thighs.

        She was sinking and didn’t mind—she’d just let herself …. Then, her hand hit a web of moss. She grabbed it and pulled it down with the branch on which it grew. She got a hold on the branch and tugged. It was solid. Slowly, she worked her hands down the branch, pulling her body out of the mud.

        Her breathing quickened. Fatigue washed over her. She was oblivious to the swamp animal sounds and to the sounds of the two males who pursued her. The mosquitoes that swarmed around her head attacked her face and neck with a vengeance. She didn’t feel the stings. Their whiney drone melded into the buzzing in her head. Sweat mixed with swamp residue dripped down her face.

        A calm came over Shannon as she felt the cool, thick mud creep up her body. Holding on to the branch, she leaned her head back, face to the thick, close clouds. I could just let go. Her arms ached.

        Don’t give up. You’ll die.

        “Dude. Over hear.” It was a muted male voice.

        Shannon felt as though she was wrapped in fuzz—senses muffled, sounds distant. The voices. Were they closer? She couldn’t tell. She took another breath. She pulled and reached the Cypress root. Arms trembled and quivered with fatigue. Her fingers cramped around the branch. She’d managed to pull her legs out of the mud to her knees. Come on, please! She took a deep breath and grimaced with one long pull and reached the giant roots. She felt vegetation and slippery growth, grabbed it with her right hand and tugged it to check its strength. Like a woman in labor she took another deep breath, clenched her teeth, then scrunched her face into a painful grimace as she held her breath and pulled. Her right leg slid up out of the mud to the ankle. Another grab hold, another trembling pull and her right foot slipped out of the mud. She lifted her leg and moved it to the tree trunk. Straining and stretching her left shoulder, she rested her knee into a nook between the huge roots.

        With one knee in the crevice between roots, her right hand wrapped around a vine while the other held tight to the branch. She barely felt the rough growth cut into her skin. She was splayed out like a crucifix. She started gasping, then quietly sobbing. Her left leg was still stuck in the muck up to her knee. She wasn’t sure she could go on. Come on! One more. She held her breath, pulled with her right hand, her left hand on the branch, crawled and strained against the grasp and pull of the mud. Her left hand cramped. “No no,” she croaked in a whisper.

        She rested while she released her right hand long enough to ease the searing cramp. Then, hanging on to the vegetation wrapped around the trunk, she pushed with her right knee while she pulled with her right hand and crawled along the branch with her left. Her left leg pulled out with a dull thwamp she could feel beneath the surface. Slowly, Shannon crawled and tugged until she stood on the roots and leaned the front of her body against the trunk. Her breaths were hard and fast. Her throat was dry. She stretched her arms out, holding the trunk, and rested the side of her face on the rough Cypress. A certain stoic safety in this huge inhabitant of Satan’s Swamp gave her some comfort.

        A flicker of lightening followed the distant rumble of thunder and she caught a glimpse of the tree stumps about ten feet ahead of her. “I need a rest, first.” She whispered. She took some relief in knowing that her pursuers would likely get caught in the quickmud if they came her way.

        She stared into the black bog a few feet out, toward the stumps, wondering how far the killer mud went. Just above her head was a branch that was partly broken. She braced herself on the trunk and grabbed at it. She caught hold, yanked, and the it snapped off, the end of the five foot branch slapping into the bog. Shifting her footing grabbing the vine, she positioned her body sideways. Pure concentration ruled as she held on to the vines with her left hand and leaned out over the water with other hand holding the branch. Lifting the end, she jammed it into the water and pushed with all her might. About three feet from the trunk, on the opposite side from where she got stuck, the branch stuck up out of the water. She watched, then gasped and held her breath when the limb tilted as though it was going to fall. It stabilized. Shannon breathed, then watched to see if it would remain in sight or sink.

        Shannon didn’t know how long she’d been staring at the branch, but it hadn’t moved. It staked out where she needed to be. How the hell do I get there? There may or may not be quickmud where the thing sticks up. Staring at the gap of space between herself and the branch, she began to maneuver her body on the trunk so that she was in line with the protruding limb. She worked her right hand around the trunk, hanging on to the vegetation. Slowly she turned her body and feet so that one foot stood on its own root. Her back was leaning against the tree. Her right hand was about two inches over her head, grasping the vine. Her vision was focused on the limb, sticking out of the swamp water.

        Squatting down, she grabbed hold of the root outgrowths with both hands. Sure glad I spent the last year working out zapped through her mind. An animalistic grunt escaped as she pushed up against the roots with her feet and thrust all of her weight into the air. She landed next to the limb with a schlop. Warily, Shannon got to her feet using the branch for balance. She sunk into the mud only to her ankles. She poked ahead of her with the branch and the boggy bottom became firmer. Tangles of growth and Cypress roots reassured her she was out of the area of the quickmud.

        Then, she heard a splash and froze. The swamp water was now to her thighs. She felt things beneath the surface brushing against her legs. Plants, she told herself. Vegetation is all that is down there. There was no sound of sloshing footsteps behind her. The splash, she told herself, was a snake falling off of a branch into the water. She pushed forward, sliding, grabbing, gagging and gasping. The only sound she heard was her own ragged breath.

        Another jagged slice of lightening rode on the back of the crashing thunder. The storm was right on top of her now. A spear of electric light lit up a large Cypress trunk just in front of her. As she moved forward, her left foot caught in the foliage on the bottom of the swamp. She lost her footing. A white hot pain seared through her ankle as she slid, and sprawled head long into the silt, mud and rotten remnants of the swamp. She swung her head around in a futile attempt to look everywhere at once. There was only dark to see. She scrambled to her feet and her left foot screamed at her. She felt her way with her hands, then crawled around the dead Cypress, and crouched behind the stump. Her foot was hot and throbbing beneath the surface.

        Her heart pounded in her ears as she strained to listen. She covered her chest with her hands as if to quiet the thundering beat. Her chest heaved as her lungs gasped for more oxygen in the thick swamp air.

        The thunder quieted and the wetland forest became still for a moment. Then, she could hear water moving and branches snapping. Raccoons? Swamp rats? She listened. Voices came from the direction of the road. She willed her five-foot frame to become part of the Cypress. She laid her hands on the rough wood and rested her head on them so she could concentrate on the sounds. There was a heavy splash in the water near her. She stiffened and snapped her head up. Movement in the water—thick reptilian movement. Frantic, she whirled her arms around in the heavy air and strained to see or feel a branch or hanging moss she could grasp. Her hand hit some moss and she grabbed onto it. After yanking on it to make sure it was secure, she grabbed it with both hands and hoisted herself up the four feet to the top of the stump. Her heart roared in her ears. She crouched and stared into the blackness beneath her.

        “Do you see anything?” The male voice. They were closer now.

        “Nothin, man. Maybe she made it back to the road. Let’s go back and check out her car.”

        Shannon thought she knew that voice. She held her breath and waited.

        “Hold on man, I’m gonna look over here. I don’t wanna mess up.” The other male voice.

        She squatted down to make herself smaller, willing herself to become invisible. A limb next to her moved, then brushed against her arm. The black snake dangled itself from the Cypress limb. It’s white, wide-open mouth was 12 inches away and face to face with Shannon’s. The metallic taste of terror filled her mouth. She inhaled sharply and slapped one hand on top of the other over her mouth to seal in the scream. Frozen in place, she stared at the Cottonmouth’s head as it writhed down the limb and onto the stump. Shivering in silent horror, she watched as the Cottonmouth slipped into the water. Her breath came out in short gasping spasms.

        The sloshing of feet was closer to her. She held her breath, praying the lightening wouldn’t return and reveal her perched on the stump.

        Splashes.

        “Come on, man. This place gives me the creeps.” The voice had retreated.

        Shannon waited.

        Sounds moved through the thick air as though they’d been dipped in syrup. Now, she only heard the nocturnal swamp sounds—owls, crickets, rustlings of foliage and swooshing of murky water as swamp inhabitants moved through it. A sliver of moonlight caught the shadow of movement in the water near her stump. Hepatic eyes just above the surface moved toward her.

        Every nerve was on alert. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She reached up for a handful of hanging moss and yanked on it over and over again in attempts to startle the beast away. Branches broke and splashed around her. She knew there were more than branches falling. In the blackness, she heard rapid, water sloshing and whirling and saw the yellow foaming edge of the swirling water as the alligator rolled over again and again with its prey. Better you than me, buddy.

        The night turned quiet and she waited. She heard no more voices or movement of feet as they moved through the marsh, so climbed down off of the stump into the thick water. Her arms and legs ached with stiffness. She grimaced as the decayed foliage curled around her feet and calves. She strained to hear voices or a car engine. Nothing.

        Disoriented, Shannon focused on what she remembered was the direction of the voices. If she went the wrong direction, she would go deeper into the swamp. Between the snakes, wild boars, alligators and quickmud, she was sure she wouldn’t survive the night alone in the swamp. She headed toward what she decided was the road, then stopped and listened. Nothing but the slapping and cracking night sounds of the swamp. Branches falling, she told herself. She moved slowly, weaving around and climbing over the crooked, fingers—the roots of giant Cypress trees reaching and grabbing beneath the surface of the swamp water. Her feet sank up to her ankles in the thick muck, and tangled in the undergrowth. She pulled and dragged herself forward.

        Exhaustion caused her to pause. Scrapes, cuts and insect bites began to make themselves known to her. The night air was shrouded in a boggy mist that settled and hung over the marsh after the storm. Shannon shivered. She sloshed on until she met the marsh. A hazy moon outlined the forest behind her. Eerie shapes of arms covered in cloaks of moss seemed to beckon to her.

        Muted voices drifted to Shannon across the marsh. She crouched in the weeds and tall grass. The water here was six inches deep. Like a snake, she slowly and silently crawled on her belly. With the muck oozing through her fingers and beneath her clothes, she watched.

        The tallest figure leaned on her car, smoking. She could see the red tip of the cigarette move while he gestured. The soupy swamp air blocked their voices so that she couldn’t make out any words. The figure flicked the cigarette into the ravine, then walked toward the black car. His cohort walked around and got into the passenger side while the tall figure climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine revved to life. It sounded like the car Shannon heard screech out of the Stone’s driveway. Kevin? A flicker of recognition passed through her mind. Jonathon?

        She watched the dark car maneuver its way across the road, back up, then head back in the direction of the highway. She waited until she saw the taillights disappear, then made her way through the rest of the marsh to her car.

        Mud, weeds, insect bites, cuts and scratches covered Shannon’s body. She dragged her feet, heavy with swamp muck into the car behind her. She bent over and fumbled on the floor for the key. It isn’t here! Did those guys find it and take it so I couldn’t leave? Frantic, she ran her shaking fingers beneath the driver’s seat. Finally, her fingers hit the key fob. She started the car and hit the gas. The tires only scratched and wheezed over the mud. Her heart thudded in her ears. After a few minutes of rocking forward, then reverse while she watched the road behind her, the car caught ground and moved forward. Shannon’s banging heart began to settle down when she saw the distant lights to the secondary highway. She made a left, then stomped on the gas.