In One Fell Swoop, page 14
Billy shook his head again.
"That's what I thought," the mayor said. "I guess we're just two men stuck out here instead of just one, huh?"
Billy nodded. "I just figured that if we kept walking in the same direction that we were bound to reach the end of this at some point. I mean, how big is that yard of yours anyway?"
"And you don't think I haven't tried that? You don't think that was what I did all day yesterday and all morning today?"
"I-I-I don't know what you've been doing," Billy said.
"Well, I have. Been walking and walking in the same direction and you wanna know what happened? When I had walked for a very long time, I saw footprints. Yes, I did, footprints in the soil beneath all the grass, and you know what? I was so excited to see them I didn't for one second realize they were my own. Not until a few hours later when I met them again, and they had doubled."
"So you were going in circles?" Billy asked.
The Mayor nodded. "It didn't matter what direction I walked, I kept getting back to the same place. I’m beginning to think there is no way out of this place."
Chapter 55
"What was that?"
I was panting, exhausted, when we finally reached the car. We had been running for hours and my legs were pounding, hurting badly
Luckily for me, Pete knew how to get back, and fast. He had the map and steered us back to Hell's Bay, where we grabbed the canoe.
"A mousetrap," he said, or in this case, more like a human trap."
I looked down at my sneakers. One was soaked with blood. I didn't dare to take it off, but my foot was hurting like crazy. It was pounding.
"The plant," Pete continued, "a Nepenthes Spathulata…also called a mousetrap because it traps mice in its tube and then eats them, but this one was big enough to trap a human in that thing. It was quite spectacular."
"You thought it was spectacular, did you? Do I have to remind you that I was that human trapped in there!" I was yelling. "What the heck is going on here, Pete? Trees crushing houses, plants eating humans, roots and vines that move and trap people. Campers disappearing." I stopped to catch my breath, then pointed at him. "And why the heck did you leave me out there?"
He unlocked the car, threw in his backpack and the machete, then grabbed a couple of bottles of water and threw me one. I drank greedily. He did too, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Let's get out of here," he said.
"First thing we can agree on," I said, and got in the car.
Never had the smell of a car and civilization been more welcoming to me. Even the sound of the engine as he turned it on, was soothing to me.
"In my defense, I left you a note," he said and left the parking lot, tires screeching in the gravel.
"You what?" I asked.
My cheeks were burning from all the running and the way I was sweating gave a whole new meaning to hot flashes. I was never going to complain about them again. Not after this.
"I left you a note," he said. "Explaining to you how to get to the Wildlife Rescue Center. They could help you get back. I figured it would be too dangerous to bring you to that place, and I was right. But you wouldn't listen. I should have known better."
"Whoa, whoa. First of all, I didn't see no note. When I woke up, you were just gone. Gone, Pete. And I didn't like that one bit. You left me there, Pete. Some animal could have eaten me. A gator or somethin'."
"I hardly think a gator would think it was any match for you. They usually never go after the biggest prey. It has to believe it can outmatch you."
"What the…are you for real? Did you just tell me I was too fat to be eaten by a gator?"
He nodded, took a turn, and we ended up on the highway. For some reason, I couldn't wait to see houses again, and more cars. Delightful moving steel cabins with nothing other than humans living in them. Signs of people being in charge again. I used to love nature, but right now…well, not so much.
"You are," he said. "It would have to be a really big one, a massive fourteen footer. And even those would probably not dare to start out with prey as big as you. It's just a fact."
"Oh, it is, is it?"
I sighed tiredly. I wasn't really in the mood to get offended…again. I decided to let it go.
"Reach into your pocket," Pete said. "Of your pants."
"Why?" I asked.
"Will you just do it?"
I grumbled something that I hoped afterward he didn't hear, then did as he had told me. I pulled out a small piece of paper.
Pete smiled. "See, I did leave you a note."
"That's your note?" I asked and unfolded it. It had to be the smallest note in the history of notes. I could barely read it.
"How on earth did you expect me to find it there? Who does that? Who puts a note in someone's pocket if they want them to find it?"
"Well, I couldn't really have left it out in the open. A gust of wind could have removed it. Or it could have gotten wet."
I spoke through gritted teeth. "I was sleeping in a tent. Not a lot of wind or rain in there."
He nodded. "Well then, something else could have happened to it."
"Like what?" I asked.
He growled, annoyed. "Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters. What on earth could have happened to the note inside the tent while I was sleeping, Pete?"
He threw out his arms. "I don't know. Something!"
Chapter 56
"How far are we?"
Allen dusted off the front of his suit. A few specks of dust had landed on his jacket as he walked from the car to the trailer, where his people were waiting for him. Every morning they had a progress meeting, where the foreman had to present yesterday’s results to him.
The foreman, (Allen couldn't remember his name, no matter how hard he tried, which—to be honest—wasn't too hard) looked at his feet, then back up. "We had to stop. Last night."
Allen didn't understand. He could hardly breathe. "Had to stop? I don't get it." He chuckled anxiously in order to not explode.
"The drilling. We had to stop it right before midnight," the foreman continued, abated.
"Before midnight? Before midnight. And why wasn't I informed?" Allen asked, shifting from one foot to the other in agitation. He knew he wasn't allowed to lay a hand on any of his workers, but right now, he was ready to bend the rules a little. "Especially…especially…since I told you to work all night so we could catch up on the schedule. We have lost so much time with those…those," he pointed at the window, where he could see the protestors wrapped in their carpets, and the camp with all their stupid pointy teepees that they had set up. They were yelling so loudly from the other side of the fence that Allen could hear them inside the trailer. All freakin' day long he had to listen to that…nonsense…it was driving him crazy.
"There was a rumble," the foreman said.
"A rumble? There was a rumble?" he said, mocking the way the foreman had said it. "What the heck is a rumble?"
"We feared it might be an earthquake or something. It shook the entire area and the drill. The guys could feel it standing outside of the hole."
"An earthquake? An earthquake?"
"Y-y-yes, sir. An earthquake."
"Do you know where we are, foreman?"
"Y-y-yes sir, we're in Central Florida, sir."
"And have you ever. And I do mean, ever, heard of an earthquake happening in Florida? Have you heard reports of collapsed houses, of people being buried under rubble? Ever?"
The foreman shook his head. "N-n-no, sir."
"No, you haven't. And you wanna know why?"
"B-b-because there are no earthquakes in Florida, sir?"
"Because there are no earthquakes in Florida!?" Allen yelled. "Then explain this to me, and please explain it to me like I was a two-year-old, because I simply don't understand, why…why would you stop drilling, thinking the rumble meant there was an earthquake, when—and we both just agreed on this—there are no earthquakes in Florida?"
The foreman looked behind him briefly, like he hoped someone else, maybe one of the engineers that had come to the meeting with him, could somehow save him, but no one came to his rescue.
"It was a really loud rumble, sir."
Allen's eyes grew very wide. "A loud rumble? Well, you're drilling underground; aren't rumbles just a part of it?"
The foreman shook his head. "Not like this, sir. It was like the earth was angry."
"Ah, come on. The earth was angry," Allan growled, mocking the foreman. "You're talking like them now, are you? You want to join them? ‘Cause I'm about to call for the armed forces here. Have them bring those rubber bullets and water cannons that they used to remove them last week. Sure worked up in Dakota. You can join them if you like. You want that? I can make it happen."
The foreman shook his head. "N-n-no, thank you, sir. I have a family to feed."
"Then I suggest you get back to drilling that pipeline." Allen slammed his fist into his desk in front of him. It hurt like crazy, but he didn't show it.
"NOW!"
Chapter 57
"Hello? Can you hear us?"
The voice cut through the thick air inside Harry's prison. He was so hot by now he found it hard to breathe properly. He was sure that this had to be what dogs left in cars in Florida felt like. He was never going to walk past a dog in a car again. From now on, he was going to be one of those who smashed in the window.
"Help," he said with a weak voice. "Help me; I’m in here."
"Harry?" another voice said, one that Harry knew very well.
"Sam?"
"Yes, is that you, Harry?" Sam said. "Dad, it's Harry. From the bar."
"Greg?" Harry said. "Greg and Sam? Is that really you guys?"
"Yes," Sam said.
Harry could hear Sam was emotional. He didn't know Greg very well, except when he came for a beer with his friends at The Rocking Chair every now and then. But it wasn't that often, and never on Saturdays when Julia sang there. Harry never understood why Greg wasn't more eager to be with his son, why he wasn't the one hanging out with him on Saturday nights instead of Harry. But that was his choice, his loss.
"You've got to get me out of this thing," he said. "I have barely any more air and it is so darn hot I can't stand it."
"Okay," Greg said. "We’re working on it. Sam was trapped in one of those too and he made his way out somehow, didn't you, Sam?"
"Yes. Yes."
"How?" Harry asked.
"I…well, I, uh…I ate my way out."
"What? Ate your way out?" Harry asked.
"Yes. I chewed through the side of it."
Harry still couldn't move at all inside of the prison. His body was being strapped down by what felt like hairs but looked like tentacles. But his mouth, he could use, if only he could get…close enough. Harry wiggled his body inside the trap, got it to sway from side to side, then, as he got close enough, he opened his mouth, bared his teeth, and…missed.
Harry groaned. This was going to take forever. He wiggled again, got his body to sway from side to side, and when he was close enough, opened his mouth, got his teeth ready, and this time he managed to bite down on it. Only it was just his upper teeth that managed to pierce into the awfully salty flesh of the plant. And now he was sort of just hanging there, by his front upper teeth, not able to move at all.
Now what?
He was drooling from not being able to close his mouth and his teeth and gums soon hurt from the strain. His tongue was getting dry. His teeth were slowly moving through the flesh, driven by the weight of his body. Small pieces of plant flesh and long hairs were slowly peeled off. Slime and hairs and juicy plant meat ran into his mouth and shaped this indescribable mass that made him want to throw up, but he couldn't even spit it out.
Finally, the pull was too strong for his teeth to be able to hold on, and they cut through the plant before getting free. Harry's body swayed back and he accidentally swallowed the contents in his mouth.
"Oh, my God, that was awful!" he yelled and spat, but the mass was gone. The thought of the stuff being inside of him made him feel sick, but he couldn't even throw up.
Is it poisonous? Will I die from this?
"Come on, Harry. You can do it," Sam yelled, almost screamed hysterically from the other side. "You have to."
Harry couldn't stand the thought of having to bite down on it once again, but the thought of getting out, the knowledge that Sam and his dad were right out there, so close, that his freedom was this close, gave him the courage to once again give it a go. He swung his body towards the wall once again, opened his mouth, and sunk his teeth into the salty, slimy flesh.
Chapter 58
We stopped for food at a gas station and stocked up on coffee, sandwiches, chips, and sodas. I got a couple of chocolate bars (or maybe five) for myself. Pete only wanted the sandwich and a banana.
"I don't know how you can eat all that stuff," he said. "Or drink sodas. All that sugar and fat. It's not good for you, you know?"
"Hey, you're the one who told me to never lose weight," I said and stuffed a Snickers into my mouth. I washed it down with a Dr. Pepper, the one thing I had craved the most when all alone in the swamps. It felt so good to be back in civilization again. There were cars on the road everywhere, helicopters in the air, advertising signs telling me how to get a brighter smile or who to call in case I was in an accident. All those wonderful things that I used to loathe, used to think destroyed our beautiful scenery, were now a welcoming sight to me. More than welcoming, it felt like salvation. I was never going into nature like that again. Never.
Back on I-75, I looked at Pete while the massive amount of food settled in my stomach and made me feel calm again. I did not like to go hungry. I ended my binge with the coffee and soon all my needs seemed to be satisfied. Except my need to know the truth.
"Don't you think it’s about time you tell me what the heck is going on? What was that out in the swamps? What was that place? Those old cottages?"
"So, you're fat, huh?" Pete said.
My eyebrows lifted. "What?"
"I always wondered what that felt like."
"What?" I stared at him when it finally hit me. "I see what you're doing. You're trying to get me to get all upset and agitated and stop asking questions. Oh, my God, Pete, why won't you just tell me what this is all about?"
Pete exhaled. "All right," he said. "But you won't believe me."
"Frankly, after the last couple of days, there really isn't much I won't believe anymore. You're talking to a woman who was almost swallowed by a giant flesh eating plant, for cryin' out loud."
"Okay, fair enough. I guess you have seen a lot. The place we visited in the Everglades is most commonly referred to as The Lost City."
"Sounds like a movie title."
"It's real. Up until now, I had never been there either, but I’d heard about it. It's sort of a legend. The story goes that it was used by Al Capone in the nineteen-thirties to produce moonshine. Before that, during the Civil War, about forty Confederate soldiers hid out there until Seminole Indians killed them, or so the story goes. Some even hold that the place is haunted."
"It sure fits the description," I said with a scoff. "That thing was out of this world. It was alive and coming after me."
"No one knows exactly what happened to The Lost City. All they know is that it used to be a large Seminole Village and that it was abandoned. No one knows why it was abandoned and, therefore, it has given rise to a lot of folklore. It seemed like the inhabitants left in a hurry, leaving everything behind. Some of the cottages have visibly been inhabited by more civilized people closer to our time since they were using plates and cooking on stoves and so on, but no one knows what happened to any of them either. Over the past six decades, it has been inspected by state wildlife officials and archaeologists, who have found not just the cottages, but also old rotted shacks, a canoe, various Indian artifacts, and a large iron kettle that was used to distill sugar cane into alcohol, which is believed to have belonged to Capone and his people. The site seems to have been active in different time periods, but what seems the same for all of them, all who have lived there, is that they left the place in what seems to be a hurry; hence, the rumors that the place could be haunted."
"How come I have never heard about it?"
"For many, it’s a myth, like the sunken Atlantis. You'll find no signs or roads leading to it and you won't find it on a map. Very few people can actually find their way to it. We are now two of them."
"How do they know the story about Capone?" I asked, as I sipped my coffee, wondering if this place was kept as such a secret in order to protect people from whatever resided there. From whatever it was that everybody else had to run from.
"They don't know for sure, but the findings there indicate it. Besides, it was a perfect hideout for him. Lost City is difficult to reach, so the bootleggers could have produced the booze without fear of being caught by the law. Because it was on an island of higher ground, it could have been hauled out on wagons. The people who he had working there were probably swamp rats, tough guys who hunted alligators on their time off. The notorious Chicago gangster owned a saloon and dance hall, featuring lots of women, on Loop Road off the Tamiami Trail. That was the only organized crime connection there, and he was the one who peddled the most booze. During the Civil War, Confederate soldiers hid there after stealing gold from the Union, according to a friend of mine who is a commissioner for the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. He told me the soldiers were believed to be rebels, based on the kind of ammunition found at the site. It is commonly believed that the Indians finally killed them because they camped on sacred ground."
"But that’s not what you believe, is it?" I asked.
Pete shook his head. "No."
"You think it was that thing that tried to swallow me, don't you? You think it has been there that long?"
He sighed. "I don't know. I think it might be more than just that."
