Chapter Forty Mary
Chapter Forty
Mary
Last weekend
“I don’t think this is it,” she told me for the tenth time.
“Yes. Yes, it is!” I assured her. “Sam, I’ve spent days paddling this waterway.”
“Yeah, but not this far out. You told me yourself that you’ve never actually been through here before. So how do you know?”
I groaned in exasperation. “I just know, okay?”
She looked doubtfully at the fallen tree trunk blocking our way about a hundred feet ahead.
Just one of a dozen we’d encountered since entering the stretch known as the Nightmare a few miles back.
It was a solid eight miles of narrow, winding channels, flanked by huge mangrove roots resembling dark, withered hands with long, craggy fingers.
Low-hanging branches and vines dripped from above, where the tree canopy grew so tight and thick that not much of the late-afternoon sunlight filtered through.
On the one hand, it provided shade as well as protection from the rogue storm, but, on the other, little to no breeze circulated through here.
We’d been able to bushwhack our way through the earlier branches, vines, and trunks in our path, but this one was different.
It was nearly two feet in diameter, and there was no way we were cutting that bad boy with the tiny saw we had with us.
More than that, though, we didn’t have the time to spend—the tide would start to ebb shortly, and we still had another four miles to go.
If we stayed too long, the tide would go out, and we’d be left stranded without enough water to paddle out on.
I do mean stranded—there was zero cell phone reception out here, and we hadn’t seen another soul for miles.
She gestured toward the narrow channel, almost completely choked by branches and vines, many toppled into the waterway.
“I just can’t believe people consider this to be a viable cut through.
I mean, look at all this overgrowth, all these fallen trees!
Jeez, you’d think we were the first people to ever try to get through here! ”
“I know, you’re right. But you saw the map.
The entrance was right where it was supposed to be, just past Marker 21.
And it’s not like people didn’t warn us about how bad it could get in here.
Besides, we’re nearly halfway through at this point.
A little late to turn back and go all the way around. ”
“Yeah, well, nobody bothered to mention just how creepy it’d be back here. I feel like I’m riding through one of those Tunnel of Horror rides at the amusement park. But instead of monsters and ghosts and murderous guys with chainsaws, this one’s full of spiders and alligators and snakes.”
She shuddered at her own description.
I exhaled a long column of air. “I agree. I’m thinking we don’t make this part of our tour route unless it’s absolutely necessary—like to get out of a storm or something.”
“Well, yeah! I mean if you and I have trouble navigating it, how can we expect a bunch of tourists to do it?”
It was an excellent point.
Nine months in, and we were finally settling into our new new life.
After finding a sweet little coral-colored cottage in Everglades City, we’d spent months becoming intimately acquainted with Everglades National Park, hiking, fishing, and paddling almost daily.
Wild Gemini Tours was gaining traction little by little, starting off with half-day hikes, then expanding to overnights and multiday trips.
The novelty of having the “Serendipity Twins” for guides seemed to be a particular draw.
Now, in anticipation of adding paddling tours to the roster, we’d spent the last few months honing our canoeing and kayaking skills while exploring the ninety-nine-mile Everglades Wilderness Waterway, including this claustrophobic, dark, twisty little slice of hell.
“Okay, well, I guess the sooner we get through these last four miles, the sooner we’re back out in open water. In a few hours, we’ll be all comfy cozy on our sleeping pads, in our tent, nice and high above the gators on the chikee.”
“Yes, that’s the spirit!” I grinned. “Tell you what, I’ll even heat up some of that leftover beef-stew-in-a-bag crap for you, okay?”
She offered a weak smile. “Deal.”
“Okay . . . so I’m thinking we’re going to have to go over this thing,” I said, pointing in the direction of the trunk still looming ahead of us.
“Over? Over how? I don’t think we can get out and lift the canoe without sinking into the mud.”
“No, we’ll go over, onto the branch. I think there’s enough clearance for the canoe to float underneath. Then we can pull it forward and get back in on the other side. Make sense?”
“Uh . . .” She considered the suggestion and looked up, trying to glimpse the position of the sun through the tree canopy. “Yeah, I guess we don’t have much choice. We’re running out of time—and tide.”
“Should be easy peasy,” I assured her with a smile. “You know, you’ve really gotten so much more confident with the water stuff. I’m really proud of you, Sam.”
I don’t know what made me say it, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did because there was something so raw and real in her expression—like gratitude.
Like no one had ever said those words to her before.
They probably hadn’t. I offered her my most sincere smile even as my heart hurt for all the love my sister had missed out on.
“Um, yeah, thanks,” she said a little awkwardly, breaking the spell between us as she turned back around to face the obstacle we were approaching.
We scrabbled atop the tree trunk, sort of draping ourselves over it, hanging down so we could prod the canoe out from under us. It cleared perfectly.
“Damn, we’re good!” Sam declared, grinning from next to me.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Yes, we are!”
I swung myself all the way over, landing back inside the boat, then braced myself on the tree I’d just scaled so she could follow me. Sam reached out with her right and grabbed a branch jutting off the trunk, stabilizing herself so she could swing her leg over and join me. Then she froze.
I saw it on her face before she said a word—a lightning-fast sequence of confusion, shock, pain, disbelief, and, finally, fear.
“What?” I asked, alarmed. “What is it?”
That’s when a movement along the trunk caught my eye.
A snake, almost perfectly camouflaged against the bark, was slithering away from us.
Quickly. Retreating. My gaze swung to Sam, who was staring at her wrist. Part of me knew what she was seeing, but I allowed myself the luxury of a few more heartbeats of hope.
When I couldn’t put it off another moment, I looked, spotting the twin puncture wounds on the inside of her right arm, just above her wrist. There was no more hoping.
There was no more denying. There was only the rapidly swelling flesh turning angrier by the second.
“Oh . . . oh my God . . .” I whispered, staring at it with wide eyes. “Oh, sweet Jesus, Sam . . . It-it bit you?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
I had to do something, and fast. “Okay, okay, okay,” I chattered to myself.
Think, Mary, think!
I willed my mind back to our wilderness first-aid training at NAWA and what Ranger Rick had to say about snakebites. It was very rare that someone would die from one, right? And I shouldn’t make a tourniquet or try to cut or suck out the venom.
“Right,” I said to myself. Then put a hand on her left arm, still braced like she was about to hurdle right over the tree like a gymnast on a pommel horse.
I took a deep breath, making a concerted effort to keep my voice calm and steady when I spoke again.
“Listen to me, Sam. You’re going to be fine.
We just need to make our way out of here as quickly and carefully as possible, okay? ”
She blinked at me—through me.
“Sam? Sa-man-tha!” I barked out harshly enough to get her focus back to me.
She nodded. “Yeah, okay.” She looked down and to the side again at the wound, then back up to me. “It’s just—it hurts, Mary. It really, really hurts. And I don’t feel so good . . .”
She didn’t look so good, either, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Well, yeah, duh! Getting bitten by a snake is painful,” I teased, hoping to ease the panic showing through—just beneath the surface of her tough veneer. “Now, let’s get you back into the canoe, then we can see about immobilizing the arm. Okay?”
She nodded without reply, allowing me to help guide her off the trunk.
There was no way she could paddle. Not if we wanted to keep the poison from spreading faster.
She had to lie down, which meant I had to do it alone.
I didn’t like how quiet she was, how dazed and pale she looked.
Of course she’d be shocked and in pain, but this felt like more than just a nervous reaction.
Once she was positioned on the floor of the hull, legs bent over the yoke bar and head resting on a dry pack, I took over the seat at the bow, took a deep breath, and started the work of getting us out of this nightmare.