Water Witch (25 page)

“Stop it Angelle!” The flashlight beam
jiggled on again. Off, then on. I aimed the light in her face and
saw welts from the mosquitoes on her neck, her cheeks, her
forehead.

She threw a hand over her eyes, turned
around, and stooped to grab the fuel bulb from the gas tank. “We’re
outta here. Poochie was right, we’ve got no business here. You
grab—”

THWUMP
! A shudder ran through the
floor of the boat.

Gasping, I aimed the flashlight at the
floor.

Angelle caught sight of it first and screamed
as if somebody was gutting her. The light blinked off again,
flickered on. Angelle’s arms were pin-wheeling now, trying to move
her body away—away from the large brown water moccasin that lay
coiled near the supply bag on the floor of the boat.

I stood like an idiot, unable to move. I
looked from the snake to my sister, who was scrambling backwards so
quickly she didn’t notice the wooden bench coming up behind her
knees.

“Gelle, watch out!”

Too late. The back of Angelle’s knees caught
the bench, buckled, and sent her careening out of control. Her head
bounced against the boat motor, and a loud
crack
!
reverberated through the dark as her skull made contact. In the
next instant, I saw her body tumbled over the side of the boat,
then heard a splash—a thunk . . .

I was so stunned, it took a second for me to
react. And when I did, it was soaked in panic. “Gelle!” I hurried
towards the back of the skiff, the flashlight blinking off .. . on
. . . off. I beat it against my palm. “Gelle!”

She couldn’t swim. I couldn’t swim. . . what
the hell was I supposed to do? The snake . . . I didn’t care about
the fucking snake. My sister. . .in the water. . .can’t swim. She’s
gonna die—can’t swim—

Swim was the last word that went through
mymind as I dropped the flashlight and dove into the inky black
water—headfirst.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The first mistake I made was trying to open
my eyes under water. I saw nothing but a canvas of black. It was as
if the water below and the sky above and everything in between had
vanished. I blinked to make sure my eyes were really open. Still
nothing, nothing but a burning in my eyes that I had to ignore.

The second mistake was trying to scream for
Angelle before I broke the surface of the water. I tasted gasoline,
mud, and stagnant decay. My lungs felt ready to burst. The need for
oxygen, to cough and gag, so strong, it nearly overrode common
sense.
Stay calm! Calm!
I thought of the dead woman.
Wondered if some of her hair had gotten into my mouth, any of her
sloughed off skin, fingernails. The thought made me retch, which
brought another wave of water into my mouth.

I heard nothing but the gurgle of water, the
whoosh
of my frantic movements. The absolute assurance that
I was about to die in some disgusting swamp overtook me, and I
screamed inside my head, screamed with my mouth closed, my eyes
opened wide.

But if I died, who’d save Angelle? Who’d get
her away from the dead woman? I could see it, plain as day… the
dead woman taking my sister into her arms, floating off with her.
Going down . . . down . . . together. My sister. The dead woman. My
sister with empty eye-sockets.

That last thought propelled me into action,
past the fear. I ignored the burning in my chest. Drowning was not
an option. Fear was not an option. My sister. . . my sister . ..
goddammit, she couldn’t die!

I dogpaddled frantically, first this way,
then that, pushing water away with my hands, searching for air, for
ground with my feet. There had to be something I could grab hold
to, step up on. . . a log. How deep was it? Had to find my way up .
. .up to air. But the faster I paddled, the more water I found, and
I felt my body began to sink.
No! Gelle . . .Gelle!

Suddenly my toes tapped against something
solid beneath me, and I wanted to weep with relief.I prayed it
would be enough leverage. . .

Despite my fear, despite every instinct that
told me to paddle, to move, I held still, sinking, sinking, waiting
for both feet to find purchase. As soon as they did, I coiled my
body in tight, the sprang up as hard as I could.

Up! With in seconds, my head broke the
surface of the water, and I found air, glorious, sweet precious
air. I collected it in loud gasps.

I looked frantically about, my eyesight
clouded. “Gelle!”

No answer.

How much time had passed since she’d fallen
overboard? I knew fear and panic could warp time, bend it at will .
. .Had five seconds gone by? Five minutes? I slapped at the surface
of the water with my hands, trying to stay afloat, gasping,
coughing, gulping. “Angelle!”

The water soon claimed me again, sucking me
under. The swamp wanted me, wanted us both, just as it had wanted
the woman with the mole. . . I knew the ground was not that far
beneath me.
Patient . . . patient . . .

My feet soon found ground again, and I forced
my body to the surface once more. At this rate, I figured the water
to be only about six and a half to seven feet deep. Too deep for my
height of five foot five, but shallow enough that I could keep
bobbing up for air until I reached the side of the boat.
Squat—jump—breathe. “Gelle!”

Squat. . .

Jump. . .

Breath . . .

“Gelle!”

That time as I broke the surface, panic
overtook me. Where the hell was the boat? I went down again . . .up
. . . and that time the boat came into view, mere feet away,
straight ahead. I’d simply bounced in the wrong direction.

Concentrate! You don’t have time to make
stupid fucking mistakes. . .

One more hard jump, and I got close enough to
grab onto the side of the boat.

“Angelle!”

Hanging on for dear life, for my sister’s
dear life, I quickly swiped a hand over my eyes to clear my vision.
I’d managed to grab onto the left side of the boat, the side
nearest the cypress tree. The side nearest the dead woman. Her head
bobbed closer, touching my right elbow,

I screamed in revulsion and frustration,
pushed her away. “Get the fuck away from me!” The water reclaimed
her, swallowing her whole.

“Gelle!”

Still no answer. Nothing. How long now? Ten
minutes? Twenty?

“Angelle . . . please . . . God, please
answer me!”

I worked my way along the side of the boat,
hand over hand, feet kicking, crying out to the moon, to the only
light in this eternal black pit, “Help me find her! Please!”

Pulling into a back kick, my knees suddenly
bumped into something solid, then Angelle’s face abruptly bobbed to
the surface of the water.

“Jesus, Gelle!” I reached for her, managed to
grab her ponytail, pulled her close. Crying, I hugged her to me
with one arm. She was as pale as the seven that had brought us
here. Her eyes were closed, her mouth partially opened, and blood
immediately began to ooze from a large gash in her forehead.

“Don’t you die on me, you hear? Don’t you be
dead goddammit! Don’t you fucking be dead!” I let out a sob,
clutching my sister tight. I felt her chest move . . .barely. “I’ve
got you now. I’ve got you. The water can’t get you anymore. Neither
can the dead woman. You hear? I’ve got you.”

Breathing hard, I tried clearing my head. I
had to get her to a flat surface . . . get her into the boat. CPR,
that’s what she needed, and I knew how to do it. I’d learned while
doing research for a piece on rescue workers for the Dallas
newspaper.

“Hold on, Gelle. . .”

I couldn’t see any land beneath the clump of
trees where the seven had been, just slick tree trunks pressed
close together. I
had
to get her into the boat . . .but how?
Jesus, how? Maybe if I used my shirt—tied one sleeve to a tree, the
other to her, used it as a pulley? It might keep her head above
water until I could get into the boat and hoist her in. No . . .
the branches of the cypress trees were too high, their trunks too
wide.

How much time had passed now? Twenty minutes?
An hour?

“Help!” I hoped against hope that a fisherman
might be out working late and hear my screams. Or that there was a
God, and that He did in fact send guardian angels. “Somebody help,
please!”

No one came. No fisherman. No angels. Just
the dead woman’s leg as it resurfaced right beside Angelle’s left
hip.

“Get away from her, you bitch!” I screamed,
as if she could hear me, as if it mattered. In some rational part
of my brain, I knew I should pity the old woman. She was dead after
all.Had probably died horribly considering the shocked expression
death had locked onto her face. But I didn’t pity her. As far as
the woman was concerned, the only thing I gave a fuck about was
that she stayed away from Angelle.

I pulled my sister closer; her face was now
covered in blood. I had to do something and fast. Driven by
instinct and desperation, I lowered my head, stuck a large part of
her ponytail into my mouth, then bit down into her hair. I clamped
onto the side of the boat with both hands and slid inch by inch
towards the back and the boat motor.

Tugging Angelle along slowly, way too slowly,
I finally made it to the motor. I ran a hand along its backside,
searching, feeling for a chink, a notch, a knob, anything I could
attach her hair to that would keep her face above the water.

How much time? A day? A year?

My forefinger tripped over something that
felt like an upside down U with a protruding lip, and my heart
galloped. I pulled Angelle’s ponytail out of my mouth, pulled her
head closer to the motor, then wrapped her hair tight around the
protrusion. When I was sure it would hold her mouth and nose above
the surface of the black ink, I let go of her body.

In the gauzy moonlight, I saw more blood on
her face, so much of it. Another sob gathered in my chest, knotted
up into a hard ball that pressed and pushed against my heart,
threatening to break it. But there was no time for crying. I kissed
her cheek, blood and all, then went back to the business of getting
my ass into the boat.

I pulled and tugged on the side of the skiff,
tried throwing a leg over, anything to hoist myself up, but the
weight of my jeans, the water, the slick aluminum made it
impossible to find the right leverage. I wasn’t a workout queen
from a Cyler gym. My arms were those of a writer, conditioned at
the wrist and fingers for typing out words on a keyboard, not
hefting a hundred and twenty five pounds of frantic, wet female
over the side of a boat. Refusing to give up, I fought and kicked,
pulled and grunted, the boat tipping one way, then the other. I
kept Angelle’s bloody face in my mind’s eye, knowing if I didn’t
make it into the skiff and she died, I’d never make it through the
rest of my life. Not being this close, only inches away from
pulling her to safety.

Time passed now? A decade?

A thought pricked at my mind. What if I was
already too late? What if Angelle was already gone and there was no
chance to revive her? No! NO! I shook the image out of my head. I
gripped the side of the boat as though I meant to rip it apart with
my bare hands, then let out a growl of frustration so raw and
primal, it sent birds shrieking from the trees above us. I pushed,
lurched, launching my body until I was folded in half at the waist
over the side of the boat. It was all the leverage I needed to
tumble my way inside.

I was scrambling to get to my feet when I
remember the snake. I froze for a moment, water dripping over my
face, my hair, my clothes clinging to me like heavy scabs.
Everything in the boat looked the same in the shadows. There was no
discerning the towline from the flashlight from the snake from the
rubber hose that ran from the gas tank. If I reached for the wrong
thing, I could wind up with that moccasin’s fangs embedded in my
hand, poison pumping into my bloodstream. I’d be useless to
anyone.

But crouching on my haunches and dripping
water into the boat wasn’t doing my sister any good, either.

I got to my feet; spread my legs apart to
maintain balance, then watched the floor for movement. More than
likely the snake had fallen into the skiff from one of the tree
branches that canopied overhead. I might not have known swamps, but
I knew snakes. The desert had its fair share of the slithering
bastards. After falling, it would have remained paralyzed for only
a few seconds before coiling itself up for protection. Then, after
assessing its surrounding and any potential threats, it would have
quickly slid under something to hide. I had to find it and get rid
of it. Couldn’t take the chance of pulling Angelle into the boat,
only to have it attack her.

Time? A millennium?

I stomped a foot, clapped my hands. “Where
are you, you sonofabitch? Come out here!” I stomped again and
again, harder and louder each time.

Finally, I saw something move from under the
bench seat near the bow of the boat. Without thinking twice, I
giant stepped towards it, not caring if it was the rope or the
flashlight jostled by the rock of the boat—it was going
overboard.

In one swoop, I stooped, grabbed, felt the
scratch of scales as it quickly wrapped around my wrist.
“Motherfucker!” I squeezed the thick, slimy bastard back hard, then
flung my right arm out towards the right side of the boat with al
my might, releasing my grip at the same time. The snake sailed,
writhing, twisting in mid-air, then it dropped into the water with
a loud
plooop!

Now that it was out of the boat, I didn’t
even allow myself a breath of victory. I got on my hands and knees,
feeling about until I found the long, hard handle of the
flashlight. I grabbed it, beat it against my left palm, flicked the
on-off switch back and forth, back and forth until it finally gave
up and shed light. The beam was weaker now, yellow, but it was
enough for me to locate the towline. I snatched up the free end of
the rope, hurried over to the boat motor, then leaned over the side
of the hull to attach the rope to Angelle.