The Girl from Felony Bay (19 page)

M
y alarm went off
at one thirty sharp, and I rolled out of bed and hit the Off button as fast as I could before it woke up Ruth or Uncle Charlie or, more importantly, Rufus. I pulled on blue jeans, socks, a dark T-shirt, and hiking boots; then I stopped to think about what else I might need. After a second I grabbed a can of bug spray, gave my arms, legs, neck, and face a good coating, and opened my top drawer and took out the hunting knife Daddy had given me for my tenth birthday. With the tooled leather sheath strapped to my belt, I put my ear to the door of my bedroom to listen for the sound of Uncle Charlie's snoring.

To my surprise, I heard nothing, so I opened my door a crack to see if I could hear any better. Again nothing, which was unusual, because Uncle Charlie snores like a warthog. Finally I put my head into the hallway. I could tell by the darker square at the end of the hall that Uncle Charlie and Ruth's bedroom door was open, which was also unusual. In the next instant, I caught the barest hint of light coming from the downstairs.

I held my breath even as my pulse began to pound. I could hear soft footsteps moving through the downstairs. They were followed by the unmistakable sounds of the kitchen door opening and the squeak of the screen.

I eased my bedroom door shut and tiptoed to my window, pulling it open, pushing out the screen, and climbing onto the porch roof just as I heard the engine of Uncle Charlie's pickup come to life. Rufus got off his dog bed, came over to the window, and started to whine. I told him to be quiet and stay, then lowered the window and pushed the screen mostly back into place.

Uncle Charlie's pickup was coming around the side of the house, the tires snapping twigs as they rolled slowly across the ground. The truck's headlights were off, but the moon was bright enough to illuminate the dirt track. I dropped to my belly and lay on the flat roof to keep the moonlight from outlining my silhouette in case Uncle Charlie glanced toward my bedroom window.

I was being very quiet, because I didn't know if Ruth had stayed behind. However, as the truck went past, I spotted the outline of a second passenger in the glow of the dashboard lights. It had to be Ruth, I thought, and I wondered where they could be sneaking off to at nearly two in the morning. A half second later, I had a pretty good idea.

I got up, crossed to the tree limb that stuck out over the porch roof, and climbed on top of it. I slid along the branch to the trunk, climbed onto the opposite branch, shinnied out along it, and dropped to the ground. There was no longer any reason to worry about waking up Uncle Charlie or Ruth, so I ran down the dirt track to the plantation drive, then went through the fence and across the pasture.

The horses were sleeping, but Timmy woke and trotted toward me as I came across the field. I gave him a quick nose rub, then continued on my way. Timmy, and soon after Clem and Lem, fell in behind me and followed me over to the gate, all of them hoping for a midnight snack.

Bee was already waiting for me, and I told her about Uncle Charlie and Ruth sneaking out in the pickup.

“You think they're going to Felony Bay?” she asked.

“Where else?”

“So they are behind what's going on there.”

“Looks like it.”

“Maybe we'll find out what they're doing with that crate.”

I nodded, thinking exactly the same thing. “Got the flashlights?” I asked.

Bee handed me one. She had another for herself. I was about to lead the way out of the barn, but I stopped.

“We have to be
really
careful,” I said. “If they're at Felony Bay like we think they are, and if they happen to hear us or see us, we have to hightail it as fast as we can.”

“Why?”

“There are only three ways to get out of there: up the dirt track toward the township road, back on the path toward the big house, or out past One Arm Pond and through the pastures to the plantation drive. Uncle Charlie knows that, and if we're not quick, he'll be able to trap us.”

“We have to run in the dark?”

“If they hear us.” I nodded. “Fast as you can. Don't worry about anything else.”

“Snakes?”

I shook my head. “Just run.”

Before she could ask any more questions or get any more upset, I led the way out of the barn toward the big house, where we would find the path that would take us to Felony Bay. On the way I found an oleander bush and cut a long stick that was thick enough to be sturdy and forked at one end. I used my knife to cut the forks about four inches long.

Bee didn't ask what the stick was for, and I didn't offer to explain. I figured she would find out soon enough if we ran into a problem.

We reached the big house, skirted the edge of the yard, and checked for unexpected lights that would show that Grandma Em had heard Bee sneaking out. The house was as dark as a crypt.

We got to the back corner of the yard and quickly found the trail that led to Felony Bay. As we stepped into the woods, the night seemed to envelop us. To our left the river glowed through the trees, its surface the color of honey as it reflected the moonlight. The air was thick with the scent of early-summer flowers and vines, heavy with mock orange and honeysuckle; and up ahead the trilling of hundreds of frogs populated the night.

We went slowly, our flashlights off, using the moon and the light reflected from the river to guide us. We had decided that, on the off chance that Grandma Em was awake and looking out her bedroom window, we would not use flashlights until we were well away from the big house. When we finally thought it was safe, we flicked them on, and I felt relieved to have the powerful beams light our way.

I took the lead and kept my light aimed at the ground, examining the thick, dark roots and vines that coiled and ran through the dead leaves, making sure none of them was a snake out searching for a meal. The night breeze moved gently across my skin, while overhead I heard the harsh cry of a night heron on its way to the river to hunt fish.

We moved faster with our lights on, but we would turn them off well before we reached Felony Bay in order not to give ourselves away. We would also need to give our eyes time to once again adjust to the moonlight.

After about fifteen minutes, the undergrowth on our right began to thicken, and I knew One Arm Pond had to be just ahead. The peeping of the frogs grew louder. In spite of my desire to hurry, I slowed my pace, keeping my eyes on the ground. Behind me Bee must have noticed my caution, because she said, “What's the matter? It's not Green Alice, is it?”

“No,” I whispered, but I kept picking my way along with care. There was no sense in frightening Bee if there turned out to be no need.

After another couple minutes, the cacophony of the frogs had become almost deafening, so I knew One Arm Pond had to be directly on our right. I couldn't see it through the leaves, not even moonlight reflecting off the surface, but I could smell the musty odor of pluff mud. I was studying every single root, vine, or stick with great intensity now, and that's when I came to a quick stop.

Two feet ahead of me, way too close for comfort, something that looked at first like a thick black root had just crawled from underneath a layer of dead magnolia leaves. It was maybe four feet long and as thick as a beer can in the middle. The sight made my heart start to hammer.

“What?” Bee asked.

I shook my head and said nothing, just held my oleander stick out in front of me with the forked end pointed at the ground.

“What?” Bee asked again.

“Just don't move.”

We stayed perfectly still, but the snake sensed my body heat or my smell. It started to coil, and it opened its jaws and gave a warning hiss. My flashlight beam lit up the inside of its mouth. It was snow white, true to its name: cottonmouth. Of all the venomous snakes that live in South Carolina, I was most afraid of the cottonmouth. It was the one snake that would attack when it felt threatened.

Behind me I heard Bee's intake of breath, and then the sound of her feet shifting backward along the path. Her motion was likely to antagonize the snake, and that meant I had no time. I waited until the snake's head moved sideways for just a second as it searched with its heat sensors preparing to strike, then I stabbed down with my oleander stick.

It was a lucky shot. I managed to knock the head down to the ground and pin it between the two forks. The snake thrashed and fought, and it was amazingly strong. Thankfully the stick was also strong and held the snake's head in place.

If it had been a copperhead or a rattlesnake, I would have picked it up by the tail and thrown it into the woods as far as I could, comfortable that it would hightail it once it landed. But not a cottonmouth. I knew there was a decent chance that the snake would hit the ground and come right back after us, most likely moving too fast to pin again. I took my knife from the sheath on my belt, leaned down, and cut off its head in one stroke.

The headless body spurted blood, but it continued to move, striking blindly in all directions. I knew it might keep that up for another five minutes or so, but I also knew we could ignore it. I wiped the blood off my knife, cleaned my hands against the bark of a palmetto tree, then turned to look at Bee.

She was standing several feet behind me, her hands to her mouth. “You okay?” she asked in a trembling voice.

I nodded. “How about you?”

“I hate snakes.”

“I'm not so fond of this particular type myself.”

“I can't believe you just cut off its head.”

“It was either him or us.”

She shuddered and shook her head. “I hope we don't see any more.”

“We're almost past the pond. That's the worst place for cottonmouths.”

She nodded and gave a wan smile as if that was at least somewhat encouraging news. I didn't have the heart to tell her that we were going to have to turn off our lights for good in another fifty yards or so, as we'd be getting close to Felony Bay.

We made our way past One Arm Pond without any more problems. Gradually the sound of the frogs faded behind us, and when I thought we were well clear of the pond and hopefully of more cottonmouths, I stopped walking and clicked off my flashlight.

“What are you doing?” Bee asked.

“Turn off your light.”

“Why?”

“We're getting close, and we can't risk using our lights from here on, in case Uncle Charlie and Ruth are there.”

I could see her expression and knew she didn't like the idea, but after a second she flicked hers off. “I can't see a thing.”

“Just wait.”

We stood there about a minute, and gradually I began to pick out the faint light on the path and the moonlight reflected on the river to our left. The river acted like a night-light, giving a gentle glow to everything around it.

When my eyes had once again adjusted to the dark, I could see the ground under my feet and even make out the shadowy shapes of roots and sticks. I could also see the path winding up ahead of us as it snaked its way through the undergrowth. We started moving again, more slowly than before, and we soon came to the line of No Trespassing signs on the trees that marked the boundary of Felony Bay. I pointed them out to Bee, and she nodded.

A little farther, I began to hear the sound of the excavation machine. It grew louder as we moved forward. The undergrowth gave way to the horseshoe beach, and I could look through the leaves and see a pair of bright lights moving in tight, jerky motions.

At the edge of the undergrowth we squatted behind a thick bush and looked out at the beach. Bubba Simmons was on the same small excavator he had been operating the other day. Its headlights were aimed at the ground where he was digging a fresh hole. When he turned the machine, his headlights momentarily lit two nearby people standing beside a pickup truck. I recognized Uncle Charlie and Ruth. In spite of the fact that I had been expecting to find them there, my breath caught in my throat.

Uncle Charlie stepped to the edge of the hole, looked down, and gave a nod. Bubba climbed off his machine, and then the two of them walked over to Uncle Charlie's pickup and pulled the tarp off the crate, lifting it off the truck and dragging it over to the hole.

I hadn't seen anyone else, and I thought it was just the three of them working together, but then I heard another voice. It was a man. He was someplace out of the light. With the noise from the excavator, I couldn't understand what he said, but something about his tone was bossy, like he was the one in charge.

Uncle Charlie turned toward the voice and nodded. Then Ruth came over and opened the lid of the chest and held it while Charlie and Bubba walked over to the falling-down cabin. They both had flashlights, and they disappeared into the cabin's dark interior and reappeared a moment later carrying burlap bags that pulled their shoulders down with the weight.

The man in the shadows said something else, and Uncle Charlie and Bubba put the bags down with a loud clinking sound and went back into the cabin. Ruth started unloading the contents of the bags into the crate as Uncle Charlie and Bubba brought two more bags. The process continued until Uncle Charlie and Bubba had brought out five bags each. Once all the bags had been unloaded, Ruth closed the top of the crate and hammered the rusty lock closed.

Finally Uncle Charlie and Bubba brought over two long cloth straps, which they slid under the crate. The crate was very heavy now, and they grunted and strained as they shoved it to the very edge of the hole. Once it was in place, Bubba climbed on the excavator and backed it close to the crate while Uncle Charlie put the looped ends of the straps over a hook on the back of the machine. Then, as Uncle Charlie and Ruth shoved the crate over the edge of the hole, Bubba backed up the excavator, using the straps to lower it to the bottom.

When the crate was in place, Uncle Charlie unhooked one end of each of the straps, and then Bubba drove away from the hole, pulling the straps free. Uncle Charlie finished unhooking the straps from the excavator, dragged them over to the side of the cabin, and tossed them into the darkness. Bee and I stayed perfectly still as we watched Bubba use the excavator to put some of the dirt back in the hole.