The Vanishing (12 page)

She nodded.

“I would suggest you wait here for me, but if the trail leads me deeper into the swamp, I think you’re safer with me than in the boat.”

She glanced back down the bayou and then scanned the swamp surrounding them. “Yeah. I want to come with you.”

He heard the words, but he also heard the sliver of fear that she was trying to hide. He could hardly blame her. Revisiting the swamps of Mystere Parish was the second-to-last thing he wanted to do. The first was protecting a woman he was attracted to. So far, he was batting a thousand with his return to Vodoun.

“Let me make sure it’s clear,” he said and peered over the bank of cypress roots and into the swamp. Nothing dangerous was immediately visible, so he motioned for Colette to climb up.

She hesitated only a moment before grabbing the thick cypress roots and pulling herself up and onto the embankment above the boat. Max lifted his backpack of supplies up to her and she pulled it over the ledge. Then he climbed up beside her and pulled on the pack.

“She wasn’t very far from here. This way.” He pointed south of where they stood. “Follow closely behind me and keep an eye above us, same as last time.”

Colette nodded and he started through the brush, the damaged foliage indicating his path from the day before. It took only a minute to reach the location where he’d found Anna. He scoured the surrounding area, looking for any sign of the path she’d traveled before collapsing here, but aside from the damage he’d caused, he saw no entry or exit from the location.

He’d thought as much the day before but knew he needed a more thorough look when he wasn’t pressed for time. Unfortunately, a closer look hadn’t revealed anything new. He ran one hand through his hair and blew out a breath.

“What’s wrong?” Colette asked.

“There’s no indication of her path to this location.”

“How can that be? She couldn’t have dropped here from the sky.”

“No, but I think she may have done what we did—entered this area of the swamp from the water.”

Her eyes widened. “But if she was running from her attacker, she was on foot. Why in the world would she get in the water, knowing full well all the dangers that presented?”

“It might have been the best choice at the time. Assuming her attacker was tracking her, the only way to lose him would be to travel some ways in the water. The cypress roots are the perfect place to get back on land.”

“Because there wouldn’t be tracks,” Colette said. “That makes sense, but it leaves us with nothing to go on.”

“Not necessarily. When I found Anna, her clothes were dry, so she’d been out of the water for a couple of hours, at least. The tide was just starting to come in when we found her, so assuming she arrived here hours before, the tide would have been going out when she entered the bayou. It would be smarter to get into the water and float downstream rather than swim, which might attract the attention of her attacker and any number of other predators.”

“You think she floated from somewhere upstream.”

“Yes. I think we should head up the bayou, keeping a close look out for the location where she entered the water.”

“So you think she came up at the same place we did?”

“It certainly looks that way.”

Colette turned and headed back down the trail to the embankment. Max followed closely behind, hoping they could find the needle in the haystack, or in this case, a footprint in the swamp. Given the shifting of the tide and the water level, it was a real long shot that any evidence of her passage remained close enough to the bank for them to see. At the moment, it was the only chance they had.

Once they were back in the boat, Max checked the tide. It was going out, which meant he might be able to make an educated guess at the floating path Anna would have taken in the current. He looked upstream about a half mile until the bayou curved out of sight, watching the swirling water as it pushed its way back out toward the Gulf of Mexico, concentrating on the most likely flow of a large object.

“If she entered the bayou anywhere in the stretch that we can see,” he said, “I think it was from the opposite bank. That would have allowed her to drift right by the cypress roots with minimal swimming involved.”

“At least that’s a place to start,” Colette said and sat on the bench in the middle of the boat.

He started the engine and eased across the bayou to the other side. The bank was lower there and the foliage less dense right near the bank. As he drew the boat up alongside the bank, he cut the engine and lifted a long pole from the bottom of the boat. They both stood balanced in the center of the boat as he used the pole to push them slowly up the bayou.

Although the incoming tide would likely have washed footprints away, he scanned the muddy bank for any, then turned his attention to the brush at the edge of the muddy bank. If Anna had walked through the brush, he’d be able to see signs of her passage.

He moved the boat at an agonizingly slow pace, but a glance was not enough to catch a single broken leaf or a partial imprint of a shoe on the worn ground. Colette concentrated on the bank, her brow wrinkled as she squinted into the brush. It almost made him smile. She probably couldn’t track an elephant through the swamp but darn if she wasn’t going to give it a hundred percent effort. He had to admire her dedication.

They’d progressed almost to the end of the channel when he caught sight of a single broken branch on a bush near the bank. The bayou tide was halfway up the bank now and had likely covered the dirt completely when the tide was in, erasing any footprints.

He dug the pole into the thick bayou mud to stop the boat. Colette looked over at him, her expression hopeful.

“Do you see something?”

“A broken branch. It may be nothing,” he warned.

She nodded as he stepped out of the boat and onto the bank. His boots sank into the soft black mud that made a sucking noise each time he lifted his foot out of it. When he reached the broken branch, he knelt down to get a closer look. The ground was littered with weeds and marsh grass so no prints were visible, but it was clear to Max that something had passed this way recently.

“Did you find something?” Colette asked.

“Something came through here and into the bayou, but I can’t be certain it was human. I’m only certain it wasn’t an alligator.”

“Ha, well, good. Um, exactly how do you know it wasn’t an alligator?”

“Something walked through the marsh grass. It’s pretty hardy, so it mostly recovered, which is why I can’t tell you the size or shape of the print, but if an alligator had passed through here, all of the grass would have been pressed down by his body. There would be no evidence of individual steps.”

Colette looked anxiously into the brush. “I’m going to store that information just in case I ever have an alligator in my yard. When I buy a house, of course. Or if I ever go into the swamp again, which after today is looking like less and less of a possibility.”

“I can’t say that I blame you.” Max looked past the line of marsh grass and into the trees. “The trail leads into the trees. I think we ought to check it out.”

Colette nodded and he stepped back down the bank to extend a hand to her.

He heard rustling in the brush behind him just as he clasped his fingers around hers, but he was barely able to turn to look before the alligator lunged out of the brush to his right.

Chapter Ten

Colette emitted a strangled cry as she clenched his fingers and yanked him toward the boat. He launched at an angle toward the side of the boat, praying that the mud would turn his feet loose in time to get away. He felt the tug on his legs and for a moment thought it was all going to end, then he felt his boots break free and tumbled over the side of the boat, knocking Colette down into the bottom beneath him.

A giant splash of water showered them and Max peeked over the side of the boat just in time to see the twelve-foot monster glide silently away. He looked down at Colette, who stared up at him, her eyes wide. The entire weight of his body was pressed against hers and he suddenly realized that his current position was no less dangerous than being on the bank with the alligator.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he pushed himself up from the bottom of the boat. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Colette assured him as she sat up. “Except for the heart attack, I’m fine.” She glanced out at the bayou. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah. Probably off in search of easier prey.”

Colette looked at the bank. “Do you think there are any more in there?”

“Not likely. They’re not the most sociable of creatures.”

“Thank goodness.”

Max extended his hand to help her rise from the bottom of the boat. She stood and took one nervous step back from him.

“If you don’t want to go into the swamp,” he said, “I completely understand. This is not what you signed up for.”

Colette shook her head. “I want to find the village and Anna’s mother, but if you think I’ll get in the way of your progress, I can stay here with the boat.”

“No, I don’t want you out here alone. You’d be a sitting duck for predators of the two-legged variety.”

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth for a moment. “I’m sorry. That was a silly thing to suggest.”

“It wasn’t silly. I don’t expect you to think like a criminal. That’s what you’ve got me for.”

She gave him a small smile. “I guess so.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She glanced once more across the bayou and then back at the brush where the alligator had been hiding. “As ready as I’m getting.”

“Then that will have to do.”

* * *

C
OLETTE CLASPED
M
AX’S
extended hand and stepped out of the boat and into the mud. She struggled to walk up the bank to solid ground while he tied the boat off to a piece of driftwood on the bank. She peered into the cypress trees in the direction Max had indicated they needed to proceed, but she couldn’t see anything but a dimly lit wall of decaying foliage.

Max reached into the boat and pulled out the backpack and the shotgun, then handed the shotgun to her. “It’s pumped and ready to shoot, so be careful with the trigger.”

She took the shotgun, trying to keep her hands steady, and she grasped it at the barrel and the stock. It felt good to have the weight of the weapon in her hands, and she knew how to use it. It was all the reasons why she might have to that had her nerves shot.

That alligator had seemed to come out of nowhere—a harsh reminder of the deadly things the swamp contained and her complete lack of knowledge about any of them. Max knew the swamp and its creatures, but even he seemed to be extra cautious, extra alert.

“Ready?” he asked.

Colette nodded and followed him into darkness.

They started at a good pace at first, Max able to discern the faint tracks in the bent marsh grass, but as they moved farther away from the bayou, the marsh grass disappeared and gave way to vines and moss. Signs of Anna’s passage, if that’s even what they were following, became more sparse and harder to locate—a bent branch, a broken vine. The pace slowed to a crawl.

Max stopped to tie a strip of white cloth around a branch each time they changed direction. It was something Colette would never have thought of given her lack of knowledge of the swamp or tracking, but it made perfect sense. It also gave her comfort as they moved deeper into the swamp that they’d be able to find their way out with ease.

Despite the fact that it was October, it was still warm, and the humidity made the air thick and made it hard to breathe. Sweat formed on her brow and she wiped the beads away with the back of her hand. The only sound was their footsteps on the dying vines that seemed to echo in the dead silence.

“Shouldn’t there be more noise?” she finally asked, unable to stand the silence any longer.

“In other swamps, there is. You can hear insects and birds all around you. But the swamps in Mystere Parish are always silent.”

Like a giant tomb.

Her hands tightened on the shotgun. “How is that possible? Surely there are insects and birds here.”

“There are, but they don’t make noise very often.”

“Is it something genetic—a mutation in the swamps of Mystere?”

“That’s one theory.”

“What’s the other?”

“That they’re scared.

Despite the warmth of the swamp, a chill ran down Colette’s spine. No wonder Anna had fled from this place, this cocoon of fear and death. The bigger question was, why did people remain?

“How do people live with this? Vodoun is surrounded by the swamp.”

“It’s a nice small town with mostly nice people. Those who make a living on the water get their job done and get off the water before nightfall. No one much messes with the swamp unless they are fishing, hunting or earning a living.”

“Not even kids?”

“We tromped around the swamp a lot when we were kids, but there was always that feeling that you were somehow intruding. We never went into the swamp at night. No one ever talked about it. It was just something we all knew.”

Intruding.
That single word so accurately described what Colette had been feeling since they’d entered the swamp. As if she were somehow walking on hallowed ground without permission. That every step she made was against the desire of something much larger than herself.

All of a sudden, Max stopped and Colette bumped into his back. He held up his hand, signaling her for silence. Every muscle in her body strained to keep her absolutely still, and she held her breath, afraid that even the tiny sound of exhaling would echo in the silence.

Max turned to look at her and whispered, “I see something ahead about fifty feet. It looks like the top of a building. Stick close to me and tread as quietly as possible, but don’t be surprised if they already know we’re here.”

“Do you think it’s Cache?”

“Maybe.”

They crept through the brush, each being careful to deliberately choose every step for stealth. Colette kept both hands on the shotgun, ready to swing it around and fire in an instant. She mimicked every step Max took, keeping her body only inches from his. Over his shoulder, she could see the tops of buildings begin to appear, the old wood barely visible against the wooded backdrop.