Emily looked at him with a face saying, You're so embarrassing, Dad.

  Danielle looked at her and smiled. "I used to love it too."

  "You did?" Billy asked, surprised. He couldn't imagine her waltzing around among the cattle and cowboys, wearing her high heels and neat pants.

  She became serious. "I did. When I was about your age."

  "But you don't anymore?" Billy asked.

  She grabbed her cart. "Well, you know. I don't really have time for that sort of thing anymore. It's hardly proper for a housewife to be seen there among all those rowdy men and stinking cows."

  "Who cares what's proper?" he asked. It kind of just blurted out of him and he didn't think about the fact that he might be offending her.

  She shrugged. "I should get going."

  Billy lifted his cap to greet her. "Of course. Nice to see you again, ma'am."

  She was back to nodding politely as she walked past him towards the milk and eggs. Billy stared at her as she disappeared, then turned to look at his daughter. She had a strange smile on her lips.

  "That was so obvious, Dad," she said.

  Billy shook his head. "What do you mean? No. Nonsense. Now let's get some snacks to go with 'em beers."

  Chapter 37

  The Craftsman spun like a cat. Marty Ingram thought it felt fantastic to ride it across the grass. It felt like he was in charge again, like he had things under control. It was a good sensation and just what he needed right now, after many days of things spinning completely out of control.

  In fact, he felt so good riding the thing, he started to whistle. Not that he could hear himself very well over the noise, but that was kind of the point. He wasn't very musical and even his whistling was way out of tune. At least that was what Carolyn always told him, and she was the musical one, so he never did it unless he was certain no one else could hear it.

  Their backyard was about the size of a football field, so mowing it was going to take at least two hours, even if the Craftsman was really fast. The grass was ankle high in most places and it took longer than usual to cut it, but it didn't seem to bother the Craftsman.

  Marty whistled along as it conquered area after area and knocked the silky grass to the ground, restoring order.

  Boy, it felt good.

  In the distance, he could see Carolyn and the kids. They were still sitting on the patio furniture. Carolyn had gotten out the guitar and he guessed they had started to sing. Mary and Margret both loved to sing and Carolyn had taken lessons at the rec center when she was younger and learned how to play most of the songs the girls liked to sing. He couldn't hear them over the roaring engine, but he could tell they were enjoying themselves.

  And so was he.

  For the first time in days, he forgot all about missing people in the swamps, military take-overs, and house-eating trees. He worried no longer about Sam, Julia's son, who he had known since he was born, nor about Greg or that newcomer John and his kids. He didn't think for one second about Jeff or Harry or what had happened to them out there and why they didn't come back. Neither did he wonder about the other group of campers that had gone missing while visiting the swamps from Georgia. For once, he managed to let it all go.

  Until the Craftsman suddenly stopped.

  What the…?

  Marty looked ahead of him. The grass was particularly high there and it was too much for the Craftsman.

  I knew I should have bought a John Deere, but no, The Craftsman is just as good, they said. Just as good!

  Thinking the mower should at least be able to cut down knee high grass, he turned the ignition again and the mower started back up. With much difficulty, it fought its way through the higher grass, complaining a little, but then managed to mow through it after all. The engine sputtered, gave a clunk and a rat-ta-ta-tat, and went still.

  Marty looked at the grass ahead of him. Had it gotten taller since he last looked at it? No, that couldn't be. He turned his head and looked behind him, and looked straight into more high grass, even taller than what was ahead of him.

  What the…I just mowed that?

  The grass seemed to be still growing right in front of him. Marty had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn't just seeing things, you know on account of not getting much sleep lately, worrying. Was he going insane?

  Panic spread and he looked in the direction of his family, who he could now hear singing from the porch. He yelled for them, but they didn't hear him.

  As he looked at his beautiful family, the grass surrounding him grew, fast, and soon it had grown taller than him and he could no longer see the house or his family.

  "Carolyn? Hey, Carolyn? Mary? Margret? Hello?"

  Chapter 38

  I hadn't spoken a word to Pete since the remarks about my weight, or whatever they were about, I wasn't sure. But he didn't seem to take any notice of me or wonder whether or not he had hurt me, so I decided to let it go. I wasn't the type who got mad about stuff like this for a long period of time, especially not when he didn't seem to even know he had said something hurtful. The fact was, I was chubby. Some might even say fat. I knew it and had accepted it. I couldn't spend my life being upset about it when I did nothing to change it. Life was too short.

  Pete looked at his GPS, then suddenly took a turn down a small road, leading us into the swamps, then as we reached a small clearing with a parking lot and a gift shop, he stopped the car. I looked out the window.

  "Is this it?"

  There was a sign right next to us, letting us know we could meet and greet a gator at one of the gator shows, get a 60-minute airboat tour, see the Gator Boys Alligator Presentation and get one free professional Grade Kodak Group photo for only twenty-nine dollars and fifty cents. If we threw in a swamp platter to eat afterward, it would be only thirty-six dollars on top of it and we could end the day by getting the T-shirt that said 'I survived Everglades' with the picture of a big gator on it, that we could get two of, for only seventeen dollars.

  "You took me to a tourist trap? That's your big secret?"

  Pete stopped the engine. The car seemed to sigh contentedly with the break in the heat. He nodded. "Yup. This is it."

  He got out, grabbed his backpack, and closed the back door. I got out too. It was getting late and I was starving. We had been driving in that darn car for more than five hours without anything to eat at all.

  Pete started to walk. I hurried to keep up with him. He walked into the souvenir shop and talked to the lady behind the counter.

  "I need a map to Hell's Bay," he said.

  "If you leave now, you won't be able to make it before sunset," the woman said and handed him a map.

  "That's fine," Pete said, as he grabbed the map and started to look at it. We walked back outside.

  "Hell's Bay?" I asked. "What the heck kind of a place is that?"

  "It's a campsite," he said.

  "You're going camping?" I asked. "In the swamps, in the middle of the night?"

  Peter looked at me. "Yes. I am. I told you that you weren't going to like it. Now it’s time for you to go home. You've lost, Patty. I’ll be hiking through the Everglades even after the sun has set. You don't want to go with me. It's over. Call for someone to pick you up, will you? It's been fun to have you tag along, and I must admit you are one heck of a stubborn lady, but it ends here."

  I was at a loss for words. Pete was right. There was no way I could follow him in there. And why would I? There couldn't be any answers for me in there. I was two hundred miles from home, from where Sam had gone missing. There was nothing here that could help me find him. Pete had been right all along. I couldn't stop thinking that he had tricked me, but then I remembered that he hadn't wanted me to tag along at all, that he had actually told me this wasn't a trip for me.

  But why hadn't he just told me the truth? That he was going hiking? Because he didn't think I would believe him? Or because it wasn't the truth?

  "Well, bye, Patty. Like I said, it wasn't all bad to see you again. Take care of yourself."

  "Wait," I said.

  He had already turned his back on me. He stopped and turned around, his eyes skulking at me like he already knew he wasn't going to like what I was about to say. "Now what?"

  "I'm coming with you."

  Chapter 39

  It was like bungee jumping. The mucilage refused to let go of Sam's legs, and soon he was bouncing up and down, just above his father's head. His dad didn't see him or even react when he called his name, nor did he open his eyes and look at him.

  "Wake up, Dad, wake up!" Sam cried every time he came close enough to his father's face, only to get pulled away from him again. It was like the flytrap was still trying to hold onto him, trying to pull him back again. But he wasn't going to let it.

  The third time Sam came close enough to his father, he reached out his right hand and grabbed ahold of another leaf on the Cape Sundew. Its tentacles immediately wrapped themselves around his hand and held onto it, so when the flytrap tried to pull him back again, he no longer moved. He, too, was stuck, but only by his hand. The mucilage sticking to his legs became longer and longer as the flytrap pulled in the other direction, and soon it was nothing but long strings that slowly became thinner and thinner, and soon, one after the other sprung. Sam was sure he heard the flytrap whimper before it sighed, annoyed, and finally let go of his leg with the result that he was catapulted through the air. Only his hand was still stuck in the tentacles of the Sundew, and he strained it badly as he was pulled back.

  Sam cried out in pain. He was now hanging along the Cape Sundew, only one arm sticking to it. The plant's tentacles started to move, vibrating, reaching out for him, and he realized he had to move fast before it trapped him as well.

  "Dad! You have to wake up!" he cried and climbed up the plant, pulling himself up by the hand that was stuck. "Come on, Dad. Wake up."

  The Sundew's tentacles grew longer and were grabbing after Sam as he crawled up and came close to his father, who was wrapped in the leaf next to him. He reached out his one free hand and could barely reach, but still managed to slap his father across the face.

  "Wake up, Dad. Wake up, now."

  His dad blinked his eyes, then looked at him. "Sam? What the…?"

  Sam screamed in joy. "Dad! Dad, you're awake."

  "How? But how did you…get down here?"

  Sam felt the tentacles as they touched his legs and slithered up against them, wrapping themselves around them, ready to tighten and trap him any second.

  "We've got to get out of here, Dad. Fast!" Sam said and kicked a tentacle. It recoiled for a second, and then slowly returned to its movement onwards, reaching for him, licking his leg.

  "Hurry up, Dad."

  "What?" he yelled, groaning in pain and gasping for air. "What do I do? I am…unable to move here and I can…hardly breathe."

  Sam kicked the tentacle again, then hit another one with his fist. He pulled himself upwards, up to where the plant had wrapped itself around his hand. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and bit down on one of the slimy red tentacles.

  It's spaghetti, Sam. Long, thick spaghetti with a hint of butter on it.

  But it didn't taste anything like the buttered spaghetti his mom always made for him, nor did it taste like the flytrap had. This plant was so sour, Sam's face wrinkled and his lips pursed. The tentacle recoiled and let go of his arm. It worked, Sam realized with joy, before he bit down on the second one. It too reacted by letting go of him, and soon Sam had his entire hand free. He let himself drop till he sat on top of the leaf that had wrapped his father, then sunk his teeth into it. To Sam, it sounded like the plant screamed, but maybe he was just imagining things. The fact was, it worked. After biting down three times and ripping pieces of the green leaf off, it hissed loudly, then finally let go of his father, who fell through the air and landed with a loud thud on the swampy ground.

  Sam shrieked, jumped down, grabbed his dad's arm, and helped him get up. He had hurt himself and couldn't walk on his own. Above them, the plants were sighing loudly, and the sighing soon turned into loud moaning. Sam felt movement behind him and looked up, just as a huge flytrap lifted itself up, then snapped down towards them, the trap open like a huge mouth ready to get fed.

  Chapter 40

  "Go home, Patty."

  Pete snarled as I sped up to be able to keep up with him on the trail. We were already inside a dense area where the mangrove forest surrounded us. I could no longer see the gift shop or any of the signs when I looked behind me. I kind of already missed it and felt anxious not knowing where we were going.

  "I am not taking you with me. Go back."

  "It's a free country," I said. "I’m allowed to walk here if I want to."

  "Yes, you sure are, but you'll just end up getting yourself in trouble."

  I shrugged. "Then you'll save me."

  "Ha! I wouldn't count on it."

  "That's not very nice, Pete," I said.

  "Well, I don't have time to wait for you. It's getting dark and I would like to reach the campsite tonight. So, if you would please just give up and…and…go back or at least keep quiet."

  He was angry now. I knew I had to be careful. I was afraid he would just take off and leave me here. We were already too far into the swamps for me to be able to find my way back. I had never hiked in the Glades, but I knew my way around our own swamps up north and knew very well it was no place to be in all alone at night.

  The trail ahead got narrower and I felt the forest tighten around us, while the soil got moister and my sneakers made swooping sounds as I walked.

  We reached a canal and Pete stopped. Five canoes were lying in the waterlogged saw grass. Pete threw his backpack in one of the canoes, then looked at me.

  "You still there?"

  "Yes. I can't go back now. Please, take me with you."

  He pushed the canoe into the water, then held it steady. "All right. I can hardly leave you here, now can I? Hop on board."

  I smiled and jumped in. "Thanks, Pete."

  He got in as well, then used the paddle to push the canoe into the deeper waters. It was gorgeous out on the mud-brown water. The sun was setting and the orange glowing light reflected in the water. A long-legged heron took off when we scared it. I watched it fly, thinking it looked an awful lot like some prehistoric animal.

  "I’m taking you to the campsite," he said. "But no further than that. I can't take you with me."

  "Why, Pete?"

  He looked perplexed, like he didn't expect me to ask questions. He didn't like the fact that I didn't just give in. I was annoying him crazily, I knew I was, but I didn't care. I wasn't giving up.

  "Well…" He gesticulated with a grunt "…You slow me down."

  "Ouch," I said.

  "Yeah, well, as I said, I don't have much time."

  I looked at him. He ignored me. "What happened to you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "First of all, you used to be a lot nicer than this," I said.

  "Yeah, well…life happened, I guess." He gave me a look as he said it, one I hadn't seen in many years, one that reminded me of who he used to be, the boy I had loved and lost.

  "Well, it's too bad. You and I could have been friends if you weren't such a grumpy old man."

  He grunted and kept paddling. The winding canoe trail went through a narrow passage, and soon we reached the dense areas. I sat very still, looking up for snakes and down for alligators, as Pete weaved us through tunnels of arching branches and secluded lakes, till we reached the campsite at Hell's Bay.

  Chapter 41

  They were on their way to the Circle K right outside of town, the only place that had Polar Pops, and Billy had promised Emily one for dessert. They had eaten dinner at Irene's Diner, like the other nights.

  Billy had been drinking beers for most of the afternoon, so by sunset, he was a little tipsy, but only in the good way, the way where he talked a lot and maybe repeated what he had said a few times, but he was still an excellent driver. Billy always could drive his car, no matter how much alcohol he had in his blood. It was a talent he had. A special skill, if you like.

  But they never made it to the Circle K. As usual, when Billy had been drinking a lot of beers, he had to pee and couldn't wait. So right before they drove past the city limit sign, he stopped the car to take care of it.

  "Dad will only be a second," he said to Emily and jumped out.

  While relieving himself in the grass, he heard someone yell. It came from a farm in the distance, at the end of a long dirt road. Billy zipped up his pants with a shrug and then turned to walk back to the car when he heard the yelling again and this time sensed the desperation in it.

  He got inside the car and just as he was about to take off, back onto the road, someone jumped in front of him.

  "Whoa!" he said and hit the brakes hard. His heart was racing in his chest when he looked at the young girl. He poked his head out the window. "What the heck do you think you're doing? I almost ran over your sorry…"

  "Dad!" Emily said. "It's just a young girl. Look at her. She’s terrified of something."

  "Oh. Yeah. Right," Billy said and got out of the car. He couldn't quite walk straight, at least not right away, probably because of the shock, and had to hold a hand on top of the car as he approached her.

  "What's wrong, little girl?"

  Emily came out as well. "She's not a child," she said. "What's going on?"

  "It's my dad…please, my mom is completely out of it; we called for help…but they're not coming till later, there's an…accident on Interstate 71 and they don't…she was hyperventilating…they don't think this is…I mean, please help us."

  "Whoa, there, slow down, little girl," Billy said. "You gotta talk a lot slower than that."

  Emily rolled her eyes at him. He saw it but pretended that he didn't. "Just tell us what you need help with," she said.

  "My dad. Mayor Ingram. He's missing. The grass…well, you probably won't believe me…come see for yourself."