Just beneath the slime of the water, small and large things moved. Maybe snakes, maybe turtles. Maybe amphibians larger and more sinister. Across the top of the algae, mosquitoes and other light bugs zipped and buzzed.

The wet swamp world was alive with green, damp motion, and it was hungry.

Harry and I walked the path in silence until we'd gone more than a mile through the stifling, dank forest, each of us wishing we'd thought to bring a bottle of water. We were both sweating ourselves into dehydration by the time we reached the boardwalk's end. It simply stopped in a cul-de-sac turnabout, refusing to take us any deeper. We stood on the edge and shielded our eyes, smacking at bugs and hoping to see some sign of habitation.

There was none. The trail did not go far enough. We'd been quite miserably wasting our time.

"Let's go back," Harry proposed, as if we had some choice in the matter. "We could rent a canoe over near the rangers' station, and we could maybe use some wading boots too. And a couple of canteens. And if we have time, we can try our luck along the road before it gets too dark."

"Okay," I agreed, since there was no other action to take. I was frustrated because I knew we had to be close, but there was no practical way for us to safely navigate the oily, chest-high water. If the snakes didn't get us, the bugs would take us apart like winged piranhas.

Off to my right, closer to the walkway than I would have preferred, a pair of round yellow eyes revealed a larger danger. The gleaming pair lifted out of the muck, followed by a long snout and a protruding set of nostrils. I saw nothing else of the alligator, but from the size of its head it must have been at least eight or nine feet long, though this was admittedly just a guess. The end of his nose wasn't two feet away from the platform, and the platform wasn't six inches above the water. I didn't have to be any good at math to work out the danger. Were alligators good climbers at all? Could they jump? This one didn't deign to answer my questions; instead, he sank away into the darkness from which he'd come.

"Yes, let's go back." I took the lead, stepping lively but quietly.

Harry had seen the gator too. "Supposedly if you move in a zigzag motion, you can outrun them. It has something to do with their center of gravity, I think."

"That's very reassuring, Harry. Thank you so much for that bizarre piece of information that might or might not save my life in the frightfully near future."

"Anytime."

Harry and I beat a fast retreat back towards the park's entrance, accompanied by the clomping of our shoes on the boards and the incessant whines of the stinging insects. When we reached our starting point once more, we took turns swilling tepid water from a stainless steel fountain. The great state of Florida didn't see fit to refrigerate the drinking fountain, but the water was wet and we were thirsty. I tried to ignore the yellowy flavor of sulfur and dirt and swallow it without tasting, but this was not possible. I gave up and gulped, then stood upright and dragged my forearm across my chin to wipe the last drops away.

Along the side of the station was posted an enormous diagram of the entire park, complete with topographical markers and indications of where the ground was solid and where there was only water. A sign indicated that there might be more such source materials inside.

"Why don't you go on without me?" I suggested, picking up a couple of official park pamphlets. "You go get a canoe and some other things, like you said. I'll be here inside the station looking over this stuff."

"Hmm, yeah, that would be all right. I'm just heading back up the road, and I won't be gone long. So I guess that would be okay. But don't leave," he admonished, wagging his finger at my nose.

"Where would I go?" I wasn't trying to dodge his command, as I had every intention of staying put. But Harry was unsatisfied, so I nodded and shrugged. "I won't go anywhere, I promise."

"Okay then. I'll be right back."

"Righty-o."

He left in my car, the Diabolical Death Nugget. I stayed, just like I told him I would, and I returned my attention to the information at hand.

If the government's park service could be believed, Avery's spot of land was somewhere in the gray area between swamp and forest. I guessed it would be just barely on the forest side; it's hard to stake a claim in four feet of water. I pressed a finger against the map and traced out the swamp, mentally noting the spot where it joined terra firm enough to be technically called land. It looked like Harry was right, and that point was within a mile of the two-lane road that runs alongside the park. The map featured tiny numbers along the road's green line—mile markers, according to the legend in the corner. There was one right next to the spot where I'd put my finger.

I squinted.

On the Plexiglas that covered the wall map, there were scratches and fuzz that made it opaque in places. I stared harder, sadly failing to focus on the tiny notes beneath. Was it mile marker 11? Or was that a 17? I couldn't quite make it out. I brought my face closer, until my nose was almost touching it. I could smell the plastic, and something tart, like bug spray.

Eleven. I was almost sure of it. I cocked my head. Yes, it was definitely an eleven.

A flicker of color flashed, a reflection in the shinier bits of the mostly clear covering.

I almost had time to turn my head before he hit me.

Something hard slammed into my skull, and my skull slammed against the shield, sending broad spiderweb cracks across the board. I ducked, or rather I conveniently fell to the ground, missing the next blow. I was stunned, but not unconscious yet. My ears were ringing and silver-white static flared before my eyes, but I could still see Malachi rearing above me.

I held out my hands to push him away but it wasn't enough. He was using a nightstick again, or a flashlight, or something else black and extremely hard. He brought it down on my forearm and pain blasted up to my shoulder. I struggled to uncross my eyes and defend myself, but the bell chorus in my ears and distracting bolts of pain forbade it.

He swung again.

I tried to catch it, but I was too dazed to do more than deflect his next strike. I kicked at his legs, and missed the worst of his next wild plunge. It clocked me between my shoulder and neck, hurting me, but not putting me out.

It took one more solid swing to do that.

It thwacked my head, just past my temple. I ricocheted off the wall and flopped onto my back, staring up at the white, white sky, watching a large bird with gangly legs fly up towards the sun. Then my brother-cousin's face loomed into my vision, and there was nothing else.

I awoke to darkness, and there was a humming, rumbling noise all around. I was cramped, my arms ached, and my head was throbbing, but I was awake. It was more than I'd had any right to expect. I shifted my weight and realized why my arms were sore; they were tied haphazardly, but tightly, in front of me. My ankles were bound as well, but not so snugly.

I winced and stretched out.

No, I could not stretch out. My back and feet had already reached the limits of my confines. Hmm . . . I was lying on something hard, but with enough give to bounce a bit. All was black, but as my eyes adjusted I could see pale threads of light here and there.

Despite the ache in my cranium, my cognitive powers crept slowly back to me.

I was in the trunk of a car. The lump beneath me was a spare tire. The surrounding noise was an engine—a big engine from the sound of it, maybe a V8. The trunk was pretty roomy for a trunk, though that was a weak guess on my part, not having seen the inside of enough trunks to make a fair comparison. Perhaps I was in Eliza's vehicle, the one Harry used to drive. That was as good an answer as any as to how Malachi had scared up transportation. No way of knowing from inside. No sense in dwelling or wondering yet.

First things first.

My hands. I wrestled with the bindings for a few seconds, not feeling enough slack to work with. My feet, then. Luckily I was wearing black sneakers I'd removed from my own trunk before we'd gotten to the park; I could have never popped off my boots so easily. But one after the other I pried my shoes free, then without too much trouble I slid my feet loose. I lifted one knee up to my chest and put my heel against my wrist restraints. My toes are almost prehensile, but in socks they weren't much good. I put my leg back down again and began to feel around, reaching for my shoes and wrenching them back on, shoving my foot against the wall to jam my heel into place. I might have to run through the swamp, and I didn't want to do it barefoot. It would be bad enough to do it with tied hands.

Okay, think, I ordered myself.

But this is easier said than done when your head is marked with swelling goose eggs and your arms have patches of sprawling bruise that you don't have to see to believe.

I was in a trunk. There might be tools. Something metal I could use to cut the ropes. I searched unsuccessfully for a bit, then discovered that the lining of the trunk had been lifted out at some point and the raw metal of the car's frame was exposed beneath. In lieu of any better ideas, I began to rub my wrists against it, and I was satisfied to hear the gentle, slow sawing sound of fraying fibers. I held my arms to my chin and felt the groove I'd worn through the rope. It would work, provided I had enough time. I had no way of gauging how fast the car was going, but it seemed to be making steady progress down a well-paved road.

Nothing to do but try.

After a minute or two the top wind of rope snapped and the knots slacked. I writhed myself clear and lay there, triumphant but fuming. Great. Now what? He was taking me somewhere, but God knew where, to do God knew what.

I'd find out soon enough.

The car backfired, and smoky carbon monoxide filled my nostrils. The humming engine coughed, and more noxious fumes flooded the trunk. I covered my nose with my sleeve, but it wasn't enough to keep the burn away from my eyes.

We were slowing down.

The car lurched and heaved, and the pavement subsided to a slurping crunch as we pulled off the road. I floundered for something heavy to use as a weapon but found nothing. The car came to a complete stop and the engine was cut off. My time was running out.