Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [70]
“I can’t go with you.”
“You got to.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. You go home now. With Charles. I’m leaving.”
She lets out a sob and holds me tight.
I put my hands on her wet cheeks. “I’ll come back for you.”
She shakes her head.
“I will. I really will. Sooner than you think.”
“I ain’t never going to forget you, Calogero. Never.”
“I’ll be back.”
“Hurry!” says Ben. “We got to run.”
“I’m going alone,” I say.
“You ain’t got a chance alone in the dark,” says Rock.
“I’m going alone!”
Ben grabs my arm and spins me to face him. “All right. Where?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Take off your shirt,” says Ben.
“What?”
“Hurry.”
I take off my shirt.
Ben rips it. He ties half around his ankle and hands the other half to Rock.
Rock ties it around his ankle. “Which way you headed?”
A sudden memory comes of how free I felt that day Frank Raymond and I came out on open water. “The river.”
“Direct, or by the road to Delta?”
“Direct.”
“I’ll run the road,” says Rock.
“I’ll head to Milliken’s Bend,” says Ben.
“Are you crazy?”
“Don’t worry,” says Ben. “We’ll fool those hounds with your smelly shirt. But if they get too close, we’ll throw away the shirt and climb the closest tree.”
“No more talk,” says Patricia. She puts her hand in the center of my chest and pushes. “Run. All of you. Calogero, Calogero-run!”
twenty-six
I run through the woods.
Panthers. If you run, they chase.
I have to run. So I should get out of the woods. I come out at the east edge of town and go past houses.
People might see me. A boy running. Suspicious. If a crowd comes after me, the people in these houses could tell what they saw. But I have to run.
My uncles. And Cirone. Oh Lord, Cirone. Cirone! Look what my forgetting did. Lord, save them. Save them. Make a miracle.
Run run run. Tears stream down my face. I can’t see anything. But I run. I’m past exhaustion, running as if I could go on forever.
I hear dogs bay. My skin turns to goose flesh. Sheriff Lucas’ bloodhounds. They’re tracking something. Someone.
Don’t let them get Rock or Ben.
I think of the dogs’ powerful legs and long muzzles and for an instant I go numb with fear. But I’m still running.
Are the dogs getting louder? They seem louder. And they’re coming from only one direction. They didn’t split up. They didn’t get fooled. I need a plan. But the only thing in my head is the river.
I race. Faster and faster. I stumble and cut my knee and get up and run. The ground gets soft. Now I’m slapping through mud. Cypresses surround me. Lord, I’ve headed into a swamp!
It’s all right. I’ll be all right. I slog on, trying to get back to firmer ground. Frank Raymond warned about this swamp. He said it was south of the path we took. So if I head north, I’ll find dry land. Only I’ve lost my bearings. And I can’t see the sky, I can’t see the stars, the trees are so thick.
A small swamp, he said. Small.
But Patricia said there’re ’gators in every swamp. I stifle a scream. There’re worse things than ’gators. Patricia said that, too.
The dogs grow loud behind me. I slog on. Mud sucks at my shoes, slops up my ankles. I look back. Through an opening in the trees I see distant lanterns. The dogs are running ahead of the men. So close.
A shriek. Someone shouts, “Stay back!”
I can’t help but look. A ’gator has caught one of the dogs. The ’gator’s shaking it and shaking it. The other bloodhound circles at a distance. The lanterns have clustered. The ’gator shakes till the dog’s belly rips open.
I’m flying. My feet find dryer ground. I’m running so fast, I’m not even sure I’m breathing.
Will they turn back now? There’s still one dog. I run and run till my body is doing it on its own, as though that’s all it knows. And I hear the dog bay again.
Something slinks across my path. I stop short, my heart thumping. Another follows it. Otters. Why, I’m already at the river, and the otters are slipping into the water, panic-stricken.
Dogs can’t smell through water. And I can swim. I plunge in. I’m only a few feet out when the current catches me, and sweeps me away,