Tourists at the Trapezoid

A group of tourists in the Florida Everglades experiences the most exciting tour of their lives. They see the mangroves, the gators, and, of course, most important of all: The Trapezoid.

Transcript

Your basement is about twice as big as you really needed it to be. So over the years, about half the contents became things that were just sitting in their own underground purgatory. Things you wanted to toss, but not urgently enough to do it right away. After the flood, though, you have no choice but to sort through what’s junk and what’s not junk. What’s salvageable, and what’s not. Or the things you’d been wanting to get rid of, but hadn’t been able to make yourself dispose of just yet. Chief among them was the crib shoved into the very back corner. It was one of the first things you’d put into basement purgatory. You put off dealing with it for as long as possible. Sorting through old board games and boxes of clothes and hobbies you’d forgotten you’d ever even dabbled in instead. But eventually you make your way back there, and eventually you’ve got to give the crib the same attention you’ve given everything else. The crib evokes vivid memories of long nights and even longer days. Of stress and pain and grief. And it reminds you of bad thoughts. Of a time long ago when you had the darkest thoughts you’d ever had in your life. You grieve for just a few moments. Then you pick up the phone, and you call one of the few numbers you have memorized by heart. And you mask the sadness in your voice instantly, a skill you’d had to learn fast in the early days of motherhood. The voice over the phone brings you back to the present. And it reminds you that those bad thoughts you had all those years ago only ever stayed in your mind. And after the usual pleasantries, you ask your son, “Hey kiddo, you don’t want your old crib, do you? It didn’t get totally destroyed in the flood, but it’s in rough shape.” And he tells you, “I can’t believe you still have that old thing. No, I think we’re okay.” You chat for a bit longer, but you feel the lull of the past start to pull you back in, and you hang up as soon as you can. Then you drag the crib into the middle of your basement, mostly empty for the first time since you bought your house all those years ago. You grab your sledgehammer off the tool bench, and you smash the crib to bits. And in doing so, you will your mind to let go of all of those memories of sleepless nights, bad thoughts, and The Podcast Inside Your House. 

I was fighting back tears for most of the car ride to Crazy Cooper’s Family Fan Boat tours. 

Logan was behind the wheel, so I was free to stare out the window and hide the redness in my eyes. With his nephew sleeping in the back, Logan was constantly fiddling with the radio anytime a song about sex or drugs, or with any swearing at all, came on. Little Allen had been asleep almost the whole ride, but god forbid he wake up to Cardi B. 

We’d reached the point in our relationship where we could have those easy, comfortable silences. This was not one of them. There was tension in the air, so oppressive that even if Allen hadn't been dozing in the back, I don't think either one of us would have dared cut through it.  

When we pulled up to the giant, cartoonish alligator statue, Allen woke up. I took a deep breath and forced a smile. 

Our tour guide, Crazy Cooper himself, was exactly what you’d expect: a man of the swamp. He had a thick mustache, an eye patch that I suspected he may not have actually needed, and when we tested the boat's headphones and radio, his heavy southern accent slipped just a bit.

Logan and I kept Allen steady between us as we set off into the Everglades. There was another family behind us, an older couple and a 20-something girl, and they made up for our silence. Lots of ‘wows’ and laughs and ‘oh my’s’ filled the headsets with constant noise amid the crackling static.

I really thought I could keep it together for the tour, but I was once again struggling to keep my eyes dry. I dug my nails into my thighs, and that helped distract me just a bit. 

Logan noticed me fidgeting and grabbed my hand, and that was all the dam needed to burst. I felt my face get wet with tears just a second before our swamp guide gunned the throttle and we all got soaked with brackish water. I was grateful for the cover. 

I kept it together a bit better after that. I’d insisted we keep this date, despite everything that had been happening, because I wanted to have one last good memory with Logan. I thought I could put aside my feelings for a day, and have fun. I was realizing just how wrong I was. 

It would have been just two weeks shy of our year anniversary; of today, but I should have done the right thing and dumped Logan the minute he got that phone call. Sitting there on that boat, holding on for dear life as we swerved through the mangroves, I felt just as anxious as I had on the day we’d gotten the news. 

We’d been lounging on the couch eating a lazy breakfast, and if I’d known it would have been our last peaceful morning, I would have appreciated it more. But when Logan’s mother’s name lit up his phone, we both braced for bad news. They only ever played nice for weddings and funerals. And as far as we knew, no one had gotten engaged. 

I couldn't hear everything as they talked, but I heard enough. I heard “car crash” and “Cindy”, his sister's name. And I heard “Allen” over and over again because there was no time to mourn, not even for a second, when there was a sudden orphan to contend with. 

After that it was all crying. Logan, and then me, not because I’d been particularly close with his sister, but because I knew that I had to leave him then. 

But first I had to determine what the appropriate amount of time would be to wait to dump someone after a death in the family. 

A near miss with a gator brought me back to the present, and for one blissful moment I was focused on that animal. This was the closest we’d gotten to one yet, the closest I’d ever been to one, and it was lovely. It had mottled grey skin, and bright eyes that watched us lazily. For the first time all tour, I really felt the sun on my skin, warming me up as it dried the water. And I looked up to appreciate the way the mangroves dappled the light before it hit the waves. 

I felt my heart rate slow. We passed another gator, and Allen grabbed my arm and yelled, “Look, Avery, look!” and I didn’t shy away. For just a moment, I forgot that he was the reason I was so miserable, and I thought that perhaps I could try and make this one last good memory after all. 

We rode out farther, and I laughed along as Cooper nearly dumped us all out in the middle of the water. I listened to the birds, and I started to relax, for the first time in weeks. 

We stopped at a shallow embankment where an alligator was sunning itself, and the guide cut the engines so we could hear him better. 

“Now look at what we have here.” He said, “This is a rare sight, folks; take a good look at that fella’s snout over there and tell me what you see?” 

I was caught up solely in the sheer size of the beast; it looked to be about eight feet long, but Allen quickly raised his hand.

“What you got, little man?” He asked.

“Is that a crocodile?!” Allen asked, beaming that he’d figured it out.

“It is indeed-y. A lot of folks don’t know this, but we’ve got crocs here in the Americas too.” 

Now that I knew to look for a difference, the beast had a narrower snout, a jagged jawline, and eyes that clung closer to the skull. It looked somehow even more prehistoric than the alligators did. 

“See, the gators are like deer, you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. But crocs, well let's just say it’s a good thing we’re in a boat.” 

As if it could sense that we were discussing the beast's danger, it sloughed into the water, and it started swimming over. 

Crazy Cooper was apparently not that crazy. He gunned the throttle. “Sorry folks, but we aren’t gonna take any risks with that big boy.”

As we sped away, I heard a strange noise come over the radio, like a long low whine. But as it grew louder, I realized it wasn’t coming from the radio at all. It was coming from all around us. Cooper heard it too, and he slowed to a stop. 

I took off my headphones, and Logan followed suit. And all around us, drowning out the idling engine and the birds and the splashing of the water, was the deafening call of a siren. 

It sounded like a tornado siren, but I was pretty sure they didn’t have those in Florida. And though I hadn’t lived here long, I was pretty sure it was the off-season for hurricanes too. And either way, making the call even more eerie was the perfect, cloudless sky above us.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked. 

“That’s a good question,” Cooper said. His accent was mostly gone. His ever-present smile was completely gone. He looked almost sad, rather than confused. And in a gesture that I’m sure surprised no one, he took off his eyepatch. As it dangled, the sunlight passed through it, betraying its translucency. 

His radio crackled to life, and he turned it down instantly. “I’m 27 minutes out,” a staticky voice said. After a pause, another said, “I’m 13 minutes away, maybe 10 if I gun it.” And I saw Cooper tapping on his cell phone impatiently, like he was anxious to see how long it would take us to get back. More voices checked in, giving anywhere from 45 to 10 minutes. I thought at first they were other tour guides checking in, but there was no way there were that many.

My mind swirled with horrible possibilities. Was there some kind of environmental disaster nearby? A plane crash? Some freakish off-season hurricane?

Finally it was Cooper’s turn to speak. He stared at his phone, and he hesitated, but when no one else chimed in, he pressed the button in his walkie, and he said, “I’m five minutes out. I’m on my way.”

My nerves settled. And I wondered why he hadn’t just gunned it when he heard the sirens if we were so close to being back at base. Cooper put his headset back on and gestured for us to do the same. And then he sped off. 

Logan squeezed my hand briefly, then dropped it to put a hand over Allen's shoulder. As we skimmed across the water, I alternated between scanning the water for animals and scanning the sky for danger. Whatever the sirens were signalling, be it storm, eco disaster, or god forbid some kind of military attack, I felt like whatever it was, it was going to come from the sky. 

I kept my eyes on the blue above until we completely stopped. But when I finally turned my gaze back down to earth, I found that we were not back at the tour dock at all. We were somewhere new. 

We’d come to a small island in the swamp. It was covered in overgrown grassy weeds that would have given me pause on their solidity if not for the massive structure that sat on top of them. It was dark brown, and made of corrugated metal. It was about the size of a house, but had no visible doors or windows, and the shape was odd. It was just one long rectangle, but sloped on two sides. 

Logan and I took off our headphones. And in unison we glanced back at Cooper, about to ask him what was going on. But he wasn’t talking to us. 

He radioed to the other tour guides, or other locals, or whoever the hell he’d been talking to, and he said: “I’ve got the tourists at the Trapezoid.” His accent had vanished completely.

“Is this like a storm shelter or something?” I asked. 

Cooper just stared at me for a second, then gestured for the family behind us to take off their headphones as well. And once they did, He reached into a duffel bag at his feet, and he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun. 

“Well folks, I’m afraid this is our last stop.”

The father of the family behind us tried to interrupt: “Just what the hell do you think you’re-”

But Cooper, who was perhaps a bit crazy after all, simply turned the rifle to the man's chest and he stopped talking. 

“Now, I’m real sorry to have to do this.” He glanced at Allen, then to me, assuming parentage. “But long story short folks, someone needs to be waiting here when those sirens stop. Or something real bad is gonna happen. Worse than what’s gonna happen to you all here. Much worse.”

Cooper gestured with his shotgun for us to step out of the boat and onto the island. “Go on.” He said. 

Logan grabbed Allen and led him onto the grass, and I followed, almost slipping into the water as the boat started pulling away. We helped the other family onto the shore, and as they stepped off, I tried to remember their names. They’d introduced themselves at the start of the tour, but my mind was blank. They were simply The Father, The Mother, and The Daughter.  

Cooper said just a few more words. “There’s some folks around here who think you’re about to meet a God. I don’t know if I agree with that. But I’ll tell you this. Sometimes these things will let some of you go. But first you have to figure out what it wants.”

Logan and the parents of the other family all talked over each other, asking the beginnings of questions, of accusations, and Cooper cut them off by firing a shot in the air. 

“I don’t have time for any questions. But good luck. And I am sorry about this. Truly.”

And with that, he gunned the engine and left us on the island listening to the wailing sirens above. 

Logan and the parents of the other family began arguing almost instantly about whether to stay on the island or take our chances in the swamp. I tuned them out, and I started walking the perimeter of the strange building. Wanting to get away from the arguing, Allen joined me. He grabbed my hand, a gesture that normally sent me into a panic with its painful familiarity. But amidst an external crisis, it was almost comforting. 

Allen said: “This is bad, isn’t it?”

I’d forgotten Allen’s exact age, but he seemed past the stage of growth where he had to be lied to in an emergency. 

“Yeah, I think it is.”

We circled to the far side of the building, and there were still no doors or windows anywhere in sight. Just the same corrugated brown metal. 

“I think we should get away from here,” Allen said. “Alligators don’t attack people often. We should swim away.”

The sirens sounded as if they might be starting to quiet, and my mind raced trying to figure out what was supposed to happen when they stopped. Was this some elaborate prank? Were we being left at the entrance of some secret government base to be experimented on? What the hell had Crazy Cooper (if that even was his real name) meant by “meeting a God?”

I’d done my best to avoid Allen since Logan had become his caretaker, but one thing I knew without a doubt was that this boy knew a lot about animals. So if he seemed to think we had a decent chance of the gators leaving us alone, I believed him. 

As we circled back around, Logan and the Father of the other family were still arguing. 

As the sirens died down, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity, the sheer surrealness of whatever was happening under the hot Florida sun. 

But then the sirens quieted enough to hear another noise start up.

The noise was coming from within the trapezoid. And it sounded almost like a massive computer booting up. There was a loud whirring intercut with small beeps. Then, as the sirens silenced completely, another noise joined it, that of metal creaking and unseen machinery grinding and whirring. 

At long last, the anomaly I’d been watching the skies for appeared above us. But it wasn’t a storm or a missile or a cloud of toxic chemicals. It was the ceiling of the trapezoid opening, the flaps raising high up to split the structure down the middle. 

Just as the strange noises of the trapezoid had replaced the sirens above, a sound from within the structure itself began to overtake the metallic shifting as the flaps came to a halt. 

A noise that sounded like the chatter of thousands of birds all at once erupted. It was deafening. And though it reminded me so much of birdsong, it started and stopped and glitched like something machine-made. Then, a cry sang out that dwarfed them all. A shriek so sharp and hideous we all covered our ears. And I don’t know why, but I ducked instinctively. 

And with that, my survival instincts kick-started. I grabbed Logan and Allen's hands, and pulled them towards the water. I’d take my chances in the swamp over dealing with whatever was about to emerge from the Trapezoid. 

The family followed us, and together we all plunged into the swamp. For just a second, I felt the instant relief that came with diving under the water. The cool escape from the burning sun, the weightlessness. Then we surfaced, and our splashing shattered the blue reflection of the sky to reveal the orange water underneath. 

We all swam at different paces, the Mother and Daughter outpacing the rest of us, clearly practiced swimmers. The Father and I lagged further behind, dog paddling our way through the swamp. And behind us all trudged Logan and Allen. Logan was struggling, simultaneously keeping the boy’s head above water and trying to give him a crash course in how to swim. 

Realizing I was getting ahead, I slowed down, and I tried to pull them forward as much as I could. But Allen was dragging Logan, and he was dragging me, and it was hard to tell if we were moving any faster at all. The family ahead of us only swam further and further ahead. 

The shrieking call that was coming from the island, from that strange structure, halted all at once. And for the first time since the sirens started, the world was quiet, save for our splashing and gasping. 

Then a crack rang out, like a tiny clap of thunder, and the wind picked up all at once, and above us, the sky went dark. 

I looked up, not understanding as something massive moved overhead. But Logan processed it faster. He threw Allen at me, and he yelled, “Go!” And then the sky came crashing down into the swamp around us. 

I was tumbling backward, holding onto Allen for dear life. Water came into my mouth, my nose, my lungs. It tasted salty and bitter. When I surfaced, the water looked darker, more crimson, but it faded quickly. Back to the patchwork of orange with blue and green reflections from the sky and the mangroves above. As I choked and coughed, I stared at the water, and I realized the cool reflections on the waves were broken up by more than just glimpses below. 

Up in the sky, perched on a tree above us was a monster. 

Its head looked not unlike the crocodile we’d seen. But just as the crocodile had made the alligators look almost friendly in comparison, this thing made the crocodile look tame. Its face was rough, scaly. But rather than brown or gray, it was pale, almost blue on the face and neck. As it turned its head, long black bristles coming from its spine bounced around, like matted, stringy hair. 

Its eyes were dark, nearly black, and its arms were strange, wrinkled and stubby, with long claws that dripped red down its body. And for a second I watched what was happening in abstract. Dark blood bubbled down pale scaly flesh, turning the water below it red. Crunches and cracks echoed across the water. A bright blue shirt slowly turned crimson. And fleshy membranes shuffled around as the creature gorged itself. 

By the time I realized what I was actually seeing. By the time I realized Logan was dead, I was already swimming away. 

I looked back just long enough to confirm my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. That what I was seeing was actually happening. And I saw the beast stretch out one of its stubby arms to catch a piece of falling flesh. I saw the wrinkled flesh smooth out into a massive wing. 

By the time we’d gotten far enough away for me to think, the Family, the strangers, were almost out of our sight. But as they grew tired, Allen and I caught up. He’d figured out a serviceable dog paddle, enough not to go under. And I tried my hand at the overhand swimming I hadn’t done since high school gym class.

I processed the news of Logan’s death just enough to understand it, and to compartmentalize it. A skill I’d perfected over the years. There was no time for grief when there was a sudden orphan to contend with. And on top of that, a monster in the watery woods. 

We caught up to the family, and they were talking about what we’d just seen, what the monster was. They were speculating about gods and radioactive waste and long-lost dinosaurs. And I swam along, listening. With doting on Allen, showing him how to swim better, I didn’t have the breath to think about anything beyond keeping my head above water. 

Eventually, Allen was too tired to keep up, and I had to help drag him. We both lagged behind the others. And finally, I spoke up. 

“Could one of you guys help me with him?” 

The family all looked at each other. The Daughter, offended at the suggestion, the Mother, vaguely pitying, and the Father, not making any visible expression. He was in survival mode, just as I was. 

“You’ve got this, sweetheart." The Mother said. “We’re not gonna carry your kid for you.” 

I didn’t respond. And they kept swimming. It became clear that they’d tolerate me if I could keep up. But if I couldn’t, we were on our own. 

I thought about swimming off on our own anyway, just getting it over with. Anger had always cut through my focus so much more easily than sadness. But when an alligator surfaced just feet away, I decided it was best to stay with other potential sources of food. 

Every time a gator surfaced in our sight, no matter how far, I flinched. Likewise, every time a bird flew overhead. The white cranes and baby blue herons reminded me so much of the monster that had killed Logan. 

Anytime I felt tears threaten to spill or my throat tighten up, I reminded myself we needed to survive. And I pushed those feelings down further and further. 

The gators we saw were mostly small, and they left us alone. Until we turned a tangled bend in the swamp and came face to face with the head of a truly massive specimen. The water was clear enough to see part of its body beneath the surface. If it wanted to attack us, we stood no chance. 

Something splashed into the water behind me, and a quick glance revealed two baby alligators swimming quickly away. 

I turned back around just in time to see the massive alligator in front of us swish its tail and charge forward. I pushed back as far as I could to the mangrove roots behind me. I covered Allen's face with my arm, and I closed my eyes. 

The water turned to rapids around us, and I braced myself for gnashing teeth, for death, but it didn’t come. 

I opened my eyes and saw the alligator behind us now. It was chomping and shaking, with a tiny scaly tail being pulled into its maw. It had chosen easier prey than us. 

We all kept on in silence, a stretch of shallow water allowing us to walk. Which was still grueling in the water, but less so than swimming. 

As I teetered on the edge of exhaustion, I contemplated the casual cannibalism we’d seen. And how much easier it would be to swim, to wade, if I was only carrying myself.

But before those thoughts could get too loud, we came upon an oasis in the swamp. A small grassy island, like the one the Trapezoid had been on. Only this one was empty. 

We all climbed ashore, and I realized just how close we’d cut it to nightfall. The golden rays of sunset were catching on the very tops of the grassy weeds, then they were off our island altogether. The sunbeams climbed up the trees within minutes, until every trace of gold was gone and we were left in the indigo twilight. 

The family fell asleep in the middle of the island, and Allen and I slept closer to the edge. The peril we were in activated some long-forgotten programming in my brain to sleep while I could, no matter what. I was out like a light. 

In what felt like the span of a single blink, I was awake again. And I knew instinctively not to move when danger was nearby. 

My mind raced, processing the monster, the swamp, Logan. And I stayed perfectly still because my brain had woken me up for a reason, which soon became apparent. The family beside us were talking in low voices. 

I heard the mother's voice, in a hoarse whisper, say, “It’s probably better this way. I mean, with parents that young, what kind of a future is that boy going to have anyway?”

The Father said, “We'll wait until we see it again, though. Don’t want to be hasty.”

The Mother asked, “How will you do it?” 

The Father replied, “Don’t worry about that, honey.”

The Daughter, either asleep or silently agreeing, said nothing.

I waited until they’d been quiet for a long time, until I felt the sun start warming my eyelids. Then I opened them, and made a loud show of yawning and stretching awake. The family greeted us with the barest of pleasantries, which I returned. Little Allen, wide awake, as I suspected he had been for some time, said nothing. 

We decided to stay on the island as long as we could. If help was coming, they’d be just as likely to find us there as anywhere. Though the island was sizeable, enough that we could walk around a little, it felt claustrophobic, knowing that we were being plotted against. 

Sitting on the island, with no water and the sun beating down overhead, was nearly as exhausting as the swimming had been the previous day. In heat like this, surrounded only by brackish water, help would need to find us soon.

Allen and I were sitting with our feet in the water, watching the waves, when we spotted something that didn’t belong. Down a watery forest corridor, there was a pale pink shape moving towards us. It climbed like a monkey, using claws that emerged from the middle of its wings. I tapped Allen's shoulder to make sure he saw it. He nodded, and he whispered to me. “Look at its skin. It looks sunburnt.”

As it got closer, I realized he was right. The blue translucency we’d seen the day before had been replaced with pink and orange mottling that looked like the starts of blisters. 

The family, oblivious, was chatting behind us. I moved to stand up, and Allen tugged at me to wait. He whispered in my ear, “Its eyes look different. I think it’s hurt.” 

He was right; the eyes that had been dark gray before were now a pale blue. As if they had rapidly grown a film of cataracts. 

“I have an idea,” I whispered. I pulled up Allen and walked casually around the small island. Pretending to be looking in the water, we strolled to the other side of the island, putting the family between us and the creature. And then I grabbed a piece of driftwood and picked it up like I was just bored.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the beast draw closer. It sniffed the air and cocked its head, like it was relying on sound and smell alone. I took in its swollen red skin, the red darkest on the delicate wing membranes, and I wondered just where exactly it had come from. 

When it was close enough, I worried it might start making noise. I grabbed Allen's hand and squeezed, and together we stepped into the water, as quietly as we could. The splashing drew the beasts' attention. And though we were already behind the family, I wanted to be sure they would be the targets. I threw the driftwood at them, and hit the mother on the head. She cried out, and the monster snapped to attention. 

Its eyes, milky blue, and its skin a mottled pink and red reminded me uncomfortably of a person up close. Especially with the hair-like mane of bristles that ran down its back. I only studied it for a second though, before it lunged. 

I covered Allen's eyes, and instinctively shut my own. But as soon as I heard the first scream, we booked it. He was learning to swim remarkably fast. And though we put distance between the carnage quickly, the sounds only got louder as more of the family began screaming. Their cries carried incredibly cleanly over the water. 

But they stopped eventually. And we carried on. 

I felt bad at first. And then I thought about them swimming ahead of us the day before. How they’d told me they couldn’t help carry Allen through the water. And I stopped feeling bad. 

When we slowed down, Allen said: “I heard them talking last night.” He looked at me, wide-eyed. “You heard them too, right, and that’s why we did that?”

“Yes, I heard them too.” What I didn’t say was that I probably would have done what I did anyway. But he didn’t need to know that.

Once again we swam aimlessly, just trying to put distance between us and the monster. But a day without food and water was taking a serious toll on both of us. Allen asked me to help him swim, and I started dragging him through the water. It got harder and harder to paddle. More and more, I caught myself almost nodding off, on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. And if that happened, it was game over for both of us. 

As we trudged along, I thought again of the alligator and the babies it had eaten. And I pondered the spectrum of parenthood in nature, so much of which I’d learned from Allen. Some animals ate their young: alligators, komodo dragons. Some gave their lives for them, octopuses who starved to guard their eggs. Some; cats and dogs, raised them until that switch flipped that told them it had been long enough, and then they were just another animal. And some did their best, but they were ready to cut their losses and run when the going got tough; hamsters, gazelles. 

“I think it’s just an animal,” Allen said, unprompted. He’d been doing his own thinking about our situation. 

“Oh Yeah?” I asked him. 

“I think they brought it here from somewhere else. Because he’s sunburnt and he can’t see.” Allen started trying to paddle again, but his arms were slow. “If he’s just an animal we’ll be safe. Because he’s got enough to eat for a long time.”

He thought for a second longer before saying, “He’s not trying to be bad. It’s just how nature is.”

I felt my own arms start to slow, moving even more sluggishly than Allen. Dangerously sluggishly. And I pondered just how much more time I might have if I was only carrying me. A thought that had been growing louder and louder. A thought I’d always worried would win if I ever found myself in a situation like this. But I didn’t let it, at least not yet. And I kept one arm in the water to steady Allen.

And before those dark thoughts could get too loud, we both drew our eyes to something unusual. The trees ahead looked strange; Geometric and smooth. And as we approached, I realized there were no leaves above the strange roots. 

Only when we touched them, and felt something even harder than the tree roots, did I realize what they were. We’d come to a massive skeleton. 

The bones plateaued up top, and using the last of my strength, I hauled us up onto something smooth and flat. A giant bone akin to a sternum, with smaller ones arcing down into the water. 

Exhausted, we both caught our breath. And once we had, we sat up to try and puzzle out what creature we’d found. 

The neck extended out ahead of us, tangling in the mangroves, and making it harder to parse. But once my eyes followed the bones to their destination, they rested on the creature’s skull. 

It was massive. It had huge eyes, and a nose hole in the top of its head. It looked like a snake skull or a lizard, but it was the size of a whale. It looked like a dragon. Hell, maybe it was. 

It had clearly been here a long time. The bones were stained a little above the waterline, and small vines were starting to take over. I looked all around us, but it was hard to make out any limbs; the swamp had done what it could to hide this wondrous anomaly. 

We lay there for what felt like hours when Allen asked: “Should we keep moving?” 

And I told him, “I think this is as far as I can go.”

We watched the water for any sign of rescue, and the forest around us forgot about our presence. Water birds flew close, and gators drifted lazily past. At one point the two intersected and a heron was snapped up by the hungry jaws of the swamp. 

“Did you know birds and alligators are related?” Allen asked me.

I was pretty sure he’d told me that before, but to pass the time I said, “No, I didn’t.”

“They’re both related to dinosaurs. Even more than snakes and turtles and lizards.” He paused. “Maybe that’s what we saw, an alligator bird.” 

And I said, “Maybe we saw a dinosaur.” 

“Maybe,” he said. And his tiny forehead wrinkled as he pondered the ramifications of that. 

As the sun started to dip, I began to feel delirious. The water moving hurt my head, and I would get random jolts that felt like I was falling even though I knew I wasn't.

As I started to get sleepy, I wondered if I would wake up. How fast did dehydration kill you under the hot tropical sun?

When I heard the familiar hum of a fanboat, I thought I was imagining it, simply wishing I was hearing it. Until it grew too loud to ignore. 

As it approached, we both went from overjoyed to anxious, to scared, as the driver got within range. It was Crazy Cooper himself. And though I could only imagine he’d come back to finish the job, I knew if we hopped into the water it would be just as much of a death sentence. 

He idled next to us, and he said, “This is one of my favorite places in the swamp. It reminds me why we do what we do.”

Cooper continued, casually, “Get in, guys. You made it through the day, so I’m allowed to bring you out.”

He waved a water bottle in our face, and together we decided that whatever fate awaited us at his hands, it would be better than dying of thirst out here. 

We both chugged water, and Cooper took off. Allen started to ask him questions: what was happening, where we were going. But Cooper was evasive. He said, “I’m taking you back to shore. You all can try to talk to the police if you want, but they won’t believe you.” He paused. “They wouldn't understand what’s happening here.”

I didn’t try to press further. We rode in silence then. But when we spotted a pale pink form climbing through the trees, I nudged Allen. And we got one last look at the monster that had hunted us. It looked to be panting, its massive chest rising and falling. And its skin was deteriorating further, red burns blooming into blood that dripped down its wings. And I felt sorry for it, for just a moment. 

I suspected it had no more clue about what had happened here than we did. 

When Cooper dropped us off back at the dock, he told us how to walk to the police station if we wanted. Our car, Logan's car, was gone. As I stared up at the garish, friendly alligator statue, I wondered just how many people had looked up at that stupid thing on their last day alive. 

We walked in a haze through the small tourist town. Back in survival mode, I decided my next move. 

“Do you know how to get in contact with your grandma?”I asked Allen. 

“Yeah, but I don’t like her. She can be a real B word.” Then, as if realizing that might have gone over my head, he added: “If you know what that means.”

I laughed a little at that. But he wasn’t going to distract me from my mission. “Okay, but do you know her phone number, if you had to call her?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t want to go live with her.” 

He stopped walking. And he took a deep breath before he said: “Uncle Logan told me you’d already had kids, or something like that, and you didn’t want any more.” 

I pulled Allen forward, just as I had in the swamp, guiding him to the doors of the police station. “Something like that,” I said. 

“What happened to your kids?” He asked. 

“I’ll tell you all about it later.” I coaxed him into the double doors, feeling just a hint of glorious AC. 

I told him, “Go on ahead, I just need a minute, and I’ll be right in.” He hesitated, but he let go of my hand, and he stepped forward.

What I wanted to say, but couldn’t bring myself to, was “This is as far as I can go.” Instead I said, “I’ll be right back.” And before the doors even closed, I was running.

Thank you for tuning in to this episode of the Podcast inside your House! To hear every tale of terror as they are released, subscribe to our show on your podcast app or on Youtube or follow us on Instagram, Tumblr and Bluesky. Until Next Time; Remember that what happens in Florida stays in Florida.