Clark gazed out the window at the bridge. He hugged Charley closer to him.

Dad began steering the car over the old wooden planks. They rumbled and groaned under the weight.

I held my breath as we slowly rolled across. This bridge can’t hold us, I thought. No way.

Dad drove very, very slowly.

It seemed to take forever to ride across.

Clark clung to Charley. He kept his eyes out the window, glued to the bridge.

When we finally neared the end, I let out a long whoosh of air.

And then I gasped—as a deafening explosion rocked the car.

“Nooo!” Clark and I both screamed as the car swerved wildly.

Skidded out of control.

It crashed into the side of the old bridge.

Plowed right through the old wood.

“We–we’re going down!” Dad cried.

I shut my eyes as we plunged into the swamp.

We hit hard, with a loud thud.

Clark and Charley bounced all over the backseat. When the car finally slid to a stop, they were sitting on top of me.

“Is everyone okay?” Mom asked in a shaky voice. She turned to the back.

“Uh-huh,” I replied. “I guess.”

We all sat quietly for a moment.

Charley broke the silence with a soft whimper.

“Wh-what happened?” Clark stammered.

“Flat tire.” Dad sighed. “I hope the spare is okay. There’s no way we’re going to get help at night in the middle of a swamp.”

I leaned out the window to check out the tire. Dad was right. It was totally flat.

Boy, were we lucky, I thought. Lucky this was a low bridge. Otherwise …

“Okay, everybody out of the car,” Mom interrupted my thoughts. “So Dad can change the tire.”

Clark took a long look out the car window before he opened the door. I could tell he was afraid.

“Better be careful, Clark,” I said as he swung his short, stubby legs out the door. “The swamp monster likes low targets.”

“That’s funny, Gretchen. Really funny. Remind me to laugh.”

Dad headed for the trunk to find the jack. Mom followed. Clark and I stepped into the swamp.

“Oh, gross!” My brand-new white high-tops sank into the thick black mud.

I let out a long sigh.

How could anyone live in a swamp? I wanted to know. It was so gross out here.

The air felt thick and soupy. So hot, it was hard to breathe.

As I pulled my hair back into a scrunchie, I glanced around.

I couldn’t see much. The sky had darkened to black.

Clark and I drifted away from the car. “Let’s explore while Dad fixes the tire,” I suggested.

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” Clark murmured.

“Sure it is,” I urged. “There’s nothing else to do. And it’s better than standing around here, waiting. Isn’t it?”

“I—I guess,” Clark stammered.

We took a few steps into the swamp. My face began to tingle and itch.

Mosquitoes! Hundreds of them.

We ducked and dodged, frantically brushing them off our faces, off our bare arms.

“Yuck! It’s disgusting out here!” Clark cried. “I’m not staying here. I’m going to Atlanta!”

“It’s not this buggy at Grandma’s house,” Mom called out.

“Oh, sure.” Clark rolled his eyes. “I’m going back to the car.”

“Come on,” I insisted. “Let’s just see what’s over there.” I pointed to a patch of tall grass up ahead.

I stomped through the mud, glancing over my shoulder—to make sure Clark was following me. He was.

As we reached the grass, we could hear a loud rustling deep in the blades. Clark and I peered down, straining to see in the dark.

“Don’t wander too far,” Dad warned, as he and Mom pulled our luggage from the trunk, searching for a flashlight. “There might be snakes out there.”