The ground was soggy beneath me, and the smell of the nearby marsh was overpowering. I felt my strength waning with each passing minute, and I knew I had to draw on some inner reserve if I was to survive this. I tried to scream but could only muster a low groan. I was scared. Like crazy afraid. I realized that I had to fight him, I had to resist, had to fight my way out of this. I had to make it back to my children.
My children need me!
Damian stopped and put my body down, and I knew I had to act fast. I chose my moment carefully and then got on my knees. He was tired from dragging me, and that gave me an advantage. I lunged forward, pushing him away with all my weight. He fell backward, and I scrambled away from him, the mud and vegetation tearing at my feet as I ran. I could hear his curses behind me, his threats to finish me off.
“I will find you, Wilde. You can’t escape.”
But I didn’t look back. I just kept running as fast as I could. And that’s when I heard the gun go off. I felt a sharp pain in my right shoulder and fell to the muddy ground, my face landing in muddy water. I gasped for air, feeling the water seep into my nose and mouth, filling it with the taste of dirt. My vision blurred, and I saw the world through a hazy filter. The pain in my shoulder was immense, but I knew I couldn’t stop. I had to keep going. I tried to push myself up, but had no strength left.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The pain was excruciating, and I knew I had to fight through it. I had to keep going. My survival instinct kicked in and I started to crawl, dragging my wounded body through the muck.
The swamp seemed to stretch on forever, the murky water up to my waist. I stumbled and fell, the pain in my shoulder sending shockwaves through my body. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself back up, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I made it back on dry ground and crawled forward.
The sound of Damian’s footsteps grew closer, and I knew that I was running out of time. I had to come up with a plan, and fast. I looked around for anything that could help me, and my eyes landed on a thick branch nearby. I reached out, grabbed it, and hoisted myself up, using it as a crutch.
“That’s it,” he said behind me, pointing the gun at me. “This is as far as you’ll go. It’s over. There’s no way out.”
As Damian approached, I took a deep breath and swung the branch at him with all my might. It slammed into the side of his head, and he fell to the ground. He was still conscious, but barely. I knew I had to act fast before he regained his strength.
I stumbled over to him, and with shaking hands, picked up the gun that he had dropped. Hands shaking heavily, I pointed it at him.
“No, this is it, Doyle.” I stuttered, through the pain, teeth gritted. “This is as far as you’ll go.”
He laughed. “You’ll never find your way out of this swamp. The sun is about to set. We’re in too deep. You’ll die here before you find your way out. We both will.”
That made me smile. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I said, kneeling in front of him. “I grew up here exploring every inch of this swamp. I know every tree trunk and every lake. I know exactly where we are.”
It was the truth. This place was like home to me. I knew which way to turn and which route to go, and I was counting on that knowledge to save my life.
SEVENTY-SIXMARISSA
Marissa was exhausted. Her muscles ached from the hours of confinement in the back of the van; her skin had become coated in dirt as she’d wriggled around trying to break free of her restraints; and her eyes felt heavy and swollen from crying. She had done her best to stay quiet, and maybe she had succeeded because the footsteps had come and gone. She had heard commotion next to her, and something hitting the ground with a thud. She had remained completely still, and barely taken a breath, not wanting Damian to realize how close she was to breaking out of the rug she was bound in. She had wiggled it carefully, and started to roll from side to side, once she realized the footsteps were gone, when at last she had managed to free herself. Breathing agitated, she had scrambled to untangle her legs from the rug and opened the door of the van. As she looked outside, she heard a gun go off, and she fell backward into the van, startled. It took her a long time before she finally dared to peek out again.
That’s when she realized she was by the entrance of the Green Swamp. She immediately realized this was where Damian wanted to dump her body. That had to be why he had taken her there. Here, the body would never be found, and it would be unrecognizable before dawn even came. The animals would tear her to pieces. She swallowed hard and felt so fearful that it almost had become her fate. Then she hurried outside, and she ran. As soon as her feet hit asphalt, she knew civilization was there somewhere at the end of the road.
But the road was dark, not a sign of any streetlights anywhere. Marissa frantically ran, following the road to wherever it might lead her. She looked around for any signs of life, a house, or a car, but was met with nothing but darkness. Until suddenly, she saw a set of headlights moving toward her. It was a car. It was driving down the road and she made a split-second decision. She stopped in the middle of the road, waving her arms and screaming for help.
The driver of the car, a woman, immediately stopped and spotted Marissa standing in the middle of the road, her face streaked with tears. The woman lowered the window.
“What’s wrong? What are you doing out here all alone?”
She approached the car. “I need help,” she said. “Someone is trying to kill me. I escaped but… can you take me to Cocoa Beach? To the police station?”
“Y-yes of course, get in,” the woman said and nodded in understanding. She didn’t ask any questions. She simply unlocked the doors and motioned for Marissa to get in. With a feeling of immense relief, Marissa quickly climbed into the car, and the woman drove off.
“My name is Clara, what’s your name?” she asked as they rushed down the road, and Marissa could finally see lights from a town on the horizon.
“I’m… Mar—” she paused, then looked at the woman, before continuing. Crying heavily, she said with pride.
“My name is Kitty. Kitty Durham.”
SEVENTY-SEVENBILLIE ANN
Maybe I have overestimated myself, I thought. It had after all been years since I was last in this dense swamp. It was harder to find my way than I thought. The ground was soggy beneath my feet, and I could feel the thick humidity in the air. The trees were shrouded in shadows, and the eerie stillness of the swamp made my heart race. We had been walking for hours, but the sun was setting quickly and soon it would be too dark to find our way out.
Come on, Billie Ann, I can do better than that.
“I told you. You’ll never make it out.” I gripped the gun tightly in my hand while Doyle taunted me, and he became louder with each step we took. His words echoed off the trees like a warning bell, but I kept my focus on finding the trail I knew so well. With every stride I felt a growing sense of urgency, knowing that if we didn’t make it out before darkness fell, things could turn very dangerous indeed.
“We’re both going to die in here,” he said. “You will probably die first, with how much you’re bleeding from that wound in your shoulder. I give you about an hour, and then you’ll lose consciousness. I will then take the gun from you and leave you here to die.”
I chose to ignore him. The best I could. But he was right. What if I didn’t make it out? What if I had lost too much blood? Who would find Emma, alone in that house, where Doyle would return? And what had happened to Kitty? I was feeling the weakness already and dizziness was taking over. I could hear rustling in the bushes next to us. It could be anything at this hour. Deer, wild turkeys, maybe hogs, but also alligators or even black bears lived in these areas.
The mosquitoes were out in full force, humming an incessant chorus of angry buzzing around us. My shoulder ached from my injury and exhaustion was settling into my bones, making every movement heavy and stiff. Despite all this, I kept walking, eyes ahead and focused solely on finding some sign of safety.
The darkness began to deepen with each passing minute, and fear of the unknown grew larger with it. Doyle’s breath came out in labored rasps, matching my own rising tension as we desperately searched for an escape. We continued onward—shouldering our way through raw nature—until finally a glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon.
It looked like a small house. It was hard to tell in the dimness. I used every ounce of energy I had left to push forward toward it. As we got closer, my heart lifted with the hopes of safety and rescue, even as Doyle’s taunts grew louder.
“I told you, Billie Ann. You’ll never make it out alive.”
But I refused to listen to his words, letting the adrenaline and determination fuel my body.
As we burst through the trees and into a clearing, I saw a small hunting cabin nestled among the trees. Relief flooded through me as I realized that we might just make it out alive after all. Doyle’s breathing was ragged and uneven. I slowed down, and that was my mistake. He turned around and lunged at me.
“I’m not leaving this swamp with you still alive!”
Panic gripped me as I realized the true extent of his intentions. I had to act fast. Without hesitation, I aimed my gun at him. There was a split second when we both froze, locked in a deadly stare. Then he lunged at me again, grasping for the gun in my hand, and I pulled the trigger.
