Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

Next, she handed out maps. “I downloaded these from the Internet before we left the motel. As you can see, the Dismal Swamp is basically a rectangle. Unfortunately for us, it’s a very large rectangle. Looking at only the Virginia half, we’re still talking over a hundred thousand acres. That’s going to be a bit much for seven people.”

Mac took one of the maps. The printout showed a large, shadowed area, crisscrossed by a maze of lines. He followed the various markings with his finger. “What are these?”

“The dashed lines represent hiking and biking trails bisecting the swamp. The broader lines here are unpaved roads. The thin dark lines reveal the old canals, most hand-dug by slaves hundreds of years ago. When the water levels were higher, they would use the canals to harvest the cypress and juniper trees.”

“And now?”

“Most of the canals are marshy messes. Not enough water for a canoe, but not dry enough to walk.”

“What about the roads?”

“Wide, flat, grassy; you don’t even need four-wheel drive.” Levine already understood where he was going with this. She added, “Technically speaking, visitors aren’t permitted to bring vehicles onto the roads, but as for what happens under the cover of night…”

Mac nodded. “Okay. So our guy needs to get an unconscious, hundred-and-twenty-pound body into the heart of the swamp. He’d want to take her someplace remote, where she wouldn’t immediately be found by others. He’d need a road for access, however, because carrying a woman through a hundred thousand acres would be a bit much. Where does that leave us?”

They all studied the map. The marked hiking paths were fairly centralized, with a clear grid pattern occupying most of the west side of the swamp. Closest to them was a simple loop labeled a boardwalk trail. They immediately dismissed that as too touristy. Farther in lay the dark oval shadow of Lake Drummond, also highly populated with hiking trails, roads, and feeder ditches. Beyond the lake, however, moving farther east, north, and south, the map became a solid field of gray, only periodically bisected by old, unpaved roads. This is where the swamp became a lonely place.

“We need to drive in,” Kimberly murmured. “Make it to the lake.”

“Branch off from there,” Mac agreed. He looked at Levine intently. “He wouldn’t leave her by a road. Given the grid pattern, it would be too easy for her to walk out.”

“True.”

“He wouldn’t use a canal either. Again, she could just follow it straight out of the swamp.”

Kathy nodded silently.

“He took her into the wild,” Mac concluded softly. “Probably in this northeastern quadrant, where the trees and thick underbrush are disorienting. Where the predator population is higher and that much more dangerous. Where she can scream all she wants and no one will hear a thing.”

He fell silent for a moment. It was already so hot out this morning. Sweat trickled down their faces, staining their shirts. The air felt too heavy to breathe, making their hearts beat faster and their lungs labor harder, and it was barely sunrise. Conditions were harsh, bordering on brutal. What must the girl be going through, trapped here for over three days?

“Going there ourselves will be dangerous,” Kathy said quietly. “We’re talking brier thickets so dense in places you can’t even hack your way through. One minute you might be walking on hard-packed earth; the next you’ll have sunk down to your knees in sucking mud. You need to be on the lookout for bears and bobcats. Then there’s the matter of cottonmouth snakes, copperhead snakes, and the canebrake rattler. Normally they keep to themselves. But once off the trails, we’re intruding in their terrain, and they won’t take it kindly.”

“Canebrake rattler?” Kimberly spoke up nervously.

“Shorter than its cousin, with a thick, squat head that will scare the piggy out of you. Cottonmouth and copperhead will be around the wet, swampy patches. The canebrake rattler will prefer rocks and piles of dead leaves. Finally, we have the bugs. Mosquitoes, yellow flies, gnats, chiggers, and ticks… Most of the time, none of us considers the insect population. But the overwhelming swarms of mosquitoes and yellow flies are what help the Dismal Swamp to be considered one of the least hospitable places on earth.”

“No kidding,” Ray muttered darkly. He was already swatting at the air around his face. The first few mosquitoes had picked up their scent, and judging from the growing buzz in the air, the rest were on their way.

Ray and Brian dug in their packs for bug repellent, while the mood grew subdued. If the girl was in the wild lands of the swamp, then of course that’s where they would go. No one liked it, but no one was arguing it either.

“Look,” Kathy said tersely, “the biggest dangers today are dehydration and heatstroke. Everyone needs to be drinking at least one liter of water an hour. Filtered water is best, but in a pinch, you can drink the swamp water. It looks like something that’s been used to wash dirty socks, but the water is actually unusually pure, preserved by the tannic acids in the bark of the juniper, gum, and cypress trees. As a matter of fact, they used to fill barrels with this water for long sea voyages. The habitat and water have changed some since then, but given today’s temperatures…”

“Drink,” Mac said.

“Yes, drink a lot. Liquids are your friends. Now, assume for a moment that we get lucky and find Tina alive: First priority with anyone suffering severe heatstroke and dehydration is to reduce core body temperature. Douse her with water. Massage her limbs to increase circulation. Give her water, but also plenty of salty snacks, or better yet a saline solution. Don’t be surprised if she fights you. Victims of extreme heatstroke are often delusional and argumentative. She may be ranting and raving, she may seem perfectly lucid, then lash out at you the next instant. Don’t try to reason with her. Get her down, and get her hydrated as fast and efficiently as you can. She can blame you for the bruised jaw later if need be. Other questions?”

No one had any. The mosquitoes were arriving in force now, buzzing their eyes, their ears, their mouths. Ray and Brian took some halfhearted swipes at the winged insects with their hands. The mosquitoes didn’t seem to notice. They all doused with bug repellent. The mosquitoes didn’t seem to mind that either.

Last-minute check of gear now. Everyone had water, first-aid kits, and whistles. Everyone had a map and plenty of bug spray. That was it, then. They loaded their packs back into their vehicles. Ray opened the gate to the main road leading to Lake Drummond. And one by one, they drove into the swamp.

“Scary place,” Ennunzio murmured as the first dark, muddy canal appeared on their right and snaked ominously through the trees.

Mac and Kimberly didn’t say anything at all.

Things grow bigger in a swamp. Kimberly ducked her head for the fourth time, trying to wind her way through the thick woods of twisted cypress trees and gargantuan junipers. Tree trunks grew wider than the span of her arms. Some leaves were bigger than her head. In other places, tree limbs and vines were so grossly intertwined, she had to take off her backpack to squeeze through the narrow space left between.

Sun was a distant memory now, flickering in a tree canopy far above. Instead, she, Mac, and Ennunzio walked through a silent, boggy hush. The spongy ground absorbed the sound of their footsteps, while the rich scent of overripe vegetation filled their nostrils and made them want to gag.

On a different day, in different circumstances, she supposed she would’ve found the swamp beautiful. Bright orange flowers from the trumpet vines dappled the swamp floor. Gorgeous blue butterflies appeared in the beams of sunlight, playing tag among the trees. Dozens of green and gold dragonflies darted along their path, offering delicate flashes of color amid the deepening gloom.