Wednesday, February 10, 2010
A Traveler's Tale, Part 3
Beginning can be found here
Day 2 (Continued)
The bayou was wet, cold, and above all else, it stank. I mean, it stank. The kind of stink you get after rubbing spoiled meat on Jen's face when she's sleeping, and she decides not to shower for weeks to make the plan backfire. I'm still not entirely sure that vengeance is the reason she showers so infrequently, but I like to tell myself it is.
Where was I? Oh, yes, waist deep in swamp water. We had been trudging on for hours and my limbs were going numb from the cold. Every so often, I would notice I still had feeling in them when something lurking in the muck would brush by me or, more often then not, bite me.
"Jen, I think that one was a snake," I said after feeling a particularly sharp bite in my leg, "isn't there anywhere we can go to get out of this water?"
She stopped in her tracks. "Do you hear that?" The bayou was alive with the croaks, chirps, and howls of its inhabitants, but between it all, there certainly was something else. It sounded like a persistent humming, and it was growing louder. "Swamp bees."
I wish her back wasn't to me, or else she would have seen the exasperated look I gave her; I had put my all into it. "I don't think swamp bees are a real concern, and I know a lot about that kind of stuff," I said, tapping on the hard cover of the Agoraphobe's Guide.
"Okay, smartass. If it's not swamp bees, what other logical explanation could it be?" We stood for a while, just listening to the sound grow closer; it began to sound less like bees and more mechanical. "Robot swamp be--"
"Look!" Darting between trees and shadows along the horizon was a fan boat propelled by a dark figure hunched over, peering into the murky depths. My better instincts were telling me to lay low, but the powerful neurotoxin coursing through my leg was telling me we might want to get out of the water.
"OI! OI, YOU!" Arms waving, sloshing through the water, Jen tried to hail over the fan boat. "DO YOU HAVE ANY KETCHUP PACKETS? OUR KETCHUP DUFFEL IS LOST AT SEA!"
The dark figured disappeared, but the whirring of the blades could still be heard. The noise seemed to be all around us simultaneously, but eventually the hum died down completely. Discouraged, we made to continue on, but were stopped before we even started. Somehow the smell had managed to get worse, and there was a persistent splashing coming from somewhere in the--
"Y'all'er lookin' fer a rahd?" From behind us came a voice like jambalaya--or what I would assume a voice like jambalaya would sound like--as the man on the fan boat rowed up to us silently, fan shut off, with a long, broken branch. He was covered head to toe in a black cloak, making his face impossible while he faced against the sun, but I can only assume he was odor personified by the strange and disturbing smells penetrating his cloak.
"Ketchup packets," said Jen, emphasizing her correction with corresponding hand gestures, "I said I wanted ketchup--"
"Yes, sir! We're cold and wet and incredibly lost, and we were wondering if we could hitch a ride...on your..." He kept staring at me. I could see one eye from the darkness of its hood, and it kept staring at me, unblinking, unmoving. It was a wide-eyed, terrifying stare that made me want to give up living. I'd forgotten what I was saying, so I backed away and hoped nobody noticed that I had just peed.
"It'll be gettin' dark 'ere soon, n' y'all don't wanna be out 'ere when it gets dark," came the spice of his words. "Y'all already seem spooked, you musta felt it comin'. I'll take y'all somewhere you kin get some grub in ya, keep ya safe fer the naght." He stood, politely waiting an answer. "Ah promise, ah won't baht."
Jen elbowed me hard in the ribs. "Grub, Alex. That means ketchup."
"What is with your sick fascination with ketchup?!"
She had already hopped on board the fan boat with the aid of the old ferryman and sat down, bouncing in her seat like a giddy child. The ferryman extended his hand to me in anticipation, but I hesitated. But what good was wading through the water alone going to do me? At least if he murdered us and used our bones as jewelry, we would die together; miserably and painstakingly. I grabbed his hand, and I got on the boat.
Continue on to part 4
-Alex
Day 2 (Continued)
The bayou was wet, cold, and above all else, it stank. I mean, it stank. The kind of stink you get after rubbing spoiled meat on Jen's face when she's sleeping, and she decides not to shower for weeks to make the plan backfire. I'm still not entirely sure that vengeance is the reason she showers so infrequently, but I like to tell myself it is.
Where was I? Oh, yes, waist deep in swamp water. We had been trudging on for hours and my limbs were going numb from the cold. Every so often, I would notice I still had feeling in them when something lurking in the muck would brush by me or, more often then not, bite me.
"Jen, I think that one was a snake," I said after feeling a particularly sharp bite in my leg, "isn't there anywhere we can go to get out of this water?"
She stopped in her tracks. "Do you hear that?" The bayou was alive with the croaks, chirps, and howls of its inhabitants, but between it all, there certainly was something else. It sounded like a persistent humming, and it was growing louder. "Swamp bees."
I wish her back wasn't to me, or else she would have seen the exasperated look I gave her; I had put my all into it. "I don't think swamp bees are a real concern, and I know a lot about that kind of stuff," I said, tapping on the hard cover of the Agoraphobe's Guide.
"Okay, smartass. If it's not swamp bees, what other logical explanation could it be?" We stood for a while, just listening to the sound grow closer; it began to sound less like bees and more mechanical. "Robot swamp be--"
"Look!" Darting between trees and shadows along the horizon was a fan boat propelled by a dark figure hunched over, peering into the murky depths. My better instincts were telling me to lay low, but the powerful neurotoxin coursing through my leg was telling me we might want to get out of the water.
"OI! OI, YOU!" Arms waving, sloshing through the water, Jen tried to hail over the fan boat. "DO YOU HAVE ANY KETCHUP PACKETS? OUR KETCHUP DUFFEL IS LOST AT SEA!"
The dark figured disappeared, but the whirring of the blades could still be heard. The noise seemed to be all around us simultaneously, but eventually the hum died down completely. Discouraged, we made to continue on, but were stopped before we even started. Somehow the smell had managed to get worse, and there was a persistent splashing coming from somewhere in the--
"Y'all'er lookin' fer a rahd?" From behind us came a voice like jambalaya--or what I would assume a voice like jambalaya would sound like--as the man on the fan boat rowed up to us silently, fan shut off, with a long, broken branch. He was covered head to toe in a black cloak, making his face impossible while he faced against the sun, but I can only assume he was odor personified by the strange and disturbing smells penetrating his cloak.
"Ketchup packets," said Jen, emphasizing her correction with corresponding hand gestures, "I said I wanted ketchup--"
"Yes, sir! We're cold and wet and incredibly lost, and we were wondering if we could hitch a ride...on your..." He kept staring at me. I could see one eye from the darkness of its hood, and it kept staring at me, unblinking, unmoving. It was a wide-eyed, terrifying stare that made me want to give up living. I'd forgotten what I was saying, so I backed away and hoped nobody noticed that I had just peed.
"It'll be gettin' dark 'ere soon, n' y'all don't wanna be out 'ere when it gets dark," came the spice of his words. "Y'all already seem spooked, you musta felt it comin'. I'll take y'all somewhere you kin get some grub in ya, keep ya safe fer the naght." He stood, politely waiting an answer. "Ah promise, ah won't baht."
Jen elbowed me hard in the ribs. "Grub, Alex. That means ketchup."
"What is with your sick fascination with ketchup?!"
She had already hopped on board the fan boat with the aid of the old ferryman and sat down, bouncing in her seat like a giddy child. The ferryman extended his hand to me in anticipation, but I hesitated. But what good was wading through the water alone going to do me? At least if he murdered us and used our bones as jewelry, we would die together; miserably and painstakingly. I grabbed his hand, and I got on the boat.
Continue on to part 4
-Alex
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