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and zagged through the trees as though her way was marked in tiny lights, like the small county airport runways he'd observed throughout the statemost often located in the middle of a field. Chris had all he could manage to hold on to her hand and avoid knocking himself unconscious on a low-hanging tree branch. Bushes and trees with sharp prickers snapped at their clothes and tore at exposed flesh. His hands stung with minor scratches. His cheeks and nose stung with cold as needlelike sleet slapped against his face. The night became ever darker as the trees above thickened in rhythm with the thickening of the cloud cover. By the time D.J. slowed her steps Chris could barely make out the outline of her body in front of him. He took a step closer, trying to see what she stared at with so much interest. His shoe squelched ankle deep into icy mud. |
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"The heart of the swamp," she said. "If it was spring, this place would be waist high in green water." |
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"Sounds terrific. Let's come back for a visit then." |
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"I'll never understand why my father built the original cabin right off the edge of the swamp. The deer hide here. I guess he thought they might as well too. So can we." |
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She started off, and Chris hurried to catch up with her. Out of the black misty darkness appeared a cabin. |
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Mist? Chris looked up at the pitch-dark night. When had the mist descended? |
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The creeping, smoky tendrils looked pretty spooky. The building looked like an escapee from |
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