It was easily midafternoon by now and the light was already failing. I finally had to get out and pull the canoe through a nest of tangled grass. I stumbled and jerked the boat to one side and Sherry gasped in such a high, keening tone I went to her side and couldn't stop repeating, "Sorry, babe, sorry, sorry, sorry."
She was grimacing, probably a good sign. And she reached down to put a hand on the injured thigh, another indication that she knew her pain and was still cognizant of where it was coming from. While I'd still been paddling I'd set the open cooler out in the space between us trying to catch whatever rainwater would accumulate inside. I now poured it carefully into one of the empty bottles and held it to her lips. She drank, almost greedily, until it was done.
"We're here, babe. I'm going to go find the camp," I said to her closed eyes. She tightened her lids and weakly whispered "OK."
"I'll be right back."
I picked up the flashlight we'd brought and stepped easily but with a purpose, worried about the sharp branch points and possible sink holes that could end up leaving two injured on the island. I had to climb over a couple of downed tree trunks to get to higher ground and then started looking for a leaning tree trunk that I might climb to get a higher view. I was looking for the edge of a structure, an unnatural right angle, a glint of metal or a flat plane of painted wood. About a hundred yards from the canoe I found the thick secondary limb of a tree that was partially down but still attached to the higher main trunk. I climbed it on all fours until I gained some height. From here I could see edges of water to the southeast and then picked up the shape of bent metal directly to the west. The color was dusty copper but there was also a patina of green at its edges, an old-time sheet metal roof, popular out here and similar to the one on my own river shack. It wasn't more than fifty yards away and probably would have been invisible under the cover of the tree canopy but stood out now through the stripped branches. I traced a path through the vegetation that would offer the least resistance and then jumped down to follow it.
The angles became clearer within minutes. After wading through a couple of low mud bogs and climbing over several downed trees I began to make out the body of the structure, wood paneling that had turned ash gray from the weather, but was standing straight, an optimistic sign. By the time I reached the raised platform of the camp, my hope was rising. The building, simple and square, was intact but for the metal roof at the northwest corner that had been peeled back by the wind, the angle I'd seen from my tree stand. There was some splintered damage below it in the wall, but the deck planks seemed untouched though the film of mud told me that water had risen over them at one point. The windows were all shuttered with the old-style, wood-slat covers, but when I bent to look up through the spacing of those slats, there appeared to be some other kind of barrier besides glass behind them. I walked around to the south side, found the only door, and tried the handle. Locked. And locked tight. The lock set was made of stainless steel but had oddly been painted some kind of faux iron. I shook it hard and then gave the middle of the door a substantial butt with my shoulder, half of my weight behind it. Not a budge or even the slightest give. The builder had been very careful.
I circled back to the northwest corner to see what the storm damage might offer and found a possibility. The west side was more exposed than the southeast where we'd approached. There were the remnants of a canal that was now choked with branches but navigable. I could row Sherry around and get her very close. Under the bent roof corner the siding was peeled away by the fingers of the wind and there was a black, open space in the top three feet of the wall, an opening big enough for a man to climb through. I dragged a downed tree limb across the deck and propped one end against the wall and used it as a step up and then took a good jump, high enough to get a grip on the bottom slat of ruined paneling and pulled myself up. Hanging with one arm I got the flashlight and shone a beam inside. There was space and something gray- white below, possibly a bed, straight down the inside wall. Two wall studs were still in place but I could probably squeeze my chest between them and drop, headfirst, inside. I felt like some amateur cat burglar in a half-assed break-in, but figured if I could get inside I could unlock the door and search the place. I put the flashlight back in my pocket-I hate that thing where Tom Cruise puts the flashlight in his mouth while he's being lowered into some dark fortress. He's going to fall and gag himself with that thing someday. Then I got a good grip on an exposed ceiling joist and pulled myself halfway up and through the wall opening. After much shimmying and tearing of clothing and clunking of boot soles, I managed to drop to the inside, hands extended out, and found my first bit of luck by half-falling onto the edge of a bed before landing on the floor. It was noisy and graceless, but there wasn't anyone within miles to hear or even care.
Only the dull streaks of light seeping through the hole I'd created gave the room any illumination. And I must have been dunking of some kind of cop thing from my past because I rolled first, staying low, and then stayed silent. Finally I slipped the flashlight out and scanned the place: Table and two chairs. Kitchen cupboards and sink against one wall. Two beds, bare mattresses, lined up foot to foot against my wall. There was something like a desk against the third wall, next to the outside door. All the windows were darkened and I used the flashlight beam to help me move to the door but still banged the corner of the table with my thigh and the scraping noise it made as its legs dragged across the floorboards made me shiver. Not a scared shiver, but unsettling, like I'd moved something that had not moved in years. I found the doorknob, stainless and substantial and locked. I twisted out the button, tried it, and when the door still didn't move I scanned higher and found another heavy-duty deadbolt and snapped it unlocked. It took a couple of yanks to get the door open; the frame was probably warped out here in the humidity and heat. I swung it wide to let the natural light stream in, and the outside air actually smelled fresh compared with what spilled out of the old place. I took a useless look around the deck and then stepped back inside.
The light did little for the place. There were no pictures, hanging fish trophies, or even a calendar on the walls. There were no magazines on the table, no coffee cups filled with pens on the bare desktop, no dishes in the sink drainer. But mounted on the wall above the kitchenette counter was a blue and white metal box labeled FIRST AID KIT. I slid it off its hooks and went through the contents: rolled bandages, tape, antibiotic cream and a bottle of antiseptic, some sterile gauze pads, and a thermometer. There was even some insect repellant and aspirin. I could probably wait to re-dress Sherry's wound here, but the aspirin and bug dope I would take back to the canoe. I set them aside and then moved down to what appeared to be a half-size refrigerator at the end of the counter. Inside there were three half-gallon plastic jugs of water, at which I smiled. I took one out, noted that the top was still sealed, and then twisted it off. I still took a precautionary whiff of the contents and then drank in long gulps. I had not realized how dehydrated I'd become from the rowing and the heat that, despite the cloud cover, had drained me. I even contemplated pouring some of the water over my head in the sink but then thought better of the conservation of the gift. Who knew how long we might have to stay here? After another drink I looked again inside the refrigerator and found two old cans of Del Monte sliced peaches and a single wrapped package. Inside the plastic package, surrounded by tinfoil, was a bar of solid chocolate about the size of a man's wallet. Since the refrigerator was without power, the chocolate was the consistency of warm butter, but I still pulled off a piece from the end and devoured it. The energy is what I needed, sugar to snap some of my dulled synapses back into shape. I took another gulp of water and with a clearer eye looked around the room again. The door to the second room was off-center and to the right. I stepped over to it but my eye picked up the flash of a metal box against the frame at chest level. I used the flashlight again and found myself looking at a digital locking device. I'd seen them many times before. But why the hell does someone have one on a room out in the middle of the Everglades?