Still, it was the wild, and Fargo loved wild places of any kind. He drank in so much that was new. But he never for a moment forgot the dangers. He was always alert for snakes, always wary of alligators.
On the afternoon of the fourth day they came to a narrow channel of clear water.
“Where did this come from?” Fargo asked.
“The swamp is not all swamp.”
The Cajun stuck to the channel until a lightning-blasted tree appeared on the right bank. “This way,” he said, and struck off into more moss-ridden ranks of cypress.
Fargo was impressed at how confidently Namo found his way around. So much of the swamp looked exactly like so much else that it took long familiarity with the byways and landmarks to navigate with certainty.
They managed another mile before the sun rested on the rim of the world. The Cajun gazed to the west, frowned, and urged, “Paddle faster! There is a spot we must reach before dark.”
That spot turned out to be a broad hummock surprisingly thin of trees and growth. They hauled the pirogue from the water and walked over to the charred remains of a fire.
Namo pointed. “That is where I saw it.”
All Fargo saw was swamp and more swamp. The thing could be anywhere—if there even was a thing—but he held his peace. He chopped a tree for firewood and when he brought the last armload, supper was ready. Clovis had killed a snake and Namo had cut off the head and the tail and skinned it.
Fargo wasn’t all that fond of snake meat. He’d eaten it before, but it wasn’t one of his favorites. “What kind of snake was this?”
Namo thought a bit. “I don’t know as there is a word in English for it, mon ami. It is said the swamp is home to over a thousand and most are not known to anyone but those of us who live here.”
Fargo picked at the meat. Afterward they sat around making small talk. Toward midnight he lay down. His stomach growled and he willed it not to. So what if he was still hungry? It was no great inconvenience.
They were to take turns keeping watch, as always. Namo wanted Clovis to take the first turn and Fargo said it was fine by him.
The swamp was alive with noise. There was the usual riot of croaks and bellows and occasional roars and screeches, and as always, the insects.
Fargo started to drift off. He was on the cusp of slumber when a hand fell on his shoulder and shook him.
“Wake up, monsieur!”
“What is it?” Fargo rose onto his elbows.
Namo was on his feet with his rifle in his hands. Little Halette had sat up and was peering fearfully into the dark.
“Listen,” Clovis whispered.
Fargo heard, and his skin crawled.
7
From out of the dark heart of the swamp it wafted, an eerie cry, part shriek and part squeal. It went from a low pitch to a high screech and seemed to pulse and throb in the very air. Every other creature fell silent—the frogs, the alligators, even the bugs. The night was completely still save for the bellow of the beast.
“Mon Dieu!” Namo Heuse exclaimed.
Clovis let out a gasp.
As for Halette, she had one hand pressed to her throat and the other to her mouth. Her eyes were wide and she cast about as if she intended to flee.
“Stay calm, child,” Namo said. “The monster is far from here. It can’t harm us.”
Halette erupted into motion. But she didn’t run toward her father or her brother. She flew at Fargo and before he could gather his wits, she wrapped her arms around his legs and broke into loud sobs.
“We’re safe. Don’t worry.” Fargo patted her shoulder, not knowing what else to do.
Either Halette didn’t hear him or she didn’t believe him because she cried all the harder.
The other cry, the cry out of the swamp, faded. But it left the short hairs at the nape of Fargo’s neck prickling. Whatever made it had to be huge, exactly as the Cajun claimed.
As if Namo could read Fargo’s thoughts, he asked in breathless amazement, “Do you believe me now, mon ami?”
“I believe you,” Fargo said, adding, “One thing is for sure. That was no bear.” He looked down at the girl, who was still weeping and quaking. “Shouldn’t you do something?”
“Oh. Pardon.” Namo came over and began prying Halette’s fingers loose. She resisted, clinging to Fargo as a drowning child would cling to a floating log, but at last Namo succeeded and scooped her into his arms. “Ne vous en faites pas. I am here, daughter.”
Clovis was staring anxiously into the swamp. “What was that, Papa? What can make such a sound?”
Strangely, Fargo had the feeling he had heard something like it before but he couldn’t recollect exactly when or where.
“I don’t know what it is, nor do I care,” Namo was saying. “All that matters is it killed your mother. The three of us will not rest until we have avenged her.”
Fargo wondered if Namo included him or Halette in that “three.” “Whatever it is, you were right. It’s a long way off.”
“But will it stay a long way? I hope not. I hope it comes for us. Right now. Right here.”
“We shouldn’t have brought your kids.”
Namo snorted in annoyance. “We have been all through that. They are here and that is that.” He carried Halette to her blankets and laid her on her side. “I propose we get some sleep while we can. Morning will come too soon.”
Fargo tried but it was pretty near hopeless. He tossed. He turned. He stared at the stars. He peered into the moss-shrouded Atchafalaya. Eventually his eyelids grew heavy. He was on the verge of falling asleep when a screech rent the night. So loud and so close, it seemed to come from right next to him. Pushing up into a crouch, he grabbed the Henry.
Clovis was by the fire, terror-struck.
“It’s here!” Namo shouted, rising, only to have his daughter do as she had done to Fargo and wrap her arms around his legs.
There was a commotion in the swamp. Fargo swung around but all he saw was the black of the pit. The starlight wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the thick canopy.
“Do you hear that?” Clovis whispered.
Fargo’s gut balled into a knot. For from the blackness came breathing. Heavy, laborious, as if the act of working its lungs was an exertion. Grizzly bears wheezed like that, only not as loud.
“It’s watching us!” Namo said.
Clovis flung limbs on the fire. The flames leapt high, and the ring of light grew. But only by a dozen feet. Not nearly enough to relieve the blackness, or to show them the creature.
“Why doesn’t it do something?” Namo wondered.
Fargo edged forward. He wanted to see it. Just a glimpse, enough to tell what it was.
“Careful, monsieur,” Clovis warned.
Something stirred in the water but it was only a snake gliding swiftly away.
Fargo had the Henry to his cheek. He took another step, straining his eyes for all they were worth. The moss lent form where there wasn’t any, lent substance to empty space. “Where are you?” he said under his breath.
The next moment the swamp exploded with racket, with tremendous splashing and the snap and crackle of brush.
For a few heartbeats Fargo saw a vague shape. There was the suggestion of enormous bulk. For its size it was incredibly quick. It was there one second, gone the next. The thing plowed through the heavy growth without hindrance, the sounds growing fainter and fainter until once again, the night was quiet.
“Thank God!” Clovis exclaimed.
Fargo shared the sentiment. Whatever that thing was, if it had attacked, he doubted they could bring it down. Not in the dark. Not as huge as it was. The breath of death had brushed them and gone by.