Over instant oatmeal and bananas, they decided to use the boat after all. They radioed Ronnie and called him back to the island. He arrived an hour later and said the latest forecast was for overcast skies but no more rain. They loaded food and gear onto the pontoon and Ronnie circled it to the bay side where the mainland was less than a mile away. Dr. Gilfoy pointed and said, “This is where the state wants to build the bridge if Panther Cay is approved.”
At eleven-thirty, the team packed itself with plenty of gear — three folding shovels, trowels, chisels, two chain saws, two machetes, goggles, tarps, a first aid kit, a handgun, cameras, sandwiches, and water — and marched off into the woods in search of a trail Lovely was certain they could find. They could not.
Diane and Mercer stayed on the pontoon with Lovely, under a canopy, and began killing time. Ronnie strung up three hammocks and invited them to relax. There had been much discussion about Lovely’s stamina and the amount of “trail work” she could handle. She was in decent shape for an eighty-year-old but certainly not fit enough to fight her way through a jungle. The initial goal was to find the cemetery without her, and, when found, see if she could get there and help in the search for graves.
Mercer stretched out in a hammock, opened a paperback, and promptly fell asleep. Diane put in her earbuds and took a nap. Lovely sat in a chair on the deck, in the shade, and stared at the water, lost in her history.
10
The team returned intact five hours later. They had found no sign of anything that remotely resembled a trail, and had quickly realized that a trail was something they would have to create. That was the bad news. The good news was that the three white men were still alive. Lovely’s banishment of the curse was holding.
They had seen three rattlesnakes and killed two of them. So far, no sign of panthers or bobcats. At times the insects were as thick as a fog. The mosquitoes were huge but no match for their repellent. The aftermath of Leo was worse than expected. Thousands of trees had been snapped off and blown into huge drifts, like stacked cordwood. The island was a mile wide and they had fought their way through maybe one-third of it. They had seen nothing that had been made by humans.
Ronnie cast off and they puttered around the bay and back to the ocean side. He unloaded them and said goodbye. Cold beers were passed around by everyone but Lovely. A fire was made in a pit and the team rested. Exhausted, they decided to dine on sandwiches and go to bed early.
11
The panthers waited until their island was pitch-black again. As if choreographed, one eased into place fifty yards up the beach to the north, and his partner took a position to the south. The first one began with a low, rumbling growl that grew louder and sounded as if it was preparing for an attack.
Seconds passed before it was answered down the beach. Then a full-throated scream pierced the night and shocked the sleeping campers. When it was answered to the south, Diane jumped out of her skin and almost shrieked herself. Back and forth the panthers went, screeching at each other as flashlights came on inside the tents.
Even when an archaeologist is afraid, he or she will hide it. The six sat up on their cots and listened, obviously startled. Diane pulled the sheets over her head. Mercer was barely breathing. Dr. Pennington waited for the next scream. Lovely, though, calmly put her feet on the canvas floor and smiled.
More panther catcalls at full volume. Back and forth they went.
“What is it?” Diane asked, peeking from under the sheets.
“Two panthers,” Lovely said. “Male and female. You never heard a panther?”
“No, oddly enough, I haven’t.”
“Heard ’em all the time when I was a kid.”
“What are they doing?”
Dr. Pennington said, “It’s what they’re about to do. It’s mating season, right, Lovely?”
“I think so. It’s springtime. We had ’em around back then. You don’t mess with a panther, especially this time of the year.”
“Are we messing with them now? They don’t seem too happy.”
Lovely said, “This is their island. No, they don’t like us being here.”
It was almost 2:00 a.m. All three tents were zipped tight and no one was venturing out. Minutes passed as they waited anxiously for more noise, or, worse still, an attack of some variety. But the panthers went away.
Sleep was difficult but they managed nonetheless. They had not slept the night before and their first foray into the bush had drained them. They soon drifted away and were dead to the world when a panther eased to within two feet of Dr. Gilfoy’s cot and growled through the canvas. Another was just outside the door of the girls’ tent and howled on cue. Another was scratching the door of the supply tent.
And so it went. The panthers checked on their visitors several times throughout the night, curious about their tents and attracted to the smells of food.
12
When the sun appeared on the horizon, Dr. Sargent and Dr. Gilfoy were sitting on the sand at the edge of the surf, sipping coffee from the first pot and talking softly. They were concerned that the project was a waste of time. They had not found anything that gave them hope. Nothing in the piles of debris or in the depths of the forest that indicated humans had ever been there. There were the usual beer cans and plastic bottles washed up on the beach, but nothing else. No pieces of glass or paper, plank, cut board, shred of fabric, smoothed stone — none of the clues they usually found in search of a lost civilization.
After half a day in the woods, they were not encouraged. However, that was nothing new for them. Their project was planned for seven days, and budgeted for that long, and they never backed away from a challenge. All of them had read Lovely’s book and believed her story. The proof that had not been swept away by the storm was buried somewhere on the island, and they were determined to find it.
They needed bones.
Over breakfast they looked at more maps and aerials, all prepared before Leo and thus terribly outdated. The decision was made to wave off the pontoon for the day and hack through the woods from the ocean side. They loaded their gear in backpacks and left the campsite just after nine o’clock. Diane and Mercer tidied up the place and relaxed under a canopy with Lovely. Cell service and internet connections were still unstable.
Diane put down her paperback and asked, “How often do you think of Nalla?”
Lovely smiled and said, “All the time. We always believed that she and the others came ashore right along here. Two hundred and sixty years ago.” She gazed at the ocean as if looking for a ship. “A slave girl, pregnant with a white man’s child. Captured and taken in chains, shipped across the ocean like an animal. I guess she got lucky with the storm, don’t you think?”
“I would never call it luck.”
“Oh, I think they were all lucky to find this place. They were not slaves here. They fought and killed the white men who came after them, and they protected each other.”
“Now the white men are back,” Mercer said.
“Indeed they are. This time they’re using money and lawyers and courts to take this island, not guns. But we’ll win, won’t we, Diane?”
“I believe so.”
Lovely reached for her cane. “Let’s walk on the beach while the sun is behind those clouds.”
The sand was firmer at the edge of the water and they took off their boots. Lovely used the cane with her right hand and held on to Mercer’s arm with her left.
But the walking was too strenuous and they turned around. Back at the campsite, they heard the distant whine of a chain saw.