The downside was, of course, that the bow of the boat was hardly designed for comfort. It was especially uncomfortable on his left shoulder, where the resort monster slashed him as it tumbled off the roof of the Altrusk house.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been on the water now. At least an hour, he was sure, maybe much closer to two. His exposed arms and the back of his neck were beginning to get sunburned. With no warning that he was about to embark on such an adventure, he’d had no more opportunity to apply sunscreen than he’d had to retrieve the first aid kit from the PT Cruiser’s glove box.
He was about to take a break, perhaps bail some more water, when suddenly the bottom of the boat ground against the bottom of the lake.
Surprised by this abrupt end to his forward momentum, he sat up and looked around. The lake was no longer a lake at all. It had suddenly transformed itself into a marsh. Huge trees loomed ahead of him, creating a dense canopy that plunged the surface of the water into eerie shadow. Looking back the way he’d come, he saw that there were more trees behind him that he did not remember passing. He could not see the dock at all.
Checking his phone, he saw that he no longer had reception. He’d drifted back into the gray zone.
Yet these trees were familiar. He’d seen them in his dream. He searched the water around him and then saw it there, the other boat, drifting lazily between two trees, abandoned by the foggy man as he continued forward through the marsh on foot, just as he now recalled having done in his dream.
He peered over the side of the boat, down into the water. It was obviously only a few inches deep if the boat had run aground, but the mud and silt made it impossible to see anything down there. The stagnant stench of rotting vegetable matter rose up around him.
This was going to suck.
A lot.
Consigning himself to the unpleasant task at hand, Eric clumsily stepped out of the boat and stood up in several inches of mud and soggy leaves.
To say that trudging forward was unpleasant was akin to saying that gas prices seemed a smidge high. The air here was heavy with humidity. Every step was a labored effort, and produced a foul odor that seemed to wrap him in an inescapable cloud of stench, making it nearly impossible to catch a fresh breath. His mind insisted on torturing him with thoughts of fat leeches and venomous serpents. It didn’t matter that there were no dangerous water snakes in Wisconsin. In his stubborn mind, even alligators and crocodiles, vicious snapping turtles and anacondas as large as freight trains prowled these waters.
After all, he’d been fairly sure there were no nasty-tempered apes in Wisconsin, either, until a short while ago. His cell phone confirmed that he wasn’t entirely still in the world he knew. Who could possibly say what kinds of things might call these strange waters home? With every step he expected something mean and ravenous to spring up from the mire and sink vicious teeth into his flesh, or simply drag him screaming down into the murky depths, never to be found.
In his dream, he’d waded through these very same waters and recalled seeing nothing stirring beneath the surface. But he also did not yet recall exiting the marsh, so there was still time to remember something terrifying. It would probably return to him only when it was too late. And even if the dream never revealed a monstrous danger lurking in the bog, it did not necessarily mean that it wasn’t there. After all, the dream did not warn him of the toothy ape or the coyote-deer. And for all he knew, the foggy man may have left him another surprise hidden somewhere in the mud.
But step-after-step, he found nothing waiting to rend his flesh and crush his bones.
After another half-hour of sloshing through the reeking muck, a memory did return, however. In his dream, he saw a strange shape moving purposefully through the water, too large to be any known snake or turtle.
The memory now returned to him, Eric scanned the area for the same shape, but it was nowhere to be seen.
He pushed on, eyes wide open.
The trees drew closer together as he walked, the canopy above him denser, mottling the sunlight upon the surface of the foul water. More and more frequently, his feet struck the roots, threatening to trip him and send him sprawling into the muck, but somehow he managed to keep his footing.
His legs ached. Bugs swarmed around him. Mosquitoes threatened to bleed him dry. The humidity was stifling. And still he could see no end to this miserable marsh.
The creature in his dream wandered off and did not return.
How was it, he wondered, that a scary swamp would prove to be free of monsters determined to devour him (with the notable exception of the damned mosquitoes) while a farmhouse and a nudist resort nearly killed him?
Finally, he came to an area where the earth rose above the surface of the water in places, allowing him to walk on dry land for brief periods of time. It was on one of these small islets that he stopped and sat with his back against a tree, resting his weary legs.
He checked his cell phone, confirmed that there was still no signal, and then snapped a picture of his surroundings to add to his scrapbook of crazy things he saw and did on his twisted wonderland adventure.
It was odd, now, to think that he started this insanity in a cornfield.
Cursing, he slapped at another mosquito and then glanced up in time to see an enormous shadow pass overhead.
Leaping to his feet, he looked up to see what appeared to be a massive black bird soaring past above the trees and out toward the lake from which he’d come.
He could see very little detail through the branches, and might have mistaken it for a small and extremely low-flying plane if it wasn’t utterly silent.
Not caring to be carried off like a field mouse, and not daring to assume that it would do no such thing should it see him, he stepped out into the water and continued on his way, his eyes drifting repeatedly to the sky as he went.
He didn’t recall seeing a giant bird in his dream, which was weird, now that he was thinking about it, since the bird theme was the only part of the dream he could even remotely remember until he found the barn at the far end of Annette’s field.
The trees grew denser still, crowding together until he had to struggle over their tangled roots and squeeze between their fat trunks.
Then, just as abruptly as he’d run the boat aground and found himself within the marsh, he stumbled out from between the trees and found himself once again in a cornfield.
“The hell?” he muttered, looking back at the crowded trees behind him. From here, he could see no sign that any marsh existed, only a dense thicket of trees, all of which were native Wisconsin pines and oaks and maples. He couldn’t seem to remember when the swamp cypresses ended, but he must have been pushing his way through a genuine Wisconsin forest for at least the past few minutes.
Even the humidity had vanished. Although the air remained hot, it was a much dryer and more bearable heat.
In his dream, he’d had the exact same experience. Therefore, he was confident that he was still where he was supposed to be. And checking his phone, he found that he had his signal back.
He also had thirteen missed calls and a text message that read, WHERE ARE YOU?
He should call Karen. She was clearly worried. But he was sure that if he just waited a few minutes, she would call him. And, as it turned out, he had barely started pushing his way through the corn when it began to vibrate impatiently in his pocket.
“What happened to you?”
“Sorry. I was off-world for a while there.”
“You’ve been waiting your whole life to be able to say something like that, haven’t you?”
“Actually, yes.”
“I couldn’t find anything about an Isaac Altrusk. But I didn’t have time to search too hard.”
Eric wasn’t sure what good it would do anyway. The Altrusk house was well behind him now. He doubted he’d ever see it again. And poor Isabelle…
“How’s the cake?” he asked, not caring to dwell on the poor girl he’d been forced to leave behind.