night, and the farther downriver they went, the lower and swampier the terrain surrounding the river became. By now, the wide sandbars that were in nearly every bend upstream were non-existent, replaced by low, muddy banks where the forest reached right to the river’s edge and the understory was a green wall of head-high palmettos. The current in this lower part of the Bogue Chitto was much slower, but Derek’s tireless stroke kept the canoe slicing through the nearly still water at the same relentless pace. Before dawn they passed a man-made canal extending north and south, and the Bogue Chitto reached the end of its course, becoming less defined as a separate river as it joined a maze of channels and bayous of a much larger river system flowing south to the Gulf.
“This is the Pearl,” he said. “We’re home free now. There are miles and miles of winding little bayous in this swamp that are so small a canoe can barely pass through them. I’ve been coming here for years, and I’ve found one of the most remote spots in the entire basin that I always figured would be my go-to place when the shit finally hit the fan. You couldn’t find a better hideout anywhere in the state, you’ll see. There’s no way in and no way out except by canoe or pirogue, but everything we need is already there.”
Casey saw nothing but woods and water. She found it hard to believe, but the entire time they had been in the canoe she had seen little else but woods and water, save for the occasional cabin built on the riverbank, and a couple of highway bridges they had passed under. If she had not seen all this for herself, she would have never believed there could possibly be so many endless miles of woods and water along a river course so close to the huge urban sprawl of New Orleans.
Now that they were in this swamp where even the boundaries of the river disappeared in walls of flooded forest on either side, Casey felt more lost than ever. When Derek turned the canoe off of the broad waterway they had been following and into a narrow bayou barely two canoe-widths wide, she knew that she was utterly and thoroughly hidden away from the outside world and completely out of reach of anyone who might save her from this man who was determined to keep her that way.
The canopy was completely interlocked overhead on this route, so it was so dark Casey could barely see a few feet beyond the bow of the canoe. Derek slowed down to a drifting pace, using his paddle only to keep them from banging against trees as the current flowing beneath the boat carried it deeper into the forest. When dawn finally came, Casey saw that they were gliding among hardwood and cypress trees of tremendous, primeval proportions. It was a place like no other she had ever seen, with long, wispy curtains of Spanish moss hanging from almost every branch and limb, creating a mysterious, haunting atmosphere that was both beautiful and foreboding.
The waterway they were following lost all definition in a labyrinth of narrow swift sections interspersed with lagoons where it spread out and surrounded the boles of the giant trees, making it impossible for her to understand how anyone could find their way through it. Derek paddled as if he knew exactly where he was going, though, and here in the hush of early morning in this cathedral-like forest, he remained silent once again, much to her relief, after having heard hours of his indictment of modern civilization the afternoon and evening before. In places the canoe was swept by low-hanging branches, forcing her to duck even from where she was seated in the bottom of the boat, propped up against a duffel bag. When this had happened several times, Derek stopped and cut her hands loose so she could fend off branches before they hit her in the face. She knew he wasn’t worried about her escaping now, as there was absolutely nowhere to go in a place like this without a boat.
They had been traveling in this manner for a good two hours since they left the main river, when Derek turned off to their left onto yet another branch of the bayou they had been following. This one was even narrower, but to Casey’s surprise, the water was clear and the bottom was white sand instead of mud. Small sandbars, miniature versions of the huge beaches in the bends of the Bogue Chitto, lined the banks intermittently, and at last Derek stopped and pulled the canoe onto one that had a flat shelf at the top just wide enough to accommodate it.
“We’re here,” he said. “Welcome to my little piece of paradise.”
Casey said nothing as Derek untied the ropes holding her ankles together and began taking his duffel bags and packs out of the canoe. She climbed out, grateful for the opportunity to stretch her stiff joints, but when she looked around, she saw no sign of a camp. There was a narrow path leading off through the palmettos, though, and she could see that somebody had made it by cutting their way through there. Derek stepped into the path and motioned for her to follow.
Not wanting him to grab her arm and lead her or touch her in any way, she complied. The terrain rose slightly and the vegetation in the understory changed from the tropical-looking fronds of the dwarf palmettos to a dense thicket of sweet bay bushes, their waxy emerald-green leaves screening from view what might lie ahead at the other end of the path until they pushed their way through.
“There it is,” Derek said. “My perfect bug-out hideaway.”
Casey had not expected anything quite like this. When she looked where Derek was pointing, she saw a shelter that blended in so well with its surroundings that it would be easy to miss even from a short distance unless you were specifically looking for it. It was the primitive construction of mostly natural materials that made it blend in so well, though the camouflage tarps that made up the roof and one side certainly did their part to help.
The most unexpected thing about it was that it was built about 10 feet off the ground, on a platform of poles cut from small trees, lashed horizontally between four much larger hardwood trees, like a much bigger version of a child’s tree house. As they walked closer, she saw a crude ladder going up to it, also made from lashed poles, and then saw that the floor was made up of very old and weathered-looking planks of wood. Rolled up mosquito netting was hung from the edges of the roof all the way around and a tarp formed a single wall at the back, but otherwise the structure was open-sided. She could see that that the only things in there were some camo-colored five-gallon plastic pails with lids on them and a stack of large, square metal boxes, the olive-drab green kind that Casey knew were Army surplus ammo cans.
Beneath the platform, a heavy wire was stretched on a diagonal between two of the supporting trees. Suspended from it hung several skillets, cooking pots and utensils, and an axe and shovel. A fire pit was dug in the sand nearby, framed on both sides by chunks of heavy logs that obviously had been chopped to length by the axe.
“It’s built above the forest floor like this to stay above high water in times of flooding,” Derek said. “This is an island we’re on here, though you can’t tell because of all the trees. It’s one of the highest elevations in the area, and it’s rare that the bayou gets over the bank, though I have seen it happen in the years I’ve been coming here. But regardless of floods, there are always plenty of big cottonmouth snakes in these palmetto thickets, and everywhere else in the swamp. It’s a lot better sleeping off the ground, and a lot cooler in the summer too. This is the way the Indians that lived in these parts built their houses, and it makes sense to do the same.”
“How can you plan to
TWELVE
ARTIE’S MIND WAS RACING with worry as he and Scully quietly paddled the kayak out of the dark canal to the open waters of Lake Pontchartrain. Had Casey and her friends left New Orleans early enough to avoid the horrors they’d had a vivid glimpse of today? If they had left in time to get ahead of the worst of the panicked exodus from the city, what would they have faced on the other side of the lake, and along the highways leading north? Was the cabin really in a safe enough location, or would they be in danger there too? Most of all, he wondered how he was going to get there and how long that would take. If they had to walk, traveling 90 miles would take days. And if things had deteriorated a lot more in the days since Casey and her friends made the trip, what dangers would they
