Bart

  Dad morphed back into human form, thankfully, but he was naked, NOT thankfully. Out of nowhere, he pulled out his long burlap-like cloak and covered himself.

  “Can you control that, or does it just go away after it’s expired?” I asked him.

  “You’d like to know,” he said, holding his hand out to help me up.

  “I don’t want to be your enemy, Dad.”

  “I know. Deep inside, I don’t want to fight either.”

  He almost sounded like his old self, but that lasted only a minute. “Now get off your pansy ass and let’s loot these bastards.”

  I shook my head. How in the heck am I ever going to get through to him? I would definitely keep trying to work with him and talk to him.

  First, I had to heal this sting, and hopefully cure the poison. I didn’t have an antidote, but I held my hand over the wound and used my healing ability. The wound closed up, but the poison notification didn’t go away.

  Great! How am I going to get rid of this effect?

  Do you wish to loot the bodies? Yes/No

  “Yes,” I said, wishing there was an easier way to do this. Maybe something inside the creature will help me get rid of the venom.

  I started at the tail, where all the meat of a crawfish was, and it actually pulled free from the chitinous body easily. I pulled the tails free from the other two while examining the head to see where I could extract the armor. While looking, I found two bottles of ‘Life’s blessing’.

  I chucked one over to Dad and went back to scavenging. I couldn’t really find a way to use the armor, so I gave up on that. Dad and I didn’t really need it at this stage.

  Boiling made it easy to extract the delicious white meat from a crawfish tail, but we didn’t have a pot large enough to handle these three enormous tails. Each tail weighed about five pounds, and as far as I could tell, were exactly the same as a normal crawdaddy’s tail, only larger.

  “Whaddya say, Dad? Ya hungry?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you start us a fire with your little sparky sparks? Also, don’t forget they have venom in there somewhere. You might want to extract that before you eat it. I have venom resistance, but I don’t think you do.”

  Well, that explained why he didn’t care about snakes, but how did he know I didn’t have resistance?

  I rolled the five-pound tail around as if it were a tightly wrapped Christmas present looking for a stinger. A few seconds later, I found a little black hole at the base of the tail. I carefully sliced through the shell and meat with my hunting knife, following the line until I uncovered a plastic bottle marked with “XX” and a skull-and-crossbones logo. The bottle connected to a thick, veiny tube and ended in a spear-shaped stinger.

  “You see this, Dad?” I asked him.

  I wonder if I can use the venom to create an anti-venom.

  “Pull dat stinguh out and let’s cook ‘em up.”

  We grilled them, and the tails actually tasted pretty good considering. My health bar and stamina were almost full, but I lost a health point every second. I had to figure out how to cure this wretched venom.

  ?

  Steve

  Steve radioed ahead on an emergency network. “MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY.”

  Steve heard static, then a calm female voice replied, “This is Assumption Parish Dispatch on LWIN Channel 3. We read your MAYDAY loud and clear.”

  Steve got excited to hear the quick reply. As his eyes scanned the dark water, he recalled his training for offshore guiding. “MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY. This is Steven Green operating a civilian vessel inbound with multiple injured passengers. Current location: 30.026911, -91.223360, heading toward Bayside Launch, Pierre Part, Louisiana. We require immediate medical assistance and emergency response upon arrival. Injuries include: burns, fractures, unconscious passengers, gunshot wounds, and animal bites and scratches. Please advise and prepare emergency services. MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY.

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  “Steven Green, we read you loud and clear. Confirming coordinates: 30.026911, -91.223360. You are inbound to Bayside Launch, Pierre Part. Is that correct? Over.”

  “Affirmative. Bayside Launch is our destination. ETA approximately 15 minutes. Over.”

  The LWIN Dispatch said, “Copy that. Emergency medical teams are en route to Bayside Launch. We’ve notified Assumption EMS, State Wildlife & Fisheries, and local law enforcement. Please maintain current heading and signal if conditions change. Do you have any onboard medical supplies or trained personnel? Over.”

  After searching the boat and getting confirmation from Pow, Steve radioed back. “Negative. No trained personnel. Basic first aid only. One passenger is unconscious with gunshot wounds. Another has compound fractures and mild burns. Third has multiple animal bites and deep scratches but is semi-responsive. All are severely malnourished and dehydrated. Over.”

  “Understood. Maintain vessel stability and keep injured passengers warm and elevated if possible. Do not administer fluids unless medically trained. We’ll have medics standing by at the dock. Continue transmitting every five minutes with status updates. You are not alone, Steven Green. Help is on the way. Over.”

  “Copy that. Will transmit updates. Thank you. Over and out.”

  They rode in silence for several minutes, nothing heard but the engine noise and the wake crashing against the aluminum hull. Pow spoke up first. “Ya think Dusty’s gonna make it?”

  “I don’t know,” Steve said, looking at the lifeless body of Dusty, his skin pale, lips tinged blue, chest barely rising. “Do you know how to check a pulse?”

  “Yeah. I checked a minute ago. I could only barely feel it. And his body’s so cold, man.”

  “I’m goin’ as fast as this ole rust bucket’ll take us.” Steve felt his body tense. He forced his muscles to relax, realizing he gripped the steering wheel too tightly.

  No one spoke the rest of the ride. Steve concentrated on the bayou using his indicator and the L.E.D. lightbar for navigation, casting eerie shadows across the shores.

  Almost ten minutes later, they saw a glow blooming on the horizon. Steve’s arrow pointing right at the attraction. The launch looked like LSU’s campus on game night: floodlights, flashing strobes, and a crowd that shimmered like a beacon of hope. The scenery lifted both Steve’s and Pow’s spirits.

  “God, there must be ovah 100 people at the launch. Whole town might be dere,” Pow said, craning his head around the center console to get a good look.

  “Guess da Mayday worked!”

  “Guess so!”

  They pulled up to the closest dock and five or six EMTs in reflective gear rushed forward to tie the boat to the cleats and assess their new patients. Radios crackled to life, boots boomed on the wooden surface, people scattered in a dance of organized chaos.

  Emily Weels, lead paramedic, jumped on the boat before it had even settled. Her eyes locked onto Dusty, and her expression shifted from professional calm to urgent concern. She knelt beside him, gloved hand pressing gently to his neck.

  “We got a weak 45 beats per minute,” she called out. “This patient is priority number one. Get me a gurney down here stat.”

  Two EMTs vaulted onto the deck, lifting Dusty with care as Emily helped Pow to his feet.

  “Hey,” she said. “You did good. We’re gone get him to a hospital now. You got a name for him?”

  “Dusty,” Pow said. “Dusty Beudreaux.”

  While paramedics worked on strapping Dusty to the gurney, Emily started an IV and put on an oxygen mask. “We need to do a full assessment on him once in the truck, Garth.”

  “Got it,” Garth said, as they lifted him up to two men on the dock.

  Another EMT called on a radio to their dispatch, “We got critical patient inbound with GSW administering IV fluids and O2. ETA 15 minutes. Prep trauma bay.”

  Emily turned to Ronnie, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. Her eyes scanned his arms, face, and torso. “Can you walk?”

  “Yeah,” Ronnie said, voice shaky. “I can. I’m just not doin’ so good, ya know?”

  “I know, honey. We’re gone get you fixed up.” She motioned to another paramedic. “Get him into truck numbah two. He’s gone need IV fluids and bandaging up.” To Zak she said in a soothing voice, “How ‘bout you? I can tell you need attention, but can you walk?”

  “Yeah. I can,” Zak said.

  “Garth, take him in truck two as well. He needs IV fluids. Monitor for concussion protocol and spinal injury.”

  Deputies and medics helped Zak and Ronnie to the dock, wrapping them in crinkling Mylar blankets that shimmered under the floodlights. They guided them gently toward the waiting ambulances.

  Emily turned to Pow and Steve, “You boys did good. Real good. Y’all don’t run off, the police are gone have some questions for ya. We got your friends.”

  “You okay?” she asked, concerned. “You got some far off look in your eyes? Do you need to go to the hospital too?”

  “Oh!” Steve said. “Uh…although I would love a ride with you, ma’am. I’m good. I just can’t believe we made it.”

  “You did,” she said skeptically but smiling. “Okay, Mr.?”

  “Green, Steven Green.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Green,” she smiled at him, and then she turned back to her team and her duty.

  Steve and Pow stepped off the boat, boots hitting the dock with a finality that felt like an exhale. Ahead, police officers waited under the floodlights, clipboards in hand.

  The swamp had let them go. For now.