Steve
Steve stretched after the first good night’s rest in what felt like weeks. He rolled out of his bed and kissed his girlfriend, Cherise.
“Come back to bed, ami.”
“Gotta get up, cher,” Steve answered, but he hugged her and gave her another kiss.
The bright morning sun forced Steve’s eyes to squint, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw shadows dancing in the windows. It looked like a hundred ghosts where having a get together on his front porch.
Peeking through the curtain, he saw three news vans, TV crews, reporters with mics, the whole shebang.
“Hey gir’! Don’ be comin’ out da bedroom witout no clothes on.” Steve hollered to the back. “Fact, I bettah be puttin on some clothes my damn self.”
“What’s goin’ on out dere?”
“The whole TV world out der on our front doh’ wantin’ a piece o me, I guess.”
“You gon’ go out der?”
“Hell nah, cher!” Steve said and blew a raspberry. “I’mma skip out da back, me.”
Steve got dressed and did as he said, calling Pow on his way out.
“Hey, Pow-pow!”
“Don’t call me dat,” Pow answered. “You got da news out yo frond lawn too?”
“Maaaan,” Steve answered, already getting winded from his running away from the media. “Day out der like cockroaches at dat Chinese joint dat closed down last year!”
“Lin’s? Gross! Did you eat dere?”
“Hell nah, ami. Dat place didn’t have no buffet. I ain’t buying à la carte, dude. You gotta boat?”
“No, but I can grab my bro’s. You wanna sneak outta dis piece and get back to Bart?”
“Shoo yeah, bra! We gotta get another quest and level up. My girl liked da new me!” Steve said, as he made a turn to head toward the bayou. “Can you pick me up near Frank’s place?”
“Aight den. Keep yo phone on, I’ll holla when I’m pullin’ up.”
About 30 minutes later, Pow called to let Steve know he was close. Steve had been sitting on one of Frank’s lawn chairs waiting.
“Took you long enough, bra! What was the hold up?”
“I had to convince ole boy to let me take his boat. He was worried with all the commotion and crud goin’ on, I might lose it.”
“Anybody follow you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Aight den,” Steve said getting in the boat. “I got a bunch of ammo and a couple more guns.”
Pow smiled wide, “Me too!”
Pow steered the boat around and headed back to the main channel, but before they got there a siren interrupted their escape.
“Where you boys gettin’ off to?” Deputy Vicari asked as Susan steered the boat to intercept.
“Fishin’” Pow and Steve said at the same time.
“I know good and well you ain’t goin’ fishin’. You’re goin’ back for Bart. Now if dat ain’t some suspicious behavior, I don’t know what is.”
“Let’s stop this nonsense and go, Deputy,” Emily Weels said as the paramedic from the night prior popped her head around the center console. “I’ll get in the boat with them, and y’all follow. Let’s go.”
“I agree with her,” Deputy Susan Johnson said. “I don’t think dese boys are up to no good, and based on dere story, they need all the help dey can get.”
Vic took his hat off and wiped his head with a fresh towel. “I’m gone need a second towel for this. Get on ovah dere, Ms. Emily. Lead da way, Mr. Powers. Let’s go.”
?
Bart
Dad still acted like an angry old man. No matter what I did, he had a negative, nasty response to it. He didn’t try to kill me right then, so that was a bonus.
“If we’re gonna be out here for the long haul, shouldn’t we build a more permanent shelter, or maybe we can make do with the bus-boat. If the weather changes, we gonna wish we had shelter.”
“You’d wish for it. I’ve sat in a muddy puddle for 14 days with not even a napkin to dry my wittle tears. Dat’s what you need right now. A wet nap for your wittle hiney.”
“Now I know you still got your sense of humor. Well, we’re goin’ to the bus, and that’s that. You’re comin’ with me even if I gotta drag ya.”
“You and what army?” Dad said as he hawked a loogie at my feet.
I didn’t want to cast confusion on him again, but I didn’t think I had a choice. “Do you have a better idea?”
“Your little buddies are gonna be comin’ back for ya, aren’t dey? Dey’ll be comin’ here and bringin’ folks wit’ ‘em. Get some sticks and moss and make you a lil hut. I’ll help. Just quitcha bitchin’.”
“Fine,” I responded like an insolent teen.
We started gathering large tree limbs, killing a few critters. Thankfully, one of them gave us some more water, but other than that, we got nothing of use in the loot. I felt like we were under constant surveillance, but I saw no banners or animals lurking in the distance.
A few hours later, we had a substantial teepee - yurt thing made from the supplies we gathered. We stuffed the cracks with fresh mud mixed with pine needles and peat moss, and laid a bunch of thick grass down to make a bed for each of us. During the entire job, we didn’t speak; we didn’t argue, and it almost felt normal.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“You hungry?” Dad asked me.
“Yeah, I could eat.”
“Let’s go hunt up some grub.”
“I wish we could find some wild chickens out here, and then have that place in Baton Rouge fry us up some thighs, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Southen Classic?” Dad asked.
“Yeah! That’s the place! Mmmm. What I’d give for some of that and some red beans and rice!”
“Don’t think like that,” Dad admonished. “You’ve gotta keep your roots in reality when out here in da jungle. Dreams and wishes can make you lose focus and getcha killed.”
“I know,” I said, a little sad at the exchange. I had hoped for the normalcy to continue, but Dad still wouldn’t snap out of his funk. “Let’s head to the west and see if there’s any rats or possum we can kill.”
Our father-son duo stalked into a watery area. The pool looked to be about knee deep, but the water clarity made the depth uncertain. I squinched up my nose at the scent of decay and rotten fish.
“Somethin’ up in here done died,” I said as we waded into the water.
“Smells like it happened a while back. Maybe even before all the stuff hit the fan.”
“You think we should go the other way?” I asked, my voice a little shaky. I stood next to a literal werewolf, yet I felt like a total wuss.
The growl I heard doubled my feelings of cowardice. The low, guttural sound surrounded us as if it were piped through Bose speakers in the trees.
Dad reached out his hand in a stop-short move, and his body shifted—bones cracking, muscles bulging, fur sprouting in slow, deliberate waves. I thought the slow transition to rougaroux was terrifyingly cool.
Before I could process the attack, something massive dropped from the canopy. A black panther fell like a 500-pound bomb with its claws outstretched, teeth extended for a deadly crunch.
Dad lunged, shoving me sideways out of the way as the panther slammed into his shoulder, driving him down into ankle-deep water with a splash. I couldn’t see whether the panther bit Dad or clawed him, but Dad bled profusely from several wounds as he got back to his feet.
The banner floated over the panther’s head as it hunched down for a second strike. I asked for information to see the entire sheet about the cat. The system did not disappoint.
Dad surged to his feet, ignoring the torn-up shoulder. Froth foamed at the corners of his jagged mouth as he let out a roar that rattled the trees and me. I flinched. The panther froze.
Dad didn’t waste the moment. He lunged, slamming into the beast with the fury of something rabid. The claws made contact with its side, making it skid, but the attack continued.
The panther locked eyes with me.
It moved faster than thought. In the blink of an eye, from twenty feet away, it jumped on top of me.
Claws tore into both shoulders. Fangs sank into my left trapezius.
“Geeeyaaaahhhh!” I screamed, grappling with its massive head, trying to pry its jaws open. It weighed at least 500 pounds, and even with my new strength, I struggled to get it off me. My brain went into a survival mode; stop the pain. It let go only to lunge again, jaws wide, breath hot, saliva dripping onto my cheek. The claws dug in deeper.
Dad struck, saving my life, stabbing two fingers like daggers into its ribs. The panther shrieked and spun, launching at him in a frenzy. It rose on hind legs, swatting, snapping, fighting for its life.
Starla popped onto my chest, licking the smaller wounds while I poured healing magic into my shoulder.
I staggered upright, stable enough to cast. “Dad! Throw it over there. I’m gonna light it up!”
Instead, Dad kicked it square between the hind legs. The panther flew, landed on its feet, bleeding from its side, one eye sealed shut, pink foam bubbling from its mouth.
I unleashed flamethrower.
It hissed and roared, half its face seared away, the stench of burnt fur choking the air. Somehow, it still didn’t die.
It turned on me.
I drew my machete, gave it the classic kung-fu “come here” gesture.
It leapt, aiming to literally bite my head off.
I sidestepped and drove the blade upward into its ribcage with everything I had. The machete sank to the hilt. We crashed into the water, both of us screaming bloody murder.
