Page 59 of Born to be Wilder

“This is not comforting.” Sylvie remained buckled in her seat, typing away on her phone. “There. Tom has our newest pin, he’s on standby, and he’ll come rescue us if we need it.” She paused, looking back at the others. “And I actually just googled Bayou Bill, and he truly is an airboat tour guide down here. He gets five-star reviews, so I think our chances are pretty good he’s not a serial killer.”

“Pretty good isn’t certain,” Alice said.

“Quit yer gripin’! We’re going!” I hopped out, slammed the door, and waved at Bayou Bill while I marched toward him. Eventually, I heard the widows ambling down the gravel behind me.

Bill met us at the dock and handed out big orange ear protection.

“These go on before we start ’er up,” he said in that slow molasses voice. “She’s loud. Real loud. Once we’re moving, I’ll cut the throttle if I need to talk to ya, but otherwise just holler back if something’s wrong.” He looked at each of us. “Stay seated while we’re underway. Keep arms and hands close to your body.”

I popped on my earmuffs, slid my Viking hat over the top of them, then gave him a thumbs-up. I hopped on the airboat with his assistance. The other widows slowly stepped on, the boat swaying beneath their feet until they settled onto the bench seat with me.

Bayou Bill undid the lines and hopped into the captain’s seat high above us. With a deafening WHUMP-WHUMP-ROAR, he fired up the engine.

The airboat surged forward, and he guided us away from the dock until we reached more open space. Then he gunned it, and I let out a “Whoo-hoo” that I doubted anyone heard over the roar of the fan. I held my Viking hat secure to my head with one hand, the wind slapping our faces as my grin stretched wide. We skimmed over the lily pads and reeds, our speed increasing as the world turned into a green-and-brown blur.

I was in heaven.

The wind in my hair, the vibration rattling my bones, and for a glorious minute, I felt like we were outrunning every ghost that had been chasing us since we’d left home.

I glanced at Alice, her face tight with fear.

That lurch in my stomach happened again like it did often when I looked at her.

Cancer.

Rage filled me then, as it always did, and I narrowed my eyes, wanting to reach into her body with my bare hands and pull it out mangled cell by mangled cell.

But I couldn’t reach into her body and pull it out. I couldn’t fight this war for her, though I desperately wanted to be the one on the front lines, shielding her from danger. But cancer didn’t work that way, and I had to swallow my rage again and try to ignore it, because there was nothing I could do.

I was… helpless.

And for me, that was the worst feeling of all the feelings out there.

Instead of letting my rage swallow me whole, I let the wind and the speed and the noise fill me up the way only they could—pushing out the unbearable feelings trying to consume me. I wouldn’t let them. I couldn’t fight Alice’s war, but I could fight my own mind, and I wouldn’t let myself break. Not when she needed me for the battle ahead.

Doris shouted something, but I couldn’t hear her.

What? I mouthed.

“Fast” was the only word I caught from her response.

“Yes, we’re going fast!” I shouted back, unsure if that was the right answer, smiling wider and wanting to call back to Bayou Bill to speed up even more.

Doris kissed her rosary and then started more Hail Marys, sliding the beads as she prayed.

The bayou opened up around us as Bill throttled forward, the fan roaring louder behind us, lifting us across the surface of the water like we were barely touching it. Spanish moss hung from the cypress trees in long curtains, trailing into the water. Great blue herons lifted off the banks as we passed, slow and enormous. Turtles slid off logs.

And the gators.

Massive prehistoric things that seemed utterly unbothered by us. They lay on the banks and half-submerged in the shallows, their eyes just above the waterline, their tails like ridged spikes sticking out of the mud.

Sylvie was enjoying herself far more than I’d expected. She had her phone out, snapping a photo of the gator slipping silently into the water off the bank ahead of us.

Bill navigated us around a long curve, the boat leaning slightly as we arced and straightening out into a wide flat stretch of open water. He opened up the throttle a little more, and I smiled even wider, knowing I was likely welcoming a bug in my teeth. I didn’t care, though. I’d take a bug if it meant getting to feel this… something other than blind rage and terror I was fighting back like Rambo himself.

As we hit a particularly twisty part of our ride, Bayou Bill navigated each bend with practiced ease. Beside me, Doris was finishing up her prayers and lifted her rosary to her lips, kissing it once. Then she held it up high, like she was trying to ward off the swamp spirits.

We hit a pocket of high-speed wind that whipped through our seating area. The chain snapped taut in Doris’s hand. She grabbed tighter, but the crucifix whipped sideways and the chain jerked free. In a second, the whole thing was gone, like it had been shot from a cannon, spinning back toward the⁠—