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“That’s good news for us,” Marcus said once the agents were well out of earshot. “They still haven’t twigged to the other possible location.”
“Then let’s get moving before they do,” Pierce growled.
Chapter 9
Since the encounter with Wildlife and Fisheries had been such a close call, we all agreed the taggers would remain in their hiding places until needed. No sense tempting fate.
Of course that meant I had nothing to do now except stare at the scenery.
Grass. Water. Trees. Bug. Frog. Water. Algae. Fish. Bug. Grass. Trees. Water. Grass.
I swiped Marcus’s map from beside his seat then scrutinized the route he’d marked. “Do any of these waterways have names? Besides the bayous, of course.”
“I don’t know of anything official,” Marcus replied. “That’s why I have this.” He lifted the satellite GPS.
“Then I’m naming them. We’re currently on Medium Squiggle. Next we cross Blob to Small Squiggle and then we hang a left onto Yet Another Squiggle and finally reach Biggish Squiggle.”
“Biggish Squiggle is Pauvre Bayou,” Marcus pointed out.
“It’s a terrible name. Pauvre means poor. Biggish Squiggle has much more character.”
“I can’t think of a single counter-argument to that.”
We picked up a bit of speed as we crossed the patch of open water known as Blob. In the other boat, Brian had the sheriff’s office radio pressed to his ear, and Rachel snapped more pictures. Rosario sat with his arm draped around Marla while he scanned the area.
I glanced at Marcus. “How much longer?”
“Fifteen minutes, tops. We’ll get there a bit after sunup.” He glanced down at the GPS. “And in another hundred feet we’re going to take Small Squiggle, so keep your eyes peeled.”
But Small Squiggle turned out to be Shitty Squiggle. We were barely a quarter of the way through when the engine on Pierce’s boat stopped.
“Hydrilla,” Brian said through clenched teeth as he helped Pierce hack the snaky weeds off the prop. “It’s an invasive. Not too many things here eat it, so it grows out of control and clogs up the water.” He tipped his head to the left where tiny white flowers dotted an expanse of green. “And that’s alligator weed. Those big mats block the sun. Kills off native fish and screws up water quality.”
Pierce muttered something filthy and continued yanking at weeds until the prop was clear.
Five minutes later it was me and Marcus’s turn to hack and curse.
“The whole channel is filled with this shit,” Pierce fumed. “Is there any way around?”
Marcus gave a sharp head shake. “It would take twice as long. Another quarter mile and we’ll be in clearer water.”
“We’ll burn out the motors if we keep this up,” Pierce said. “Best break out the paddles.”
“Paddle,” Brian said, holding one aloft. “We only have one.”
“Same here,” I said after a bit of rummaging. “To be fair, I don’t think they’re required in this kind of boat.”
Pierce looked anything but mollified by that bit of helpful info.
With only one paddle per boat, it was slow going, with plenty of splashing and switching from one side to the other. Pierce cursed nonstop, while Marla stood with her front paws on the bow, tongue lolling and big doggy grin on her face as she sniffed the air.
By the time we propelled ourselves out of the weed-choked channel and into Yet Another Squiggle, we’d lost over half an hour, and the sun had cleared the trees. I put the paddle away while Marcus and Pierce started the trolling motors. Smooth, steady, and quiet.
I dug sunscreen out of the gear bag and slathered it on.
Rosario gave me a puzzled look. “Zombies get sunburn?”
“Yup,” I said, making sure to get my ears and the back of my neck. “The parasite’ll heal any damage, but I’m so stupi
