Tim Shoemaker - Escape from the Everglades

Escape from the Everglades

2021 Tim Shoemaker. All rights reserved.

A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, IL, 60188

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All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version, NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. (www.zondervan.com) NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.

Cover design by Michael Harrigan

The author is represented by the Cyle Young Hartline Literary Agency.

The characters and events in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at , or call 1-855-277-9400.

ISBN 978-1-64607-026-8

ISBN 978-1-68428-322-4 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-68428-323-1 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-68428-321-7 (Apple)

Build: 2021-06-18 17:43:06 EPUB 3.0

To my three sons... Andy, Mark, and Luke... who encouraged me to write in the first place. Fiction is one of the most powerful ways to teach truth because it reaches directly to the heart. I loved reading to you as you grew up... watching your eyes grow wide with the suspense and adventure. And when it was time to stop I loved how you begged me to read just a little bit more. May you have the joy of reading to your kids. And always, always... read just a little bit more.

Everglades National Park

Saturday, June 13

6:55 p.m.

PARKER BUCKMAN STOOD ON the airboat deck and searched the surface of the water. He didnt actually see any alligators, but they were here. Watching. Reminding him that he was an intruder in their world. He was pretty sure the gators didnt mind, though. A visitor could become a meal for some lucky alligator in one careless moment.

An uneasiness clung to him like the muggy air itself. It worked its way inside and wouldnt let go. He couldnt shake the creepy sense that he shouldnt be in the Everglades today.

Which was crazy. He loved the outdoors. Even he had to admit that Everglades City and the neighboring island town of Chokoloskee were pretty much the armpit of America. But he still found things to love about the place once you got past the mosquitoes, that is.

And Everglades National Park itself, the swampy wetlands that dominated some 7,800 square miles of southern Florida, was never boring. A place of contrasts. Bright sun that could burn your eyeballs out quicker than a solar eclipse, yet water so dark youd think there was no bottom. Hardly a speck of ground above water in the wet season, yet trees and brush and grasses grew high above the surface as if there were no water at all. A place as wild and uncivilized as anyplace Parker had ever been, yet there was still an order to it. No streets, no signs, but a seemingly endless maze of watery paths crisscrossing the Everglades. Narrow alleys and routes beat through the sawgrass. As a park rangers son, he got to explore them as often as he wanted.

Wilson Stillwaters half Miccosukee and pretty much all trouble was totally in his element here. His tribe had been native to the Everglades long before any white man explored them a fact he reminded Parker about often. Where is Angelica? Shes the one who begged me to find the perfect place to mount her trail cam.

Angelica Malnatti, better known as Jelly, had always been into shooting nature pictures wherever her family had been stationed. Mountains. Rivers. Anyplace without humans. But ever since her dad got transferred to the Everglades along with Parkers, shed been practically obsessed with wildlife photography. Apparently she wasnt the only one. Parker had seen dozens of camouflaged cameras strapped to cypress trees in the Everglades and along the rivers leading into Chokoloskee Bay. Jelly wouldnt miss a chance to set up her camera in some remote spot. Shell be here.

Yeah, well if shes not here in two minutes, shell have to swim. Wilson patted the control stick of the airboat. Typhoon wants to whip up a tropical storm out there.

The name Typhoon was written vertically down each of the twin rudders mounted behind the propeller cage. It was the perfect name for the airboat. With a 350-cubic-inch Chevy engine mounted to the non-skid aluminum deck, the airboat could kick up more than just a little squall. Wind generated from the prop reached upwards of 150 miles per hour rivaling that of a Category 5 hurricane. Your uncles airboat is gorgeous, Parker said. Youve gotta let me drive this thing.

Wilson jutted his chin toward the mangroves. Here she comes. Its about time.

Sure enough, red braids bucking, Jelly pedaled like she was afraid theyd leave without her. With her dark-green Columbia shirt and cargo khakis, she totally looked like some kind of Everglades tour guide wannabe.

Jelly skidded to a stop and dropped her bike. Seconds later she hopped aboard. Are you two finally ready? In one smooth move, Jelly snatched Parkers cap and slapped it on her head as she passed.

Parker tried to nab it back, but she ducked out of the way. This hat-swiping thing was some new game of hers.

She tipped the visor of his hat and flashed Parker a proud smile. What are we waiting for, Wilson? You promised me an Everglades run Id never forget.

Wilson tested the rudders and slid the key into the ignition. Youre a real piece of work, Jelly. He fired up the engine. Buckle up.

Which was impossible. Typhoon had no working seat belts. And Wilson wouldnt have used his anyway. Parker climbed onto the elevated double passenger seat just behind the drivers chair and sat next to Jelly. He dug a pair of foam earplugs from his pocket and twisted them into his ears.

Wilson laughed. Miccosukees dont need ear protection.

With the decibels airboats put out? You could damage your hearing, idiot.

What?

Exactly. Parker backhanded Wilsons shoulder.

Wilson grinned and revved the engine. The throaty rumble of the 350 sent powerful vibrations through the airboat that could loosen fillings. And somehow it loosened up Parker at the same time. Calmed him. Maybe all that uneasiness hed been feeling wasnt some kind of warning from his gut. Maybe it was just his own overactive imagination.

Wilson goosed the gas, and the airboat picked up speed as they entered the sea of grass, as some locals called it. Wilson waggled the rudders, causing Typhoon to fishtail back and forth.

Jelly kicked the back of Wilsons seat. We dont have seat belts, remember? If I fall off this thing, youre going to be soooo sorry.

Wilson laughed and swung the airboat from side to side again.

The next hour was pure heaven especially since Parker got to drive most of that time. The grass rake bow skimmed right over spots where new patches of sawgrass seemed to be filling in the waterways. It was like the Everglades was taking back the lanes.