Page 12 of Croc Food

“Well, I—” I foundered around.

“Did you or didn’t you?”

“Well, I did say something like that,” I protested lamely. “But I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings⁠—”

Hayes moved the big axe around to the front of his body, and I felt sweat begin to pour down the back of my shirt.

“If I could just speak to her—“ I ventured.

“She’s back at home with Granny now. Helpin’ her set up the new birdfeeder. Bitsy really loves life. Always had a sparkle in her eye. Ever since she was a little girl. And she’s kind of been the apple of our eye, too. Only granddaughter in the family, you see.”

“I agree, she’s the most special person in the world to me too!” I said heatedly. “I made a stupid mistake. I should never have said anything.”

“Bitsy was crying,” Third said, and the damning statement reverberated throughout the clearing. I felt like sinking into the mud.

Wait, was I sinking into the mud?

Was this exactly where I had been standing? Somehow, it seemed we’d shifted a bit further, like they’d driven me deeper into the swamp. With an effort, I dragged my best leather wingtip out of the mud with an audible squelching sound.

The idea that Bitsy had been crying when she came down here made me want to throw up. I had never intended to hurt her, just encourage her to, maybe act a little differently around my coworkers?

But that was shitty and I had been shitty.

“I want to make it up to her,” I said desperately. “I’m here to apologize and beg her to come home. I was an asshole. Please let me see her.”

This time I attempted with all my strength to pull my foot up out of the mud, but it wouldn’t come. I yanked on it, but no luck. Then, with a sense of impending doom, I realized my other foot was stuck too.

“Is this quicksand?” I yelped.

“Mayhap.”

“Well, can you help me get out of it?”

Junior jabbed my thigh with the butt of his axe.

“You hurt Bitsy. We don’t like that.”

“I didn’t mean to!” I howled. “I’m here to tell her I’m sorry!”

As I began to sink deeper, I looked around desperately for something to use to drag myself out of the mire, grabbing for some weeds but they only ripped out of the ground in my hands.

I gripped a vine, began to slowly pull myself hand-over-hand as the mud sucked at my waist, flopping on my belly and scissoring my legs in an attempt to propel myself up.

“Boys, should we help him or let the swamp take him?”

But no one moved a muscle.

CHAPTER 5

Chad

“Idon’t know,” Junior said. “It’s possible Bitsy might not like it if we let him die.”

The mud was almost up to my waist now, and I was trying desperately to maneuver my way to the firm edge or find something substantial to grab.

“She’d move on quickly,” Third argued. “Plenty of much better options out there.”

They stood debating the merits of Bitsy’s future husband as the swamp continued eating me alive.