In One Fell Swoop Read online

  In one fell Swoop

  Willow Rose

  Copyright Willow Rose 2017

  Published by BUOY MEDIA

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Cover design by Sara DeRidder, DeRidder designs

  Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque

  http://janellparque.blogspot.com/

  To be the first to hear about new releases and bargains from Willow Rose, sign up below to be on the VIP List. (I promise not to share your email with anyone else, and I won't clutter your inbox.)

  - Tap here to sign up to be on the VIP LIST -

  Tired of too many emails? Text the word: “willowrose” to 31996 to sign up to Willow’s VIP text List to get a text alert with news about New Releases, Giveaways, Bargains and Free books from Willow.

  Follow Willow Rose on BookBub:

  Connect with Willow online:

  Facebook

  Twitter

  GoodReads

  willow-rose.net

  [email protected]

  To do something in one fell swoop is to do it suddenly or in a single, swift action. Fell here is an adjective meaning fierce, savage, cruel, or ruthless. The swoop in one fell swoop is a noun referring to (1) a blow or stroke or (2), metaphorically, a bird’s sudden, sweeping descent from a height.

  - The Grammarist

  All my pretty ones?

  Did you say all? O Hell-Kite! All?

  What, all my pretty Chickens, and their Damme

  At one fell swoope?

  - Shakespeare, Macbeth, 1605

  "There is peace in the swamp, though the quiet is Death."

  - Bret Harte

  "Hell is a swamp, to me - not as something fiery, but as something dank, moist, and wet."

  - Avey Tare

  Prologue

  The one with the not so happy camper

  Somewhere in the Green Swamps, also known as the liquid heart of Florida, on a Saturday in June, at the crack of dawn…

  Chapter 1

  Sam McGee was not enjoying himself. Not at this moment, not before this moment, not earlier today or even yesterday. He wasn't enjoying any of this, because—let's face it—camping sucked, especially when you were fourteen and you were with your dad and his friend and this friend's very lame third and fourth-grade kids. And on top of it all, they had to get up before sunrise. Who in their right mind got up this early in their summer break?

  So far, this summer break was a total bummer. It didn't matter how many popsicles Sam's dad gave him. They were hardly tasty enough to warrant the mosquitos that came with them.

  Sam sighed and longed to be back in his house, in his room. He had been looking forward to spending summer break trapped inside with his newest Japanese manga series, The Death Note, on his iPad. Inside. As in, indoors. As in, where no one forced him to wear shorts. But then his dad had called and asked his mom if he could take the boy away for a few days of fun.

  This was hardly Sam's idea of fun.

  "Come on, Sam. Don't sit there and sulk," his dad, Greg, yelled while pulling out his equipment from the back of his truck. He threw a set of waders at Sam. They smelled old and nasty. Sam felt the rubber and wondered who had used them last. Then he threw the thought away because it was simply too nasty.

  Sam wrinkled his nose while his dad was humming. He pulled out more stuff for them to carry. Sam had no idea what most of it was. They were going out in the swamps today with John and his kids.

  Doin' some gator huntin'.

  The idea was petrifying for Sam.

  John was Sam's dad's friend and co-worker at the sawmill. They were equally rowdy and equally fond of drinking beers and hunting gators in the swamps.

  "Look at this mother f… that I caught last year," John said and pushed his phone in front of Sam so he could see the picture of him with the big gator. "Twelve darn feet. I tell ya' ain't no one caught as big a mother f… as this one around here for years, is what they say. Ain't no one done that yet, no siree. Fought that bastard for more than two hours before it gave in."

  "That's great," Sam said and threw him an indifferent look. The story had added another hour to it since the last time John had told it. Sam feared he would add more and make the story last even longer.

  John's two kids, Elliot and Sandra, were fighting over the harpoon pole. John finally saw it and left Sam alone. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Hey you two, that thing ain't for playing around."

  Sam shook his head as John tried to retrieve the harpoon from the kids, who were now both screaming in anger and frustration. Sam reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. They had only been gone since yesterday, but he wanted to call his mom and tell her to pick him up. Maybe come up with an emergency of some sort.

  Not that Sam wasn't happy that his dad finally wanted to spend some time with him; he was actually very glad he did, he just didn't know what to talk to him about. They didn't like the same things, and he always wanted to do stupid stuff with Sam, outdoorsy stuff, like going fishing or camping. And Sam always ended up disappointing him because he didn't like it.

  Fact was, they couldn't be more different, the two of them.

  "What's that?"

  Sam looked up and into the eyes of his dad. He looked angry and pointed at the phone in Sam's hands.

  "I told you. This is a no-electronics kind of trip. Nothing that goes beep-beep-beep or makes any unnatural sounds or takes you away from what we have here. I don't want to see you on that thing while we're out here. Put it away. This is nature, son. Take it all in, all its beauty and splendor."

  Sam put the phone back in his pocket with a deep exhale. His dad was against anything electronic. He only had a cellphone himself that had been outdated years ago. And he never had it on him, which kind of went against the entire idea of a cell phone, in Sam's opinion.

  His dad shook his head. "No. I meant all the way. Out of reach."

  Sam protested. "Come on!"

  "No. I mean it, Sam. I want that phone in the tent, in the backpack while you're out here with me."

  "But…"

  "No. No buts. Put it away, please."

  "I promised I'd call Mom every day."

  His dad blew raspberries. "Don't be such a momma's boy. You're out here to be a man with your father. Your mother can wait. Now put away the phone and get inside those waders. Mother Nature is calling and you better answer."

  Sam's dad laughed at his own joke for a little too long. Sam wrinkled his nose in embarrassment.

  "Well, she isn't exactly a friend of mine," Sam said with another sigh.

  "What was that?" his dad asked.

  "I don't like nature," he said with a shrug.

  His dad shook his head. "Don't like nature, what do you mean? What's not to like? There are plants, trees, bushes, birds, and water. It's beautiful. Everyone loves nature. How can you not like nature?"

  "I just don't. It's creepy."

  Sam threw a glance in between the trees behind his dad when he said the words, then shuddered. There was something about the trees and the swamps that scared him. It was so gloomy and sinister and it even smelled weird.

  "Creepy? How can you say all this beauty is creepy?"

  "It just is. It's like it's staring at me. In there lurks it, you know, the creepiness…the things…anything…in the darkness is where it watches and waits."

  His dad wrinkled his forehead. "It? What are you ta
lking about, boy? It?"

  Sam shrugged. "I don't know what else to call it. It. Nature."

  Greg shook his head with a loud click of his tongue. "Why are you being all…weird? Man is the boss of nature. Don't you know that? It even says so in the darn Bible and everything. Man shall trample on serpents…or something like that. Don't your momma tell you to read your Bible, huh? Look at your dad. Look at me, son. I catch gators, snakes, and hogs inside these swamps. Ain't nothing scaring me in there. I know this place like the back of my hand. Dang it. There ain't nothin' to be scared of in there. You're the boss. You remember that! You're the boss. Say it after me, son. Out loud. I'm the boss."

  Who is this character? Is he for real?

  "Come on, son, we believe what we say, so repeat after me. I'm the Boss."

  Sam stared at his father, then said with a deep exhale, hoping no one would hear him, "I'm the Boss."

  "Yes, you are," he said. "And don't you forget it. You the man!" His dad smiled from ear to ear. Then pointed at Sam. "Now get in them darn waders before I do it for you."

  Chapter 2

  As expected, Sam hated every minute of the time he spent walking through the green murky water. The trail started off dry. Soon enough, they were ankle-deep, then knee-deep, and by the time they were inside the cypress dome, waist-deep in water.

  Slowly, they were trudging through murky water, covered in bug spray, with just a walking stick. Afraid he might hurt himself, his dad didn't trust him enough to give him one of the harpoon poles or even one of the bang sticks, he told him. If a gator approached them, his dad would shoot it for him, he promised.

  Sam felt like he could cry.

  "Look in the water for big alligator heads and bubbles," John whispered to his children. It was devastating to Sam how much the young kids were enjoying themselves. Didn't they see the danger? Didn't they feel how mushy the bottom was? Weren't they afraid it might suddenly start sucking them down? Weren't they afraid of getting stuck?

  Sam was. To him, Mother Nature was as dangerous as any other woman, maybe even worse. In his mind, she was only waiting for the right moment to get to you, that one second when you weren't paying attention or you allowed yourself to be distracted, that was when she’d strike.

  He moved carefully through the muddy waters. He tried to look down, constantly jumping at the sense of something moving close to him. He was hyperventilating most of the time, constantly turning to look behind him, then keeping an eye on what went on in between the big cypress trees with their huge over-ground roots that looked like they were ready to reach out for him. He was certain he saw one of them move, like a big snake right under the surface of the soil, but he had a feeling it might just be his imagination. He had a tendency to get carried away.

  Sam shuddered, even though it was ninety-eight degrees and so humid he could feel the water in the air as he breathed. He couldn't escape the thought that the trees were staring at him, like they were watching him, observing his every move, waiting for him to slip up so they could strike.

  Did that tree over there just move? No, Sam, you're just seeing things. You've got to stop it.

  As he stared at the mangrove that he believed had moved, Sam felt something touch his thigh in the water and he shrieked. A little too loud. The sound echoed through the swamps. Sam rushed forward, panting in agitation. His dad turned and looked at him with a disapproving look, then placed a finger over his lips.

  "Something touched my leg," he explained. "I got scared."

  His dad didn't answer; he just looked at him with that look. The look loaded with disappointment when he noticed that Sam wasn't having fun, the look that said, no it screamed: why can't you be more like me?

  They didn't catch any gators; his dad believed it was too hot for them, so they were probably hiding to keep cool. But the young kids caught a couple of fish that they grilled over a bonfire when they got back to the campsite as nighttime fell. Sam was tired and missed his home more than ever. He wasn't looking forward to spending yet another night in the small tent with his dad snoring and the mosquitoes biting. He hated all the sounds of nature around him. The same sounds that apparently made his dad sleep so well. Or maybe it was the beers he drank before bedtime that knocked him out.

  Right now, he was at it again. Downing down one beer after another and crashing the cans in his hand, then throwing them in between the trees surrounding them, with loud laughter. Sam stared at him and his friend as they became more and more chummy and the jokes less and less funny.

  The problem wasn't the beers or the pollution they contributed to, no the big issue was his dad's state of mind, which changed rapidly when he had too much to drink. Sam could do nothing but sit there and wait for it to happen.

  The clock had barely hit nine before it began. His speech was already slurred as he turned and spoke to Sam.

  "What are you sulking about now, boy? You wanna go home to your mama, huh? You wanna go home and hide in your momma's dress? Why are you such a wuss, huh? Why can't you be more like your dad?"

  It was the same thing he asked every night, every time Sam was with his dad. And, as always, he also provided the answer himself, a shaking finger placed right in front of Sam's face.

  "Your momma spoiled you. She never let you spend time with me. Instead, she kept you at home clicking away on that computer of yours or letting you bury yourself in those comics, shaping you into the full-blown nerd you’ve become. It's not your fault; it really isn't, Sam. Your mother just failed you miserably. It's not your fault."

  Sam hated when his dad talked about his mom like she was a failure. It was, after all, she who had brought him up, who had taken care of him all his life while his dad had been doing nothing. It wasn't until Sam was thirteen years old that his dad came into his life and all of a sudden decided to have a relationship with him. A year later, and it still wasn't happening. Maybe it was about time they faced the facts.

  "I think I’m going to bed now," Sam said and was about to get up from his old rusty fold-out chair.

  "Don't go now," his dad complained, slightly pitchy and whiny. He finished his beer and threw the empty can toward the trunk of a tree, but missed. The can ended up in some bushes, along with the fifteen others before it. Greg's eyes were glassy. "We're about to tell scary stories, right kiddos?"

  Elliot and Sandra cheered joyfully, sticks in their hands, sticky marshmallow goo all over their faces.

  "Yay. Scary stories."

  Greg looked at Sam; his eyes were begging. "Come on, son. This is what camping is all about. Sitting around the bonfire, telling stories, scaring each other to death right before bedtime."

  They all looked pleadingly at Sam. He felt sick to his stomach. Luckily, this was the last day and tomorrow he was going home. His mom was going to pay big time for forcing him to go.

  "Please?" his dad said. "I know a good one."

  "I already heard it," Sam sighed. "You told it yesterday, remember?"

  Greg looked disappointed. "I'll come up with a new one then?"

  Sam looked in between the trees where nothing but deep darkness stared back at him, then to the other side where another unfortunate group of people had set camp next to them. They too had a bonfire going and someone was playing guitar. A couple of others chimed in, and soon they all started to sing. Kids were roasting marshmallows, squeezing them between crackers with chocolate, making s'mores. The adults were singing loudly.

  Great. That'll keep me up all night.

  "Sit down, son, have a soda and let me tell you a story," Greg said. "I'll make it real scary for you. Nothing like a good scare before bedtime, huh?"

  Sam exhaled resignedly. "I'll be in the tent. Goodnight."

  Chapter 3

  Of course, Sam couldn't fall asleep. Not only was the noise coming from outside the tent way too loud, but he was also sweating in the sleeping bag that he had to stay in if he didn't want to be constantly eaten by mosquitoes. And, on top of it, he repeatedly felt like critters had i
nvaded his sleeping bag, not to mention the many bugs he spotted both crawling on the outside of the tent and—and these were the worst—on the inside. But worst of all was the feeling that Mother Nature was right there, right outside of the tent, surrounding him, enclosing this tent, and there was nowhere to run. He was certain he could see the long crooked branches reaching for him, casting shadows on the side of the tent.

  You're being silly, Sam. It's just a bunch of trees. You're letting your imagination get the better of you. Tomorrow, you'll be back in your home with the AC, iPad, and your nice bed to sleep in, your nice comfortable bed.

  Just the thought made Sam relax with an exhale. He couldn't wait to get back to civilization (or to see what would happen to Light Yagami and what he was going to do with the notebook). Two whole days in the wilderness like this was more than enough for an entire lifetime for him.

  As he closed his eyes, he must have dozed off, because when he woke up he felt confused and had no sense of what time it was.

  Wait. Why is it suddenly so quiet? Why have they stopped singing? Why can't I hear them chatting anymore? Why can't I hear dad's loud, slurry voice?

  "He probably passed out drunk, again," Sam mumbled with a sigh.

  Thinking he should probably check on his father and maybe drag him to bed, he got up, out of his warm muggy sleeping bag. He stretched before opening the tent flap. He peeked out.

  The campsite was empty.

  What the heck? Where is everyone?

  Sam grabbed his phone, put it in his pocket, then found a flashlight and stepped outside. He walked to the bonfire. It was still burning, flames licking the firewood. Someone had just put new wood on it.