Sphinx: Prison Breaker Book 5 by Georgia Wagner

Sphinx: Prison Breaker Book 5 by Georgia Wagner

Author:Georgia Wagner [Wagner, Georgia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-05-24T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 21

The scent of the swamp lingered musky and damp as Preacher struggled to force the jeep out of a rut. The tires whirred in the sucking mud, splattering the air with dirt. Bullrushes bent beneath us, and a faint croaking sound of many amphibians murmured over the bubbling of mud and sludgy water. Cattails swished and swayed in the tall grass.

Preacher paused, allowing the engine to slow, giving a chance for the tread to catch, and then pushed the gas once more, trying to ease us forward. The tires were stuck.

“Might have to get out and push,” Preacher said, his teeth clenching.

I didn't complain. Didn't have time to express my frustration. I hopped out instantly, my feet starting to sink the moment I hit the mud. Grunting, I slogged through the sludge, using the edge of the jeep to guide me.

“Is it far?” I said. “Maybe we can just walk!”

“Not far. But we need the jeep to get back. Don't wanna navigate this in the dark.”

I sighed but nodded. I reached the back of the jeep, bracing my shoulder against the spare tire. “Ready?” I called.

“Set! Go!”

I leaned into it as Preacher pushed the gas. My shoulder strained, my legs aching, my feet slipping. More than once, I nearly lost my grip and tumbled into the muck. Each time, I caught myself on the rubber tire, holding fast.

It didn't take long for me to start breathing heavily, sweating profusely, digging my boots into the horrible terrain.

“Almost!” Preacher shouted. “Almost—just a bit—”

The jeep jolted forward, which was good. I did also, which was less so.

Preacher's whoop of triumph was replaced soon after by my wail of despair. The tires skidded onto dry ground, while I went chest and face first, arms like pinwheels, into the mud.

The splat of my trim frame hitting deep mud was second only to the sudden squelching cold that found my face. I pushed with bare hands against the sludge, mouth sealed tightly, but lips caked in the dark substance. I had something of an aversion where uncleanliness abounded... And now, I wanted to cringe and throw myself into a shower, or a sauna, or a steam bath... But options were limited in this department.

Dirt and water dripped from my chin, my lips, down my face. My hands shook where I tried to dislodge the muck. I pushed slowly to my feet, encased in what felt like half the swamp.

A second later, Preacher caught a look of me in the mirror.

“Shut up!” I snapped, trudging forward, dripping and glaring.

“I didn't say—”

“You're thinking it.”

“But—”

“Yes, you were!” I snapped.

“Don't—”

“Oh, I will!” I retorted.

Preacher's humor faded now. “Well, take your time about it then, why don't you?”

I was about to make a cutting reply—though, it was hard to gain the upper-hand in a verbal joust when one looks like a pig in filth—when suddenly Preacher and I both paused.

A light had flickered on ahead of us, through the swamp. Even the croaking bullfrogs and the faint hiss of lizards faded a bit as the light shone across the murky pond.



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