Davy Crockett 8 by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins [Robbins, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: davy crockett, jim bowie, american frontier history, david robbins, david robbins writing as david thompson, coo skin cap, early us mountain men, historical us fronter fiction
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Seven

Flavius Harris started to back away from the onrushing wall of roiling water, and tripped. He tried to rise, but it was on him before he could. A liquid battering ram slammed into his side, bowling him over. He tumbled head over heels, barely able to retain his grip on Matilda. A tremendous hissing filled his ears. Something hard hit his leg. Something else, long and sinuous, wriggled against his arm and was gone.

Flavius tried to resist the tide, but it was hopeless. It was like being buffeted by a giant’s hand. He could no more resist the water’s pull than he could withstand a buffalo stampede. Trees shot past him. Crumpled brush whirled into a murky void. Animals flitted in front of his eyes; frogs, salamander, snakes, and more. Once, a small gator zipped on by, trail thrashing.

Flavius had neglected to suck in a deep breath before the wave engulfed him. He needed to reach the surface, but he did not know which direction to go. Dizzy, disoriented, he struggled to slow himself down. He might as well have attempted to stem the Mississippi’s flow.

A jarring impact did what Flavius was unable to do on his own. He smashed into a tree, the impact whooshing what little air he had left from his lungs. His left arm happened to loop around the trunk, and he clung on for dear life.

His chest was fit to explode. His vision dimmed. Soon, whether he wanted to or not, he must gasp for air that was not there.

The end was near.

Then the pressure slackened. The water stopped pummeling him. He straightened, astonished when his head broke clear. He could breathe again.

Suddenly, to his left, a huge alligator appeared. Its enormous head swung from side to side, and it snorted just like a bull. It was mad as hell and searching for something to take out its wrath on.

Flavius did not so much as twitch. When the reptile turned and paddled furiously away, he straightened. The water level was dropping rapidly. His feet settled on firm ground and he stood.

Around him living things writhed and flopped and squirmed. Tadpoles, fish, a bullfrog, even a turtle. To the west the white froth receded as the wave diminished. To the east, the last of the slaves entered a strip of verdant growth. Arlo Kastner was at the rear, and he never bothered to glance back.

Flavius suppressed an urge to whoop for joy. Leaning against the ground, he checked Matilda and the pistols. Both were hopelessly soaked, and had to be dried and reloaded. The only thing was, if he took the time, the river rats might get away. And he could ill afford to lose them.

Muddy water lapped against his legs as he waded toward the woods. He stepped over a black snake, avoided a middling-sized gator.

The slavers were traveling to the northwest this time. Strange, since New Orleans was to the east, but he figured they knew the swamp better than he did. He stayed well enough behind to avoid being detected.

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