“Sure,” agreed Peter, “but then you have the whole canner thing. That part’s not better. Neither is the fact that we could starve to death or die from a simple cut.”

“No, we won’t starfe to death. Not in da Everglades. It’ss full of life. Birds and snakes and gators and deer and all kindts of mammals. Dare’s so much rain here all da time, we’ll never run out of water. And for da injuries, we can make some things like alcohol to kill da germs. I can build dat for sure, it’s not a problem.”

“You know, Bodo, when you put it like that, it doesn’t seem so bad,” I said, surprising even myself with what I was saying. “I mean, I know you’re creating this little illusion and all, but if I don’t think about it too hard, it does seem pretty okay. With you guys in the picture, at least. I don’t think I’d want to do all that alone.”

“Yes, dats what I mean, too. It’s not worth it so much if you are alone. Human beingks were meant to live in groups. You can see dat even when dare were cavemens running around. We survive better in tribes and families.” He stopped for a minute and then leaned forward more, looking especially earnest. “And it’s not an illusion. It’s reality! You have to think positif. Hey, you’re Hamerican! Your country was built on the idea dat nothing is impossible! If you can belief it, you can achief it!”

I shook my head at him. He was probably right, but he was so excited about it, he looked just a tad bit deranged. The fact that his hair was sticking out in every direction in clumps wasn’t helping.

Peter laughed. “I think you’ve listened to too many Tony Robbins tapes or something.”

“You will see. Bodo is right on dis one.” He laid back on the tarp. “Time for sleeping. Goodnight, family.”

I watched him close his eyes, and sat there staring at him for a while. He’d wandered in off the highway out of nowhere - a place we really hadn’t bothered to ask him about - all alone, with almost nothing to live on in his bag. He was from another country, where they spoke a different language and had a different history. And yet, he was the voice of reason in our lives. He made sense and he made me feel hopeful and happy to be here under a highway overpass in the middle of Florida, headed to a giant swamp filled with lethal creatures.

I looked up at the sky, wondering if my dad were up there, looking down on me and sending people to me who might make my life feel worth living. I sent him a silent message, just in case he could hear me, fingering the ring of his that was hanging at my throat.

Thanks, Dad … for sending Peter and Bodo, and Buster too. I like my new family. I wish you were here too, but even though you aren’t, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be okay.

It was the first time I’d felt hopeful about my life in a long time.

***

Bodo woke us up at four o’clock with a breakfast of Pringles and water, anxious to get going.

“Today is maybe da last day, right?”

I pulled the map book out and studied the mile marker signs as best I could with the tiny flashlight I’d taken from the car with the grenades in it. “Maybe. I’d at least like to hit a tourist shop if nothing else.”

“Awesome,” said Peter sleepily, shoving the one, still-crunchy potato chip in his mouth.

We packed up our stuff and got on our bikes, pedaling back up to the highway to head south once again.

After three hours of riding we started seeing billboards advertising a huge tourist shop. They promised Maps, Oranges you could ship, Seashells, T-shirts and More! A few also mentioned discount tickets to local attractions. I wondered if any of them were way out of the way and habitable. It was tempting to think of living in a place that was already built for us.

A small town arose from the emptiness in front of us, making me instantly feel nervous. Towns meant people. It was still pretty early for canners, but that didn’t make it safe.

“Let’s get off at the next exit,” I said. “That last billboard said there was a big tourist shop there.”

“Should we be aiming for a big one or a small one?” asked Peter.

“Well, either, I guess. What are you thinking?”

“Just that if it’s bigger, it’s probably already been hit by raiders. Maybe they wouldn’t bother with the smaller ones?”

“All of dem are going to be hit - but who’ss gonna take maps into da swamp except for crazy people like us?” He smiled at me, taking any sting out of his words.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Peter conceded.

We got off the exit and coasted to the bottom, following the signs leading us east to the tourist shop. It was located on the edge of the town, near a strip mall - a stand-alone building with the front glass partially smashed in.

Bodo rode his bike up to the front door.

“Watch for glass,” warned Peter. “We’ve made it this far without any flats, let’s not get one now.”

Bodo backed his bike up a little. “Who’s going in?” He looked over his shoulder at us, awaiting an answer.

“You and me. Peter, you wait here with Buster. Shout if anyone comes, and have your gun out and loaded. Shoot anyone who looks at you like you’re a steak or invites you to a bar-b-cue.”

I winced inside a little at my careless choice of words, but Peter didn’t seem to care. He nodded his head, pulling his backpack around and getting the weapon out.

“Come on, Bodo. Let’s go see what we can find.” I took my gun out and nudged him in the arm with it so he’d take it. He frowned at me but didn’t argue, taking the gun and putting it in the back of his waistband.

We stepped through the door frame that remained locked together, using the convenient, giant holes someone had made in their glass fronts to enter. The interior was one big open space. There were rows and rows of shelves that held seashells of every shape, color, and size. Some of them looked native to Florida and others obviously weren’t. Someone with a glue gun and way too much time on her hands had made giant shell-covered knick knacks. There were mirrors, lamps, clocks, bowls, vases, jewelry boxes, and a hundred other things. Some of them had their natural shell colors and others had been painted, bedazzled, or shellacked. It was crazy.

Bodo walked over to the gaudiest piece in the entire store and said, “Bryn, imagine dat we livt in da real world, da old one, and dat I am buying dis lovely piece of art for you. As a gift. Happy birthday.”

I laughed, walking over to a hula skirt and coconut bra on a hanger, holding it up for him to see. “And imagine that I’m buying this for you, Bodo. Happy birthday.”

“Why thank you, Bryn. Dat is very kind of you. I think dat would look very nice on me, especially da bra part. When iss your birthday, anyway?”

“It’s next month, actually. When’s yours?”

“December twenty-fifth. I am a Christmas baby.”

“That sucks.”

“Yes. For da presents. But my mom always gafe me extra in June at da half point.”

“Your mom sounds cool.”

“Yes. She wass very cool, my mom. I miss her sometimes.”

I nodded my head. I didn’t want to talk about parents anymore right now. I had too many other things to worry about. “Let’s go find some maps and brochures about places in the swamps.”

We made our way over to a bank of racks holding all kinds of brochures. They advertised water parks, butterfly parks, bird sanctuaries, snake museums, gator wrestling shows, and swamp buggy and airboat rides. Everything and anything a person could do near the humid, hot Everglades was put on display here.

I pulled one of everything off the racks, stacking them in my arms. Bodo helped, going over to the other side and grabbing one of each from there.

“We gonna read these later?”

“Yes. I don’t like leaving Peter alone.”

“Yeah, me needer.”

I put the stack of brochures I had in Bodo’s arms. “I’m just going to check behind the register, see if there’s anything of any use there.

“Okay. I’ll go put dese in da trailer. See you in a minute.”

I was rummaging around on the shelves below the cash register when I heard a small noise behind me. I shifted to my left before turning, and I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing that saved my life.

A baseball bat came crashing down, glancing off my shoulder to hit the edge of the counter. It snapped off a piece of the formica and left a crack in the underlying particle board.

I dropped to the floor and rolled, coming to the balls of my feet in a not so smooth move on account of the incredible pain shooting through my shoulder. I stood there, slightly off kilter, fighting off the urge to coddle my injured body part. I knew it wouldn’t do to let the enemy know where my weakness currently lie.

I found myself facing a girl - a dark-haired angry one. She was spouting all kinds of pissed-off-sounding weird words at me that I didn’t recognize, and swinging the bat a little from side to side, as if she were at home plate and getting ready to hit a high fly ball deep into left field.

I held my fists up, ready to let her have it if she came any closer. I almost screamed at the pain that shot up from my injured shoulder. The bone wasn’t broken, but man, was it bruised.

“Don’t even think about coming near me with that bat again, bitch. I’ll friggin take it away from you and bash your head in with it.”

“Oh, so you think you can just come in here to my parents’ store and take whatever you want? Steal from me?”

I smiled, for some reason finding the fact that she had stayed to protect her parents’ tacky shell emporium hilarious.

“What’s so frickin’ funny?”

“Is your mom the one with the unhealthy glue gun addiction?”

“What?” she spat, her face the picture of confusion. Slowly, though, realization dawned, and her expression changed to one of incredulity. “Did you just mock my mom’s shell crafting?”

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

She stood up straighter, the bat falling to her side. “I’ll have you know that my mom’s shell art was a big seller here.”

“Seriously?” I said, truly shocked at the idea. “Who buys that crap?”

She shrugged. “Tourists. People from places where they don’t have shells.”

“Most of this shit isn’t even from Florida,” I scoffed.

“So? They don’t know that.”

I shook my head. “Shell scammers.”

She lifted the bat again. “It’s not polite to talk ill of the dead.”

I held up my hands, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

“You planning on going into the Everglades?” She still held the bat up, but I noticed her shoulders relax a little. She wasn’t planning on swinging at me now. At least not at this particular moment.

“What’s it to you?” I was pissed she’d overheard our conversation. Now there was one more person on this planet who could give our secrets away to the canners.

“I was gonna help you. But maybe I won’t now, since you gave me shit about my moms.” Her chin came up and she challenged me with a hard stare.

I realized how stupid it was of me to keep fighting with this chick. She lived at this ridiculous shell shop and obviously was from the area.

“I’m sorry about your mom. I do need your help. I want to know where there’s a place we can find canoes.” I focused on the boats because I was thinking that a tourist place would have canoes where the most scenic parts of the Everglades were - which hopefully meant that it would be in an area with trees, swampy parts, and lots of wildlife. A good place to settle down in anonymity.

The girl backed up out of the area behind the register and walked over to the brochure rack, pulling three fliers off.