Page 13 of Croc Food

“Bitsy loves me!” I protested.

At least, I hope she still does.

“No, Junior is right. We won’t let him die unless Bitsy asks us to.”

Hayes pushed a big stick over toward me. Was that what he considered help?

I grabbed for the wet stick anyway, driving it deep into the ground and trying to use it to lever myself the hell out of here.

Finally, with much grunting, I was able to haul myself inch by inch out of the quicksand, at last flopping free on the side of it and lying panting on my back.

“These swamps are dangerous,” Hayes said, poking me with his boot. “Maybe you better go on out of here, city slicker. Before something worse happens to you.”

“Hell no!” I said indignantly. “I’m here to tell Bitsy how sorry I am for what I did and bring her back home with me.”

They sighed.

“All right then. We’ll take you to her. But the second she doesn’t want you, you’ll be right out on your ass, Chadley.”

I followed them muddily down to the river where their flat-bottomed swamp boat was floating oozily, and we all got in.

Third started the motor and we began to zoom down the lazy, stagnant river, its surface covered in a green layer of slime and goo.

“There’s a lot of crocodiles around these here parts,” Hayes said. “Nothing they like better than a douchebag. They find douchebags very tasty.”

“Imagine not appreciating Bitsy’s cooking,” Junior said, glaring at me.

He smelled disturbingly like wood chips and blood.

“One year she made me a swamp rat birthday cake just because she knows I love them. Whipped the strawberry-basil cream herself. Never occurred me anyone wouldn’t appreciate a labor of love like that.”

“I do appreciate her—” I began.

“I remember that cake,” Third interrupted. “It was whimsical as hell. She made me a lemon cream pie that year. Phenomenal woman.”

All three of them glared at me, and Third tipped the boat sideways, so I had to jump forward to avoid getting dunked into the swamp.

“I told you we should have stopped the wedding,” Junior growled.

“You wanted to stop the wedding?” I yelped.

My own family had barely made it back from their yacht for the ceremony, dropped $500,000 worth of stock into my account, and had missed every Christmas since.

It was safe to say I wasn’t used to such an involved family.

They sped around the riverbed as I swatted at a swarm of mosquitos. It seemed like they didn’t like my cologne much.

Who did those two glowing orbs looking out at me from that mossy overhang belong to?

“What do you think?” Junior asked. “Should we leave him here for croc food?”

“Please just take me to Bitsy,” I said through gritted teeth, and they slowed the swamp boat down so they could creep right by those glowing orbs, make sure I knew they could just toss me bodily out of the boat if they wanted.

At last we made it to their house, a three-story monstrosity on stilts, with porches and added side rooms sticking out every which way so that it looked like a Jenga game.

A bright orange Jenga game, because the entire house was painted an eye-popping fluorescent orange.

“What—” I said, and they all turned to glare at me.