trees was just visible over the cane.
Cotton picked his path, and Charlie followed, this time walking. After a few hundred yards, they reached a narrow canal between the cane and the trees. The trees were anything but quiet—birds squalled, mammals chattered, bugs clacked and pulsed. But when Cotton spoke, he whispered.
“Watch my back, coz. Don’t want nothing coming up behind.” Bending over at the waist, Cotton moved forward along the canal, his eyes locked on the shadows between the dense trees on the other side.
Charlie hurried after him, constantly glancing back, watching the tight wall of cane slide past.
Away from the burn and no longer running, he could feel the air cooling. A breeze was blowing, swaying the cane and rustling the green hair of the swamp trees.
They passed a dirt road between fields, and as they did, Charlie glimpsed the white church away on its mound. A cop car sat beside it. For a moment, the silhouettes of three men stood out against the sky before disappearing behind the cane as Charlie kept moving.
Cotton was leading them back to where that crazy old man with the sword and helmet, Lio, had first stepped out of the swamp, where a dead snake had been curled on a pale stone.
As they climbed onto the low mound and turned to bridge the canal, Cotton froze. Behind him, Charlie stopped breathing.
The white chalky stone was hidden beneath the curling bloody body of a large panther.
“Is it dead?” Charlie whispered.
Cotton inched forward. “On the stone, they’re always dead.”
Both boys waited. They stared at the motionless shoulders, at the back of the limp neck. The cat was big—bigger than either boy—and the fur was tan where it wasn’t matted nearly black with blood. One ear was missing, but the other was backed with night-dark fur. The tail, thick and kinked like an old abused hose, had a tip as black as wet muck.
Charlie’s mind spun. Was this one of the panthers from last night, the panthers that had chased the shadow away from the graveyard? Had the shadow killed it?
Cotton was a statue. After a long moment, Charlie slid past him. He crouched down and crept within reach of the body. He extended his hand like a doctor, to feel for a pulse.
The body was still warm. Fur as soft as a kitten’s slid between his knuckles. Fur scabbed rough like bark scratched his palm. Fur sticky with fresh blood clung to his fingertips. The soft thump of a dying heart shivered just beneath the loose skin of its neck.
The kinked tail rose slowly and then slapped the ground. The one ear twitched. The ribs heaved in a long, wet rattling breath.
Charlie swallowed a yell and tried not to move. The heartbeat fluttered again beneath his fingers. Behind him, he heard branches swing as Cotton slid away.
The panther heard it, too. The huge cat’s neck twisted slowly beneath Charlie’s hand. Eyes like two golden moons poured light into Charlie’s. The body tensed. Black glass pupils sharpened and the panther’s lip quivered and curled, baring white teeth, inches long.
Charlie jerked back his hand, slipped, and sat down. But the big cat’s eyes had already lost their focus. The animal’s head hit the ground while its ribs heaved in quick, shallow bursts.
“Charlie!” Cotton hissed. “Get out of there! C’mon!”
Charlie shifted onto his knees. He could feel the heat coming off the cat’s body, and smell the sour odor of bloodmixed with the scent of decaying meat on the animal’s breath.
Charlie gently placed his hand on the cat’s belly and felt the sputtering breaths. He ran his hand up the cat’s thick ribs and found the broken beat of the animal’s heart. And that’s where his hand was when the drumming of life finally stopped.
“It’s dead,” Charlie said. He glanced back at his cousin. Cotton was crouching on the far side of the canal with one hand over his mouth.
“What do we do now?” Cotton asked.
Together the boys managed to lift the panther off of the white
Cotton picked his path, and Charlie followed, this time walking. After a few hundred yards, they reached a narrow canal between the cane and the trees. The trees were anything but quiet—birds squalled, mammals chattered, bugs clacked and pulsed. But when Cotton spoke, he whispered.
“Watch my back, coz. Don’t want nothing coming up behind.” Bending over at the waist, Cotton moved forward along the canal, his eyes locked on the shadows between the dense trees on the other side.
Charlie hurried after him, constantly glancing back, watching the tight wall of cane slide past.
Away from the burn and no longer running, he could feel the air cooling. A breeze was blowing, swaying the cane and rustling the green hair of the swamp trees.
They passed a dirt road between fields, and as they did, Charlie glimpsed the white church away on its mound. A cop car sat beside it. For a moment, the silhouettes of three men stood out against the sky before disappearing behind the cane as Charlie kept moving.
Cotton was leading them back to where that crazy old man with the sword and helmet, Lio, had first stepped out of the swamp, where a dead snake had been curled on a pale stone.
As they climbed onto the low mound and turned to bridge the canal, Cotton froze. Behind him, Charlie stopped breathing.
The white chalky stone was hidden beneath the curling bloody body of a large panther.
“Is it dead?” Charlie whispered.
Cotton inched forward. “On the stone, they’re always dead.”
Both boys waited. They stared at the motionless shoulders, at the back of the limp neck. The cat was big—bigger than either boy—and the fur was tan where it wasn’t matted nearly black with blood. One ear was missing, but the other was backed with night-dark fur. The tail, thick and kinked like an old abused hose, had a tip as black as wet muck.
Charlie’s mind spun. Was this one of the panthers from last night, the panthers that had chased the shadow away from the graveyard? Had the shadow killed it?
Cotton was a statue. After a long moment, Charlie slid past him. He crouched down and crept within reach of the body. He extended his hand like a doctor, to feel for a pulse.
The body was still warm. Fur as soft as a kitten’s slid between his knuckles. Fur scabbed rough like bark scratched his palm. Fur sticky with fresh blood clung to his fingertips. The soft thump of a dying heart shivered just beneath the loose skin of its neck.
The kinked tail rose slowly and then slapped the ground. The one ear twitched. The ribs heaved in a long, wet rattling breath.
Charlie swallowed a yell and tried not to move. The heartbeat fluttered again beneath his fingers. Behind him, he heard branches swing as Cotton slid away.
The panther heard it, too. The huge cat’s neck twisted slowly beneath Charlie’s hand. Eyes like two golden moons poured light into Charlie’s. The body tensed. Black glass pupils sharpened and the panther’s lip quivered and curled, baring white teeth, inches long.
Charlie jerked back his hand, slipped, and sat down. But the big cat’s eyes had already lost their focus. The animal’s head hit the ground while its ribs heaved in quick, shallow bursts.
“Charlie!” Cotton hissed. “Get out of there! C’mon!”
Charlie shifted onto his knees. He could feel the heat coming off the cat’s body, and smell the sour odor of bloodmixed with the scent of decaying meat on the animal’s breath.
Charlie gently placed his hand on the cat’s belly and felt the sputtering breaths. He ran his hand up the cat’s thick ribs and found the broken beat of the animal’s heart. And that’s where his hand was when the drumming of life finally stopped.
“It’s dead,” Charlie said. He glanced back at his cousin. Cotton was crouching on the far side of the canal with one hand over his mouth.
“What do we do now?” Cotton asked.
Together the boys managed to lift the panther off of the white
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