Chapter 12
Swamp Thing
Marcus Chen · 4.2K words · ~17 min read
Chapter 12: "Swamp Thing"
The fishing camp existed in that gray zone between "structure" and "suggestion of a structure." Four walls of weathered cypress planks. A tin roof that had probably been silver once and was now the color of old pennies. A screened porch that overlooked a bayou channel where the water moved so slowly it might have been standing still—if not for the occasional leaf drifting past like a tiny ship without a captain.
No electricity, as promised. No running water, also as promised—though Lin had neglected to mention that part. There was a hand pump out back that produced water the color of weak tea but allegedly safe to drink. A composting outhouse thirty feet from the main structure that I chose to believe was adequate for its purpose without investigating too closely.