Page 5 of The Sixth Spring

And what?

Again the question he had no answer to. He stared at the black surface, watching distant ripples of creatures moving through it. He hummed the song louder, like he was a part of them, a part of this place.

But he wasn’t.

…Was he?

Something buzzed in the back of his brain. It was a feeling like someone needed him, like he should to do something, come closer.

It had to be just his curiosity. Everyone had been talking about Mercale all day.

Will took a step forward. Water came up over the top of his shoes, soaking through the thin material. It was cold, ice cold.

Spring water.

He took another step.

Will had spent the day sweating, and now he found himself starting to shiver. He hummed louder, both to comfort himself and to give any creatures in the water a heads up that he was here. He did not want to surprise an alligator.

Around him, the hypnotic chorus continued. The draw pulled tighter.

Water came up to his ankles.

He should turn back. He should turn back.

But he didn’t. He wanted to see what they’d done. Will had lived in Five Springs his whole life, and this was the first time he could remember someone from the outside coming in and changing something.

He took another step into the water. The forward pull strengthened. It felt tangible, like a line wrapped around his middle, reeling him in. He imagined farther down in the dark was the rot he’d tasted from the orange. The oil they’d used to dig this up, leeching into the land.

He imagined it as something he could dig his fingers into and pull out like a bad tooth. Something he could solve, all on his own.

But he’d never been able to solve even his own rot.

Will wrenched his thoughts away from that. He hummed louder to himself, fingers tapping in beat against the fabric of his jeans. The dark and the water made him a little nervous.

He took another step. The water began soaking up his work pants.

He kept going.

Water swirled around him as he walked, leaving a trail through the debris. The level rose to just under his knees before stopping.

Will had walked Mercale Street daily when he was still in school, so he recognized the shapes of the shadowed trees and the fenced off cattle pastures. It was all a huge lake now.

Moonlight glimmered off the water. So far he hadn’t run into any animals, and he desperately hoped he wouldn’t.

As he walked down the road, the construction site rose out of the dark. It was located just before the next orange grove, where there’d once been cattle fields.

The back of his neck prickled again as he got closer. Only the the arms of two excavators were still visible. Both had sunk into the water or been flooded mid-task. One had tipped sideways, as if its arm had been broken.

In the dark, the bright paint on the body wasn’t visible, and they looked like metal monsters. Ones who’d been trying to escape the swamp and failed.

Will could taste gasoline in the air, a noxious, potent smell. They’d already done so much destruction here.

Just days ago there’d been a swath of cypress trees in this field. They were gone now, clearcut, and Will could see the sky and stars where they’d once stood.

Cypress trees were native here, and they dotted all the swampier areas with impossible height, dripping gray, tangled moss that made them look prehistoric. Will had never given the trees much thought before, but seeing them clearcut now made him unaccountably sad.

How old were those trees? How deep had their roots been?