The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,168

thunder say we got to stop. We thought we knew where you going, but with that zombie for a guide—”

“She’s a woman, and suffering!” the traiteur cut him off. “A victim, abducted and held prisoner for ten years. She’s still a prisoner. Pay her some respect!”

The Cajuns looked down but didn’t budge.

The traiteur left and went to Médora’s side.

Dupree surveyed the shrimpers and clicked his tongue in frustration. “I don’t care. Go back if you want and wait in the Zodiac. We can’t waste any more time. The lives of two little girls depend on us.”

“No way are we letting these scared hicks go back to the Zodiac!” exclaimed Charbou, who hadn’t said a word before this. “As soon as they hear more thunder, they’ll take off and leave us stuck here.”

Dupree gave the two a questioning look, but neither would meet his gaze.

Bull ended the discussion. “Sorry, friends, but you’re going to have to come along. It’s too late to turn back now.”

“So now you gonna arrest us?” asked Clive. “Or something like that?”

“No,” Charbou replied. “But if you two insist on staying here, I’ll handcuff you both to one of those trees full of fire ants, and you can wait there till we get back.”

That did it. The Cajuns followed the team, though obviously against their will.

The open space ended abruptly at a line of thick bushes that formed a natural barrier about twice a man’s height. Another thunderclap sounded overhead just as they reached the thicket. The shrimpers exchanged a pained glance. Médora pushed through the thorny bushes and the others followed. Just beyond the brush, a chain link fence along a berm surrounded a vast property.

“And here you have it,” Dupree whispered. “Ancient and venerable, Le Grand Bayou Plantation.”

They followed Médora along the perimeter fence. Bull motioned to Dupree, pointing to the security cameras, but on closer inspection, it became evident they’d been out of commission for a long time. They were covered with lichen and obscured by leafy growth. There were gaps in the chain link fence at various points, and the main gate had been mostly wrenched off its hinges. Bushes had been planted on either side of the entrance. The two sections of the gate were chained together and secured with a new padlock.

Médora ignored the gate and instead crawled through the bushes on one side where the fence was torn and there was a low gap wide enough to pass through. Fragile as she was, Médora went to the muddy ground and pulled herself under, dragging her splinted leg behind her. Inside the plantation, the water was knee deep. Water stood stagnating in a broad natural basin. Amaia was sure the area had been planted with marshland cultivars.

It occurred to her that the bayou had been the proprietor before the intrusion of human beings and now had reclaimed its territory. The immobile, dark, and threatening surface of the water was a great black mirror. In the distance, the main house stood on a rise, the only area that hadn’t been assaulted by the flood. Dispersed around it and still standing in floodwaters were at least five outbuildings. The first was a single-story rectangle, perhaps an old stable, inside which they could see metal and plastic drums of various sizes and colors piled high. It seemed deserted.

The farther they went, the more evident it became that the property had been abandoned in a hurry. The only vehicle in sight was a jeep with its hood up. They approached cautiously and found the motor covered in mud.

Keeping their guard up, they filed along the berm inside the perimeter, where tall, thick hedges offered concealment from anyone at the plantation manor. Médora stopped there; Dupree and the traiteur stood on either side of her. The rest of the team circled behind the outbuildings, then Bill and Bull headed for the main house, dragging one of the reluctant shrimpers along with them.

Johnson and Amaia took the other Cajun to the stables, where there was no sign of recent human presence. They returned, but before they could report, Médora set off again.

A ramshackle structure, perhaps a caretaker’s residence, stood awash at the far end of the property. Médora hobbled toward it. Amaia, the traiteur, Johnson, the Cajun, and Dupree trailed behind. It was slow going. With every step, their boots sunk into the yielding mess beneath the water. Amaia tried to ignore the sensation that someone or something was clutching at her feet, drawing her down and