Lost in the Everglades

The smell of burning rubber pierced Robby’s nostrils as he stomped his foot on the gas. He didn’t know if anyone was even in the vicinity of his car to follow him - and he didn’t want to find out.

A scorching Florida sun shined bright through the windshield of his ‘02 Nissan Altima. Cruising at 70 now and ignoring the 45 MPH speed limit sign he just passed, he kept turning to look in the backseat to make sure it was still there...and it was. The little Miami Dolphins duffle bag was still sitting next to his daughter’s car seat. He double, triple, quadruple-taked. Yup, still there. He couldn’t believe it.

He was sweating profusely, and not just because of the intensity of the Everglades heat in mid-July, nor because of the fact that the air conditioning in his Nissan had been broken for the better part of a decade now, nor because he had just sprinted the furthest and the fastest he had since high school track - no, even if he was in the middle of Antarctica right now, his palms and forehead would still be damp with a nerve-wracking perspiration he had never felt in his 25 years on this planet. His breathing and his heart still felt like he was in a dead sprint. He glanced at his rear view mirror: not a car in sight. He grabbed the brown crucifix his grandmother gave him when he was 8, kissed it, squeezed it as hard as he could, and kissed it again. All that time spent in church when he was a kid must have paid off after all.

That morning was just another day. At 5’ 6”, not quite heavy enough to be classified as overweight yet not light enough to be classified as skinny, Roberto - his entire backside from his calves to his shirt collar already covered in sweat - peeled himself out of the driver’s seat: a can of Red Bull in his right hand and a little Igloo lunch box in his left. Working outside in Florida during the summer sucked - as did the pay - but he’d still take this gig over his last job as a line cook at Red Lobster. His khaki Park Ranger uniform made him look like a poor man’s Steve Irwin. This week he was assigned to Coot Bay, one of the tourist hot spots in the Everglades. During this time of year, it was likely that his car would be at most 1 of 3 cars in this lot all day. No tourists had any desire to spend their day drenched in sweat from the scorching sun and suffocating on the humid air. No, that was all Robby’s pleasure as an Everglades National Park Ranger. Ana - his 2 year old daughter - had his wife up all night, which, by default, meant that Robby was up all night as well. If he could manage it, he might even try to sneak off the beaten path to take a nap in the shade somewhere. But for now, he stepped onto his boat, took a couple big gulps of Red Bull number one, and revved it up.

Even though he’d patrolled Coot Bay so many times to the point that the drive to work felt mundane, he still felt a sense of awe every time he cruised around the coastline. This swampy patch of earth was home to one of the strangest convergences of biology on the planet. That’s Florida in a nutshell: the strangest convergence of biology in the history of the planet! Gators, manatees, sea turtles, pythons - you name the animal, and it was probably there. Two Blue Herons flew over Robby’s boat as he scanned the coastline for any trouble. Their goofy looking necks always made Robby chuckle. There were some gators laying motionless, sunbathing here and there but nothing unusual. It was just after 7 am and well over 90 degrees, but the breeze from the boat cruise made him sweat a little less than he otherwise would have. As expected, he was about a half hour into his patrol now and had yet to see a human in sight.

This time of day was the most opportune time window to catch up on that sleep he so desperately needed. There was a nice little cove along this route that he frequented, and today he would return. Perfectly tucked away in this tiny corner of the Everglades, there was just the right amount of brush to give him cover, but not too much to the point that it was difficult to wade through it. He slowed his motor down enough to pass through a no-wake zone, putting his arms up in front of his face to barricade himself from the barrage of branches. He couldn’t wait to be back in his peaceful oasis - no tourists, no screaming kids, no worries.

But as Robby put his arms down and approached the end of the brush, he was dismayed to find that someone else had discovered his refuge. Disappointed, now he was going to have to find a new one. Two of those little silver fishing boats were tied to a tree right next to his usual napping spot. He examined the boats as he approached the shoreline, and oddly enough, there were no rods, no tackle boxes, and no bait inside either of the boats. In fact, they were completely empty. Robby furrowed his brow in a look of puzzlement as he scanned the surrounding area for any sign of the boats’ owners. It struck him as odd that he didn’t hear any talking, movement, or commotion. The cove sounded just as it did whenever he’d napped there before, but undoubtedly, there was something different this time.

He killed the engine and tied his boat to a nearby tree. The sound of the frogs and buzzing of the insects was all that he could hear. The one boat had a fresh set of footprints going toward the trees, and the prints going back and forth from the other boat looked dried and older. Goosebumps shot up Roberto’s arm. He hadn’t reached for his 9 mm yet, but he was definitely considering it at this point. It was still possible that they’d carried all their rods, tackle boxes, and equipment up to the camp site and were still sleeping. Maybe the one guy had just gotten there this morning and was taking a stroll. The last thing he wanted was some tourists calling his boss to say that some lunatic Park Ranger pulled a gun on them for no reason.

Following the footprints, he walked up the steep bank a few steps where he could see a lone red tent in a small clearing up ahead. As he drew closer, he realized this was really no tent at all, but a red tarp tied to two thick tree branches sticking out of the ground. The last few embers of a campfire were still burning right in front of the tent, He walked slowly forward, staying alert to his surroundings as he proceeded. Still, not a soul in sight. Robby couldn’t discern any particular direction out of any of the footprints. And out of sheer curiosity, he couldn’t help but to find out who or what was inside that tent. Hand hovering just above his pistol holster, he tiptoed to the front of the tent, grabbed the tarp with his opposite hand, and slowly peaked inside to find nothing but an empty sleeping bag and what looked like about a 100 cans of Campbell’s Chunky soup stacked in a wall to the left. For the sake of his sanity, Robby had to check the sleeping bag just to make sure no one was dead in there. He patted it down, and surely enough, it was empty. Probably some crazy survivalist, he thought. When he spun around to exit the tent, he accidentally kicked the giant wall of Chunky soup, all of the cans plummeted to the ground. His heart skipped a beat as he held his breath and listened to make sure he was still alone. About 30 seconds went by and he still hadn’t heard the sound of a human, so now the task of arranging these cans of soup as quickly as possible and as closely to the way they were was in front of him.

He grabbed two cans in each hand but immediately stopped when he noticed a Miami Dolphins duffle bag that was tucked away behind the wall of Chunky soup. What was this doing back there? Was it supposed to be hidden? And if it was, what’s in it? He held his breath again and listened to the frogs and birds chirping throughout the swap: still alone. What would it hurt to peak? He unzipped the bag and his eyes grew wider than they’d ever been. Cha-ching! How much money was in there!? By Robby’s estimate, it had to be at least a few thousand if not more. What the hell was going on out here? A drug deal? Bank heist? Robby had never seen that much cash in his entire life. There might be a year’s salary in that bag...maybe even more. He could send one of his daughter’s to college with that. Or put a down payment on a house so they could move out of their tiny apartment. There were a million different ways that this money could benefit the people in his life that would be more beneficial than it sitting in a duffle bag in the middle of the Everglades. He took a big gulp and zipped up the bag.

BANG! What the - what was that!? BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG! Robby hit the deck and reached for his pistol. Shootouts were way above his pay grade. The shots sounded pretty far away, but he wanted to be sure. He laid on the ground, face down and his hand on his pistol. He looked over at the Dolphins bag: it was now or never. These psychos might track him down! He could lose his job! The worst case scenarios were endless. But...What good was that money doing out here? Probably going to some cartel or degenerate. What value was it bringing to the world out here? Why would he let his family needlessly suffer when their lives would be instantly improved with the contents of this bag? He was surprised he was even conflicted. He jumped up, snatched the bag, and took off back to his boat. The engine revved, the brush parted, and he raced back to the dock - looking behind him every five seconds to make sure he wasn’t followed.

Robby turned the key and let himself into his 1 bedroom apartment west of Fort Lauderdale. His wife was surprised to see him home. “You’re done work already?” she asked. “Yeah, I called off when I got there. Not feeling well at all. I’m gonna go lay down.” He could tell she was thinking, “What about your paycheck?” but she kept it to herself for the time being. She grabbed his cheeks and kissed him on his forehead.

He laid down in bed and grabbed the little black journal on his nightstand. Growing up, Grammy always told him to write down at least one thing he was grateful for every night before he went to sleep. He hadn’t written in that journal since the day Ana was born. He turned to a blank page and wrote “I LOVE THE DOLPHINS!!! Thank you 20,000 times!” Shutting that journal felt as good as it ever had. Content for the first time in a long time, he shut his eyes to take that nap he had been looking forward to all morning. Suddenly, he heard a succession of loud knocks on his front door, and all at once, he was forced to wonder whether he stumbled onto a blessing or a curse.