Swamp Girls

By Cassandra Hamm

The swamp has swallowed Mom whole.

I halt, feet lodged in muck. Cleo’s boots clomp clomp clomp as she keeps trudging along, splashing gray-brown water against my pants.

“Wait,” I say.

Cleo grips her pack straps with grime-streaked hands. “You can’t stop now, Clara. Mom needs us!”

If Mom needed us, she would’ve taken us with her. “I’m not stopping. I’m just… reassessing the trail.”

Cleo folds her arms over her chest. “You mean you lost it?”

“I…” She’s not in this universe anymore, Cleo. She jumped worlds. Without us. But how can I say that to my little sister?

We found no note, just Mom’s survival gear missing, the pantry emptied, her tracks leading into the swamp. Cleo insisted on following the prints, even though it’s useless. I’m not even sure the prints we’ve been following are hers.

“You think a gator got her.” Cleo’s swamp-green eyes pin me. “But you’re wrong. She’s way too smart for that.”

“I know.” That Mom went through one of the hundreds of portals scattered throughout Shaar likely hasn’t even crossed Cleo’s mind. She doesn’t know Mom. Not like I do.

“Any world beats Shaar.” I hear Mom’s grog-muddled voice in my head. I’d crept out of bed for a drink of bitter water to find her sprawled on the ratty couch, red veins spidering across her eyes. “It’s not a swamp, Clara. It’s a gator-infested nightmare.”

Cleo squats next to the muddle of muddy indentations. I reluctantly join her. Could be human prints, could be gator. No sign of blood or a struggle, but… Maybe Mom did lose a battle with a gator. Maybe she didn’t leave us after all.

Who are you kidding?

I search for the blur of a portal, but all I see is pale sunlight seeping through the thick leaves. Not that I’ve ever been good at spotting gateways leading to better worlds.

Cleo stands and starts off in a random direction. “I think she went this way.”

“Wait, Cleo!”

“I’m not giving up on her.”

“That’s not––” I run after her, spraying swamp muck. “Cleo, she’s not here. She jumped.”

Cleo halts, barking out a high-pitched laugh. “She wouldn’t jump without us. We’re her daughters.”

I can’t bear to look at Cleo, so I look again for nearby portals. Maybe we can find Mom. We just need to figure out which portal she jumped through.

But what if people can’t come back? No one ever comes to Shaar; they just leave it. What if I choose the wrong world and the portal closes behind me? What if I lose the chance to see Mom again?

She left, and you still want to see her?

“We just have to keep looking.” Cleo bounces up and down on her boot tips. “I think her trail––”

“She’s not on Shaar anymore,” I snap. “She left us, Cleo, all right?”

Cleo gapes at me. “She would never—”

“She would.”

“But…” Cleo seems to shrink.

I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is, Mom should be the one comforting her, not me.

Except… ever since that gator ate Uncle Raymond and Mom fell into grog, I’ve been mothering Cleo. Cleaning up Mom’s messes. Cooking our meals. Making sure we got enough supplies. Gator-proofing our cabin.

I suddenly realize the bugs have stopped chittering. Only a faint, warm wind blows through the branches.

Slowly, I survey the swamp. Beady eyes glitter. A bumpy head barely protrudes from the brackish water.

“Cleo, listen to me.” My voice shakes. “Don’t. Move.”

“You’re not Mom,” Cleo bites out. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Cleo, I’m being serious. There’s a gator.” I nod toward the ridged head. It doesn’t look fully grown, but that doesn’t matter. “We’re going to back up slowly, all right? We can make it back to the cabin––”

Cleo bolts the way we came. The gator surges after her, spraying gray-brown water, its squat legs moving faster than I thought possible.

I lunge at the gator and dive onto its back. The wind rushes from my lungs as my stomach collides with its ridges. It writhes beneath me. I try to get a good grip on its slick body. It whips its head around, jaws snapping a hairsbreadth from my hand.

Boots clomp as Cleo rushes at me and the gator. “Don’t… touch… my… sister!” She bashes the gator’s head with a rock, once, twice, three times. It chomps her arm with a sickening squelch. She screams.

I jab my fingers into the gator’s eyes, flinching at the gooey texture. It grunts and releases Cleo. I throw my arms around the gator’s snout and clamp it tight. The gator thrashes in my grip.

“Run, Cleo!”

She glares down at me. “I’m not leaving you!”

I hear the unspoken words: Not like Mom did.

“Do you have rope in your pack?” I ask through clenched teeth.

“Of course!” Grimacing slightly, she yanks it from her shoulders and pulls out a thick, braided vine rope. Her bloodied fingers wind it around the still-thrashing gator’s snout and tie it with a knot Mom taught us.

I release the gator and scramble backward. It jumps for me, vicious claws tearing at my pants, but the rope holds. Cleo hauls me to my feet, and we crash through the swamp.

The sounds of pursuit die after several minutes. We pant, leaning against vine-strewn trees. Blood soaks Cleo’s arm.

I wrap my arm around her. I know we need to get back to the cabin and dress her hand, but I can’t stop thinking, It’s just us now. Can I go back to the cabin without Mom? Can I be Mom? Or… better than Mom?

Cleo’s voice barely registers over the humming of the bugs. “Are you going to leave, too, Clara?”

“No!” Swallowing a lump, I tighten my grip. “We swamp girls need to stick together.”

“Yeah.” Cleo’s breathing starts to ease. “Together.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cassandra Hamm is a psychology nerd, art collector, jigsaw puzzler, and hopeless romantic who spends most of her time lost in another realm. A mental health advocate with a passion for social justice, she writes about shattered girls finding their way in the world. Her award-winning work appears in various anthologies, including Havok Publishing’s collections, Warriors Against the Storm, Aphotic Love, Fantasea, Sharper Than Thorns, and The Never Tales, Volume One.

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