Free Dead Asleep by Jamie Freveletti Page A

of wood.
    She hauled on her knee-high Wellington rubber boots, shoved a hat with an attached mosquito net onto her head, and pulled the strap of a messenger bag around her neck, settling it across her body. The area where she’d found a rich source of algae was located within the heart of the mangrove. The first time, it took her almost three hours to locate it, partly due to the difficulty in climbing through the swamp, but also because she’d been canvassing the entire grove to find it. Now that she knew the coordinates where it could be found, she hoped to cut the time in half. After opening her compass she started into the swamp.
    It was slow going. She grabbed the branches above to assist her in clambering over the tangled wood below. The extensive root growth that was a godsend for the ecosystem because it saved the island from erosion was a hassle for Emma. Despite the obstacles, she moved ahead in a steady rhythm.
    Two hours later she made it to the clearing. The mangrove trees there formed a circle, with an open area in the middle where the sun beat down. The water, formerly a brown, brackish color, took on a green hue with a slight turquoise phosphorescence that she suspected came from the blue holes miles away. Here, the sun beat on the water, heating it and causing the algae to thrive. She pulled some gloves and plastic pouches out of the messenger bag and began scooping up the slick tendrils that floated in the water by the water’s edge. She listened to the buzzing of a bee somewhere to the right and saw a dragonfly zipping around ten feet ahead. The sun-heated air felt warm and moist, and the water made a splashing noise as she plunged her hand into it. She felt a peace settle over her as she collected the samples.
    She looked up in time to see the man raise the machete.
    The blade whipped down and she rolled right, crawling up onto her hands and knees and catapulting herself over a long mangrove root that twisted out of the swamp. The man’s Rasta braids swayed with the exertion of his swing, and she heard the metal thump into a root. She only looked at him for an instant, but it was enough to see that his face was still twisted.
    She leaped over another branch and landed with both feet in the muck, sinking lower as her weight pushed her into the ooze. She pulled her foot up and out with a sucking sound and grabbed at the branches over her head, using them to swing her way to the next opening. Behind her, she heard him splash into the water. Drops of the resulting spray hit her back.
    The swamp consisted of ninety acres of wetlands, and she had spent nearly two hours hiking in. She was returning three times faster, but knew she still wouldn’t reach the edge and civilization for at least another thirty minutes.
    And he kept pursuing her. Emma heard his heavy breathing and splashes as he clambered behind. Every so often he vocalized a whistling wail and chills ran through her at the animalistic sound. She swallowed and kept going, refusing to waste the time it would take to turn around and look. Often they had to crawl through the swamp to move ahead. Emma took advantage of every small opening, hoping the forest of mangrove roots and limbs that grew in long lines next to each other would impede his massive shoulders and large body. She also heard him hacking at the smaller branches with his machete. The cracking noises of splitting wood only served to make her fear ratchet higher.
    As an ultra marathon runner, Emma prided herself on the mental endurance she’d cultivated as part of her training. Ultra runs could be as long as one hundred miles and last over twenty-four hours. Often the mind gave out before the legs did. Self-doubt had no place in an endurance run. She knew this basic fact of endurance sports and had spent many hours teaching herself to think only those thoughts that would further her forward progress. If the idea to stop entered her consciousness, she would ruthlessly