Pop slept in a hammock made of old rope that he stretched over the back room of his cabin.

“I’ll just take the floor,” I said.

“No sirree, you will not,” said Pop. There was a small lofted space up above us, by the rafters with heaps of junk on it. Pop stood on a chair and fished another hammock out of the loft and tossed it down to me. “Picked this one up not too long ago. You know, just in case.” He winked at me.

We tied the hammock to two beams and made sure it was good and sturdy. Before too long I was up there swinging, amazed at how comfortable I could feel dangling off the ground like that. I listened to the night sounds, the buzz of bugs, the holler and screech of tree frogs, the flitter of bats, the thousand invisible creatures calling out in the night. I had forgotten how loud and sweet river nights could sound. I forgot what a lovely racket all that nature could make.

Out the window I watched the far-off clouds coming dark over the water, the moon a soft pale grandmother wishing us well. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you this was the best night I ever had.

Before long I was sleeping. I only just caught a glimpse of Pop sneaking out of the shack, a lamp in his hands.

“Where are you going?” I mumbled.

He held one finger up to his lips, met my eyes, and slipped out the door. I fell right back asleep, as if I’d just dreamed the whole thing.

3

I WOKE UP TO A hand clapped over my mouth, Pop’s whisper in my ear.

“Get dressed, Buddy, and hurry.”

Pop was up already. He had his knife on his belt and a knapsack over his shoulder.

“What are we doing, Pop?”

“Shhh.”

I heard the sound of oars slapping the water. Pop’s eyes grew wide. He thrust his knapsack into my hands.

“Up in the loft with you!” he said. “Toss that old quilt over you and do not make a peep, promise me? Under no circumstances, not for nothing, unless I tell you otherwise. Got it?”

I nodded, scared as I was, and did what I was told. A million questions fluttered in my head like moths around a candle flame. But I kept quiet.

Pop crouched by the window, a knife clutched at his side. I saw him take a deep breath and stick his head out the window, chancing a look over the waters. The night was calm and moonlit, the hush of the river lapping soft against the shore.

Two arms reached through the window and grabbed Pop by the neck. They yanked him hard into the window frame. His face smacked it. Pop let out a holler and I heard his knife clatter on the floor. A long skinny man dressed in filthy ragged clothes slithered through the window. Pop reached for his knife, and the skinny man kicked it across the room.