“The agents didn’t go inside?” I said.

“No. Realizing it might be the perp’s, they worried it could be contaminated and didn’t. But I’m afraid one of the rangers did.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat. Apparently one of the agents had gone to the airstrip where you landed to pick up two other agents. Whatever. At some point, no one was looking and the ranger went inside, came right back out like a ball of fire. Said there was some kind of monster in there straight out of Stephen King. Don’t ask me.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes.

I looked at the USAMRIID team.

“We’ll take the ranger back with us,” said a young man whose Army pins identified him as a captain. “By the way, my name is Clark. This is my crew,” he said to me. “They’ll take good care of him, put him in quarantine, keep an eye on him.”

“Campsite sixteen,” Marino said. “We know anything about who rented that?”

“We don’t have those details yet,” Martinez said. “Everybody suited up?” He scanned us and it was time to go.

The Coast Guard took us in two Boston Whalers because where we were going was too shallow for a cutter or patrol boat. Martinez was piloting mine, standing up and calm as if racing forty miles an hour on choppy waters was a very normal thing to do. I honestly thought I might sail overboard at any moment as I held hard to the rail, sitting on the side. It was like riding a mechanical bull, air rushing so fast into my nose and mouth, I could barely breathe.

Marino was across the boat from me and looked like he might get sick. I tried to mouth a reassurance to him, but he stared blankly at me as he held on with all his strength. We eventually slowed in a cove called Flat Cat, thick with cattails and spartina grass, where there were NO WAKE signs as the park got near. I could see nothing but pines. Then as we got closer, there were paths and bathrooms, a small ranger station, and only one camper peeking through. Martinez glided us into the pier, and another Guardsman tied us to a piling as the engine quit.

“I’m gonna puke,” Marino said in my ear as we clumsily climbed out.

“No you’re not.” I gripped his arm.

“I ain’t going inside that trailer.”

I turned around and looked at his wan face.

“You’re right. You’re not,” I said. “That’s my job, but first we need to locate the ranger.”

Marino stalked off before the second boat had docked, and I looked through the woods toward the camper that was deadoc’s. Rather old and missing whatever had towed it, it was parked as far from the rangers’ station as was possible, tucked in the shadow of loblolly pines. When all of us were ashore, the USAMRIID team passed out the familiar orange suits, air packs and extra four-hour batteries.