Seizure(89)

“FYI, those marshes are known as Alligator Alley,” Hi added.

“No thanks.” Shelton shouldered his pack. “The long way sounds just fine.”

We retraced our steps, then followed a deer track along the coastline. The moon now took up half the sky. The ocean was flat and smooth as glass, the air still and muggy. Every mosquito in the county was snacking on our sweat-slicked skin.

After a half hour, we swung back south and reached Boneyard Beach.

“I’ll just say it.” Hi gestured to the ghostly stretch before us. “This is the creepiest place in the world. So glad we came in the middle of the night.”

Hundreds of dead trees lay on the beach, all bleached morgue-white by exposure to sun and salt water. The nickname was perfect. Gnarled trunks. Twisted limbs. The sand was strewn with corroded seashells and the carapaces of long-dead crustaceans. The place looked like a Paleozoic graveyard.

“Spread out,” I said. “Look for a gigantic tree with branches spreading like Medusa’s hair.”

I crept through the Boneyard, stopping every few yards to check the hill across the lake. Finally, I locked onto target.

A petrified cedar, standing all alone.

The weathered old trunk was ten feet in diameter. Two yards above ground it divided into five limbs that snaked low across the sand. Every branch reached inland, as if running away from the sea.

The whole tree formed a lopsided V ten yards across at its widest point.

“The devil’s hand!” Ben exclaimed. “Of course!”

“Come again?” Hi said.

“The Sewee legend!” Ben pumped his fist. “Remember what my uncle told me? ‘When the night sky burned as daytime, a flaming brand mounted the field of bones, and staked the devil’s hand.’ This tree has to be it!”

Another piece clicked into place. “Anne Bonny had long red tresses, like flames. The story must describe the night she buried her treasure!”

“The Sewee wove the event into their oral history.” Ben squeezed my shoulder. “We dig here.”

“Okay, so this chunk of firewood is the devil’s hand.” Chance was sizing up the cedar. “Where do we stake it?”

Ben made a quick circuit, weaving through and clambering over the twisted, dead limbs.

“The branches all run inland,” he said when finished. “Three on the right, two on the left. There’s nothing noteworthy on the seaward side of the tree.”

I walked inside the V and put my back to the trunk. Nestled between the tree’s ancient arms, I felt sheltered and safe, protected from winds and tides.

If it were my treasure, I’d bury it here.

I drew a line in the wet sand. Crossed it with another.

“X marks the spot.”



“We’re digging in the wrong place!” Chance tossed his shovel from the hole and hopped out. “It’s a dead end.”

“Get back in here!” Ben snapped. “We’ve only gone a few feet.”

“And found zilch.” Chance stretched his arms wide. “It’s been over an hour!”

“I’m barely winded. Don’t be such a baby!”

The space between the branches had been converted to a makeshift excavation site. Buckets, shovels, and other implements lay scattered on the sand. Our electric lantern hung from a bough, lighting the inside of the deepening hole.

“This could be the wrong tree,” Chance grumbled. “But say it’s not. If we’re off by even a yard in any direction we’ll dig right past whatever’s down there. If anything’s down there.”

Hi and Shelton were leaning against the trunk, ropes in their hands, buckets at their feet. My role was more … supervisory.

“This is the right spot,” I said. “I’m positive.”

“Based on what?” Chance crossed his arms. “Convince me.”

“This tree has a substantial root system, but none stretch under this one spot. Also, from here there’s a direct line of sight to the watchtower.”

“That’s it?” Chance was incredulous. “That’s your brilliant reasoning? You can see a hundred dead trees from that tower!”

“The cross sighted on this tree, and we’re excavating the only reasonable location near it.”

Chance pointed at Hi and Shelton. “Why can’t they dig?”

“They’re holding the safety ropes.” Ben tossed a shovelful of dirt over his shoulder, forcing Chance to dance aside. “Sand holes are inherently dangerous. If the sides cave in, we need someone to pull us out.”

Chance snorted. “Tubby and Tiny here?”

Hi bristled. “We’re stronger than we look.”

“Keep yapping,” said Shelton. “We won’t bother with you.”

“Enough.” I pointed Chance back into the hole. “Dig.”



Another hour. Three more feet.

Hi and Shelton were slumped against the tree, taking a break from hauling buckets. Ben and Chance had slowed noticeably.

No one would meet my eye. I could sense a rebellion forming.

And they were right.

I should’ve called it off earlier, but couldn’t handle the disappointment. I’d been so sure.

Thunk.