“The Doom Statues” — chapter 21

“Okay, so what kind of tree is that?” Clay challenges, pointing to a gnarled specimen sticking up just a few feet from the creek’s middle.

“Those are what’s known as bald cypress trees,” Tom explains, without breaking stride in his furious sketching of the same. He gestures at a handful even closer to them, where this wide creek bleeds in much shallower form near their feet. “And these you see in a little bit shallower water, those little bumps sticking up everywhere?”

“Yeah?”

“Cypress knees. That’s the popular term. Irregular root outgrowths. Nobody knows what they’re good for, but you see them everywhere, especially in a swamp.”

“Are we really in a swamp?” Grace gasps, as though spellbound by this concept. “I didn’t know that! How can you even tell for sure?”

Perhaps believing this a rhetorical question, nobody answers. But the transformation of terrain they’ve encountered has been gradual, barely perceptible at all, casually gliding from unremarkable forest into this somewhat soupy bog. Upon encountering this creek, which was expected at some point, considering a tributary spills into their pond back at Otherwise, all three of them ventured away from the dirt lane, to stand along the shore and regard the water up close.