Abruptly, the raccoon disappeared behind a stand of bulrush. Marcus halted, panting. He scoured the area, glimpsing only a narrow track vanishing into dark cypress groves. With dread gnawing his gut, he followed. The hanging moss and ancient trunks exuded a quiet menace, as if guarding dangerous secrets.
He pressed deeper, heart thunderous. Far ahead, the raccoon reappeared. It stood near a dilapidated, elevated shack rising from black water. The structure looked abandoned, half-rotten beams sagging under creeping vines. Marcus crept closer, convinced Luna was inside, his dread intensifying in the expectant hush of the swamp.