It was undeniable. The water was rippling against the current. Bubbles were rising in patterns that had nothing to do with swamp gas.
Ren sat frozen, her hands gripping the edges of the rotting boat until her knuckles turned white. She was on the verge of a cardiac event. Her eyes darted frantically across the murky surface ahead, waiting for the jumpscare. She imagined a giant tentacle, a row of razor-sharp teeth, or maybe just a massive mouth swallowing them whole Pinocchio-style.
A large part of her—the part that wanted to live to see thirty-three—prayed that the danger would change its mind and swim past them. 'Nothing to see here, Mr. Monster. Just a girl and her two feral husbands in a salad bowl.'
But a tiny, treacherous part of her brain—the part that watched horror movies through her fingers—hated the suspense. 'Just show yourself! I need to know if I should scream or faint!'
Then, about twenty feet directly ahead, the water broke.
Pop.
A head surfaced.
