The Elephant Mountains by Scott Ely Page A

Byron had time to tend bar and service all those women. But he kept his mouth shut and pretended he was impressed. Finally, to Stephen’s great relief, Byron crawled under the mosquito netting and went to sleep. Stephen wished he could hear him snoring like Angela, but he told himself that perhaps Byron did not snore.
    He did not wake Angela, pulling a triple watch instead. No sound came from Byron. He tried finding the mystery station on the radio again, but there was nothing but static. Finally, when he was reduced to fighting to keep his eyes open, he woke Angela.
    â€œByron moves, you wake me up,” he said.
    â€œWe should’ve left him in the tree,” she said. “I don’t like the way he looks at me.”
    Stephen had not been aware Byron had been looking at her in any particular way. If he were looking at her in that way, she would know, just like she knew about Byron. After all, even Byron had noticed. He slipped beneath the mosquito netting and lay down with the Saiga. He expected to have difficulty sleeping, but instead he fell immediately asleep.

    When she woke him, he struggled to sit up, the Saiga in his hands.
    â€œIt’s all right,” she whispered to him. “Nothing’s wrong.”
    The rest of the night their watches went smoothly. Once it looked like Bryon was awake, but he was just turning over. Then it was Angela’s turn.
    â€œYou watch him close,” he told her.
    â€œI will,” she said.
    â€œDon’t you go to sleep.”
    â€œI won’t.”
    She put her hand on his arm.
    â€œDon’t worry, you can count on me,” she said.
    He woke to the smell of beans and rice cooking. Byron was doing the cooking, and she was sitting beside him.
    â€œGet up, boy,” Byron says. “Let’s eat and get out of this damn swamp.”

FIVE
    T hey worked their way through a labyrinth of swamps, always moving to the west, navigating as best they could by the position of the sun. He liked the swamps because the water was free of debris in places. Occasionally they hit a fast-moving current of brown water, thick with mud and filled with debris: a rocking chair, plastic containers, an occasional dead body. The currents formed rivers within the swamps. Byron thought the currents were from breaks in the main levee along the Mississippi. Stephen recalled the Swamp Hog on the radio saying that. Another indication that what he said was reliable.
    He would not have thought he would get used to dead bodies floating around, but he had. He could tell Angela had too. Sometime he wanted to talk with Angela about his father’s warning, to see what she thought he meant. But he felt uncomfortable doing that with Byron around. Mostly he had a view of Byron’s back, his T-shirt stained with mud, as he sat there on lookout for a clear path.
    He was still being careful with Byron, making sure he always had the Saiga in his hands and that Byron did not start hanging around the place where the guns were stowed. Stephen liked him in the bow, where he had a good view of Bryon’s back and the man could not keep track of what he was doing. Byron was not a big man. He was nervous and twitchy.
    Byron yearned for a cigarette.
    â€œIf I just had me a smoke,” he kept saying.
    The second night on the airboat Byron showed no signs of going to sleep. Angela immediately went off to sleep. He offered to stand his share of the watches, but Stephen refused. Byron acquiesced.
    â€œYou’re the captain,” he said.
    Stephen was surprised he did not argue or protest.
    â€œI don’t feel much like sleeping,” Byron said.
    â€œAngela and I’ll stand the watches.”
    â€œShe’s a good-looking girl.”
    â€œI know that.”
    â€œMaybe you do. Boys like you sometimes don’t appreciate girls the way they should.”
    â€œI appreciate her. She’s a good driver.”
    â€œWell, ain’t you the cool