Cottonmouth Creek

By Jay Hamlin

Deep in the woods of Cottonmouth Creek, about forty-five miles northwest of the town of Peachland, Texas, lies the buried treasure...the innocent victims of a group of baseless serial killers.

Meanwhile, in downtown Peachland, sixteen-year-old Alan Sherwood is eating lunch with his younger brothers: Ian, Evan, Ethan, and Axton, his best friend, Cameron Vasquez, and Ian’s friend, Jude Nguyen. And they’ve got a mysterious map...a map that Jude took from a time capsule...a map that leads to the buried treasure.
By the time their treasure hunt ends in horrific disaster, the boys have learned the truth about Cottonmouth Creek...and the killers there, who will do anything they can to keep the truth a secret.

Now the boys’ faith in God is put to the ultimate test, in a story about brotherhood. A story about friendship. A story about survival. A story about good versus evil, self-defense versus vigilantism, choice versus fate, and the venomous Texas swamp snakes known as cottonmouths.

...And a story in which not everyone will survive the day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brighton Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jan 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781621834267

Jay Hamlin

Jay Hamlin grew up in the small gulf coast town of Palacios, “The Shrimp Capital of Texas.” The oldest of three brothers, he enjoyed telling stories at a young age, and for as long as he can remember, has wanted to share his stories with the world. Besides reading and writing, he also enjoys jigsaw puzzles, board games, college football, roller coasters, sitcoms, thrillers, and all types of seafood.He has a Bachelor of Arts in Telecommunications from Baylor University. He is currently working as a Landman living near Katy, Texas.

Book preview

Cottonmouth Creek

Jay Hamlin

Brighton Publishing LLC

435 N. Harris Drive

Mesa, AZ 85203

www.BrightonPublishing.com

ISBN 13: 978-1-62183-426-7

Copyright © 2016

eBook

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design: Tom Rodriguez

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. The characters in this book are fictitious and the creation of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to other characters or to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Prelude

Sydney heard the door unlocking. She looked up and saw Junior walk into the room carrying a glass of water.

I’m hungry, she told him.

You will eat breakfast tomorrow. You want bacon? When she didn’t answer, he repeated louder, You want bacon?

That’s… yes. I’ll eat bacon.

Now you have some water.

Junior, could you please untie my right hand this time? It’s been tied up for a long time, and it really, really hurts right now.

No. You will try funny business with the right hand. I only untie the left hand.

I won’t do anything, she said. I swear. I swear on my life I won’t do anything. Please. It hurts so bad.

You only need one hand for drinking water, Junior said.

He untied her left hand from the bedpost, helped her sit upright against the back of the bed board, and moved her long blond hair behind her ears and out of her eyes. She took the glass of water and gulped it down so quickly she began to cough.

Careful, said Junior. You drink too fast. You OK?

No, I’m not OK, she said after she stopped coughing. I’m not OK, Junior. I’m not OK here. How can I be OK here?

I done already told you, you be OK if you do what we tell you. Do what we say, or you get hurt.

I’m hurting now, Junior! When you tie up my wrists, my hands hurt! What Tom does to me… that hurts. I am getting hurt, Junior! All the time.

He didn’t answer.

He believes me. Deep down, he knows I’m right. He’s not very smart, but deep down he still knows the truth about what’s going on here. I have to convince him. He can be manipulated. I know he can. The other two can’t, but he can.

Junior, listen to me carefully. I can get you away from all this. I can get you away from everything.

I don’t need to get away from everything.

Yes you do! You know why? Because you’re a good person, Junior. You’re nice; you’re sweet. You’re a good guy. And if we leave right now...

If we leave right now, you will go to the police, Junior said.

We’ll both go! I’ll tell them you had nothing to do with this! I swear! I’ll tell them you helped me, Junior. You’ll be a hero.

He looked like he was considering it for a few seconds. But then he shook his head and said, No! Daddy will be a hero. Someday they all will know the truth. All you ignorant people will know. And he will be a hero.

Junior, I know he’s your dad, but that will never happen. Can’t you understand that?

You say that because you judge. Daddy says you is a corporate stooge that eats at chain restaurants. You is judgmental and you is ignorant!

He doesn’t even know what the words corporate or ignorant mean. His dad has warped his brain.

I’m not judging you, Junior. I’m really not. You just need to know that what your dad is doing is wrong.

No! Daddy will be a hero! He was shouting now. Someday society will change. Someday they will finally accept people like Daddy! You is ignorant. Daddy says so. You is just like my slut mother who abandoned me. Only Daddy loves me. Only he takes care for me. No one else.

This guy’s nineteen, but he has the IQ of an eight-year-old. He’s the same age as me. It feels so weird thinking about it, but it’s true. We’re the same age, but when I talk to him, it’s like talking to a child.

Tom says he won’t see you tonight. He’ll be back tomorrow, Junior reported.

He tied her left wrist back to the bedpost, and Sydney tried to take one last shot in the dark to get him to untie her.

How’s Boston doing? Can I talk to Boston?

I will tell Boston you says hello to him. He walked to the door, but before he left he said, The revolution will come, Sydney girl. Someday the revolution will come! He closed the door and locked it.

Tomorrow Tom will be back. He gave me a break for one day, but tomorrow he’ll be back.

Sydney still didn’t understand Tom. She knew that she hated him. She knew if given the chance, she would kill him. But she couldn’t understand how he could be so evil, so heartless, so baselessly psychotic and then turn around and try to act nice to her. He would come into the room, deliver his evil, and slap her if she protested. But then, when he was done, he would try to act nice and actually show signs of apathy. But he never apologized. Not once did he ever apologize.

Just do what you’re told, and you’ll be all right, he told her. After a while, we may let you stay in the house, if you behave yourself.

How long is a while? How long have I been here? Time goes by so slowly. Everyday time goes by slowly. I’m sure I’ve been here for more than two weeks. I bet it’s been more than a month!

Then she remembered that evening. That horrible, terrible evening when she was jogging near her apartment at the University of Texas at San Antonio. It was just supposed to be a ten-minute jog, like she did every night. And that’s when she was taken. She was grabbed from behind, tossed into a truck, and the next memory she had, she was there. Sydney didn’t even know where there was.

She reminded Tom one night, after he’d finished, that she didn’t know where she was.

If you just drive me somewhere and let me out, I’ll never know. Never. I’ll just go on living my life, and I’ll never know where this place is.

I can’t make any promises, he replied. I’ll talk to Face and see what I can do. I still say if you’re good, you have nothing to worry about.

Just before he left the room, she asked him, Has he let any of the others go before? I know there were other girls before me. Where are they? Did Face let them go?

There were others before you. There were others before Boston. They didn’t do what they were told, and they’re dead now. Just like you will be if you don’t behave. We’re the guys with the guns. And whoever has the guns makes the rules. He opened the door and paused. He was thinking about something.

He’s going to let me go… he’s really thinking about it.

He walked back to the bed, leaned over, and whispered in her ear. I know you don’t like it here. That’s no secret. I don’t do the things I do to you because I want to hurt you. But when I see a plate of spaghetti in my face, I’m gonna eat it. I do the things I do because I don’t have a choice. I was born this way. Then he left. She heard the door lock from the outside and started crying.

But that was many nights ago. She didn’t cry anymore. She was done crying because it never did any good. Sometimes she didn’t think her prayers did any good anymore either.

Are you listening to me, God? Why can’t you hear me? Please, get me out of here! I want to be back home in San Antonio. Back home with my mom and dad and my little sister and my dog and my ferret. Please send someone. Please send someone to get me out of this hell on earth.

She didn’t know if her prayers did any good or not. But she kept saying them, because deep down she still had hope. She had lost everything else, but they couldn’t take away her hope. If she didn’t have hope, then she had nothing left.

Chapter One

Alan sat uncomfortably with his wrists tied to an old, ugly wooden chair.

How did this happen today? How did I let this happen? Just a few hours ago this was just a normal day.

Alan took long, deep breaths as he recalled the events of the day that led up to that point.

It started out like just any other typical summertime Tuesday in the good old Houston suburbs. He woke up shortly after nine o’clock. He would have liked to have slept longer, but he had to pee, and his wrist still ached from slipping in the restaurant kitchen the night before. It was never fun bussing tables and cleaning bathrooms past midnight during the middle of July when kids are supposed to be enjoying summer vacation, if you wanted to call it that. But the previous night was even worse than usual because Dos Elephantes was very crowded, especially considering it was a Monday.

Well of course it was crowded, Alan thought as he sat up in the bed. There was a soccer game on TV night. I think there’s a law in Texas that every Mexican restaurant must air every professional soccer game on earth. No exceptions.

It also didn’t help that Kelly was off last night, and he hadn’t seen her since Sunday. It’s no fun going a single day without speaking to Kelly.

I’ll call her later.

Still sitting in the bed, Alan looked at his right wrist. He must have rolled over on it in the middle of the night because it hurt a lot worse now than when he had gotten into bed earlier that morning. What was it? About seven or seven-and-a-half hours ago? He had read an article in some science magazine that said teenagers were supposed to sleep longer than that. But his parents told him he had to get a summer job. And perhaps a busboy is a common occupation for most sixteen-year-olds. But it still sucked that he busted his butt night after night cleaning all those dirty tables, refilling all those salsa bowls and chip baskets, and tending to all those spilled glasses of sweet tea, and at the end of the night, the waiters walked away with all the tips.

They get the money, I get the beverage spills. No one ever spills alcohol. The people of Peachland care a lot more about their beer than their tea.

But then, as he leaned over the side of his mattress, Alan smiled. All those thought about Dos Elephantes reminded him that he had the next two days off. He wouldn’t have to go back until Thursday at lunch.

I finally missed Taco Tuesday. It’s about time. Taco Tuesdays are the worst. Everyone in town wants to save a buck, and I’m the one who has to suffer because of it.

As he stood up, Alan looked across the room and saw that Ian was still fast asleep and snoring loudly. His rump was hanging off the end of the bed. The bedsheets looked thrown about as if they had been dropped off by a cyclone, which was usual for Ian. He was wearing the same old boxer shorts that had a hole in the back so large you might as well have called his underwear a loose-fitting jock strap. Mom had asked him hundreds of times to just throw them away, but Ian refused because they were the pair he was wearing earlier that spring when he hit a walk-off home run against Danbelle. That was the only homer he ever hit in his life.

His snoring was worse than usual.

Last night was even rougher than I thought. I must have been exhausted if I could sleep through that freight train.

But then a new noise, though no less stubborn, drowned out the snoring. Just as Alan had reached the door that connected his bedroom with the bathroom, he heard the shower come on. One of his other little brothers was awake. It’s not much fun to share one small, but very critical, room that interconnects two bedrooms with four younger brothers. But Alan’s bladder couldn’t wait, and his face felt very oily and sticky—no doubt from being around all the grease the night before. He knocked and got no answer. He opened the door. Whoever it was, they were already in the shower.

Alan, Alan is that you? he heard from the shower. Ian? Is Alan up yet?

It was Axton. That made sense. Only a hyper little nine-year-old would find it necessary to wake up at the crack of dawn every morning, whether he has school or not.

It’s me, loudmouth.

Yeah, I knew it was, Axton replied from behind the shower curtain.

What do you want?

Mom’s gone, and she said you have to make lunch later.

Why?

I don’t know. Mom said it. Actually, she said you have to make lunch for me. I don’t care about everyone else. If you want to poison their food I’ll help. Mawhahaha.

His laugh sounded like an Eastern European villain in a James Bond film. But Alan wasn’t laughing. He didn’t want to think about cooking lunch. He had been looking forward to a day of rest. Maybe a trip to the pool. Maybe catch a flick. Is there a good one out right now? Surely Mom won’t be gone all day. She can’t expect me to just babysit on my day off work.

It took about a minute and a half to finish doing what he had to do, and then Alan flushed the commode and walked over to the sink.

Good grief, old man, his brother quipped in an irked tone. It sounded like you were going for a world record. What did you drink last night? A whole pitcher of lemonade?

Shut up, Alan shot back at him. Once you work a seven-hour shift for minimum wage, then you can smart off to me. Alan tried ignoring his brother and started washing his face.

Teenagers, teenagers. Think they know everything. A guy finishes two years of high school, barely passes his driver’s test, and suddenly thinks he can talk to his little brother like that.

I said can it, Axton.

But I’m the only little brother you’re ever going to have.

You are not, Sherlock. I’ve got three others just like you. Just not as pesky. And they don’t make me cook lunch, Alan said.

Yeah, but I’m the only one with such a cute little face. Just look at my dimples.

Alan saw in the mirror that the kid had stuck his face out from behind the turquoise curtain and was trying to make his best cute face: semi-frowning with his brown eyes wide open and pitiful looking.

If you were a puppy, they’d put you down, said Alan.

If I were a puppy, they’d sell me. Probably for like… thousands. What’s the most expensive dog?

I don’t know. What am I, a dog breeder?

I knew you weren’t smart. You’re sixteen and you still don’t know dogs good.

I don’t know dogs well, Alan corrected him. Who’s stupid now?

Satisfied that he had gotten the upper hand by correcting Axton’s grammar, Alan started to leave the bathroom, but not before his brother took one more shot at him.

You’re the stupid one if you think all you needed to do was wash your face. I know what you smell like after you leave that enchilada place. You’re all sweaty, and your pits smell like dead rats. Not normal rats, only really stinky dead ones. And they have bad breath. And their pits smell bad too. Like yours.

Who cares what I smell like? You said Mom was gone, remember?

Yeah, but what about the rest of us? We don’t want to deal with you walking around the house with those food smells on you. Every room you walk into will smell like burned chips. I shower without Mom and Dad telling me to. But you don’t? And you’re supposed to be more mature than me? That’s sad. That’s just so sad. What a bad example you’ve become.

What made Alan the maddest wasn’t the fact that Axton was smarting off at him (which he always did), but that he probably would have already been in the shower if the little thorn in his side hadn’t already beaten him to it.

Well hurry up, Alan replied. I’ll take one when you’re finished. And you want to talk about being mature? Once again, you have no job, no chores, and no brain.

I have some chores, Axton interrupted.

No real chores. No hard ones. Don’t talk to me about being mature.

I’ll show you mature. Listen to this…

Alan opened the door and stepped out before Axton did whatever it was he was planning on doing. Alan didn’t have long to think about it because as he walked back into his bedroom, he crashed right into Ian, whose eyes were red and his nose running. His jet-black hair stood up like the bride of Frankenstein and there was a line of drool rolling down his chin. It looked like he had just woken up from a year-long coma.

Outta the way bro, Ian ordered as he wiped his nose with his arm. I gotta pee.

Alan stepped back in disgust. So you took your boxers completely off just to pee?

Not on purpose. They just fell off. They don’t fit right.

Then throw them away like a normal person! Alan said.

Heck no! I’m going to hit a dozen more homers next year wearing those boxers, and if you lay one finger on them, you’re a dead man.

Believe it or not, that’s not a problem. I have no plans on touching your underwear. Now for the sake of my eyesight, please put something on.

What for? I need to shower anyway.

No way. I’m next, I already called it, Alan said.

You can’t just call it. Whoever gets there first, gets there first.

Axton’s in there now. When he’s done, the shower’s mine.

Dude, don’t be such a pushover. Take a stand for once in your life.

What does that mean?

It means I’m two years younger than you, and I have no problem doing this.

He started rubbing his chest against the side of Alan’s shoulder.

Gross! Alan shoved his little brother away.

I have no problem doing that because I know now I’m going to win, and you’re going to lose.

You’re sick in the head.

True, Ian replied. But at least I’m getting my shower. Ian walked into the bathroom and left the door open. Watch and learn, big bro.

With that, he walked right past the turquoise shower curtain and into the tub.

Dude! What’s wrong with you, ya sicko? Axton shouted. I still have to scrub between my toes! I’m not done yet!

Oh, you’re done, said Ian. Suddenly the curtain sprung open and little Axton’s body got tossed right out like a paper cup in a windstorm. He hit the ground wearing nothing but the suit he was born in.

I’m telling Mom! You’re going to be in so much trouble!

Do it and I’ll tell her what really happened to the hamster, Ian shot back.

Part of Alan wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to give Ian that satisfaction. But even so, he knew that Ian brought up some good points. Alan was the oldest of five boys, but he wasn’t the most authoritative. And because of his passiveness, it could be another fifteen minutes or so before he would finally get his shower.

Wait a minute, Ian mumbled in a bewildered voice. Why does it stink in here?

That’s what you get for kicking me out, you big jerk! Axton belted out that same villainous laugh from before.

Well, you could have warned me, at least!

You deserved that one, Ian. Alan decided to go downstairs to grab some breakfast. Maybe by the time he was done, Ian would be out of the shower.

None of this was out of the ordinary. Mostly standard for the Sherwood household, really. This brother teases that brother. That brother teases this brother and an argument ensues. Lather, rinse, and repeat. Standard stuff for Alan and his brothers.

But that was hours ago, and this was now. It was no longer an ordinary Tuesday in July. The day had turned into a roller coaster.

Earlier this morning I wasn’t even going up the chain on the first hill yet. This started out like such a normal day. But now, it’s all up to me. I have to save our lives. I have to be brave. I have to get us out of here.

***

Evan sat on the living room sofa eating potato chips and watching his twin brother play Mario Kart 8. He’d rather be watching TV. Sharing was something he had grown used to with so many brothers in the house, but it still didn’t make any sense to him that they lived in such a big house and only had one TV.

Grab the other controller. I’m playing you next, Ethan told him.

I’d rather watch TV, Evan answered.

There’s nothing on. Grab the other controller. I’m almost done with this race, and then I’ll kick your butt like I always do.

Evan kept eating chips. He and his twin did have a few things in common, but an equal passion for video games wasn’t one of them. Besides, Ethan always beat me, so where’s the fun in that?

Finished! Ethan shouted enthusiastically. He started dancing around the room and pumping his hands into the air like he always did.

You didn’t win the Super Bowl, Peyton Manning. It’s just a stupid game.

Then get off your lazy behind and play yourself if it’s just a stupid game, Ethan said.

No.

Come on. If you’re lucky, you might get second. Second place isn’t that bad. Especially for you. It’s bad for me… and Axton… and Mom.

Shut up and turn that thing off. I want to watch TV.

"I told you. There’s nothing good on. What do you want to watch, some stupid soap opera or a court show or something? The Price Is Right doesn’t come on for another hour."

Just then, their older brother Alan walked into the room holding a Hot Pocket in one hand and a Dr. Pepper in the other.

Give me the remote, he told them. I’ll find something to watch. And if ya’ll don’t like it, you can go to your room and read a book or something.

I hate reading, said Ethan.

Alan sat down on the leather recliner and opened his Dr. Pepper. Ethan ignored Alan’s command and started a new race.

Mom left a little while ago, said Evan. She said you’ll make lunch. I think there are some frozen pizzas...

I know, I know, Alan replied. You babies can’t take care of yourselves, so I have to do it for you. Where did she go so early?

Shopping. Miss Sherry came by and picked her up so that we would have the car if we need it. They had to leave early because there was a sale or something.

There’s a sale at one of those stores every week. What made today so special? Alan asked.

I don’t know. But she said to stay home unless there’s an emergency.

Let’s go swimming, Ethan suggested.

That’s not an emergency, Evan and Alan said in unison.

It is when you’re locked up at home on a warm day and bored out of your mind.

You just wanna play video games all day anyway, said Evan.

Yeah, and Mom and Dad always say how bad that is. We need to go outside sometimes, right? That’s what they always say.

Ethan sort of paced back and forth in front of the television as he played his game. To Evan, it was quite a strange ritual that his twin always participated in while playing his video games. He got very intense. It was big deal to him. Evan was glad they weren’t identical, because people never got them mixed up. Although their names were similar enough that he often got called Ethan, especially by their grandparents and other old people.

And then there was Mrs. Nixey, their sixth grade math teacher. She was the worst about that. She taught Alan and Ian too, so anytime she said the names Alan, Ian, or Ethan, Evan knew she was talking to him. In three years, she’d probably do the same thing to Axton.

In just a month and a half, seventh grade would start. With seven teachers, odds were that at least one of them would do the same, and the cycle would start all over.

Why did Mom and Dad do this to me? Did they think it was clever? Did they think it was original? A better question might be: why have so many kids in the first place? Thank goodness they never had a girl… they would have probably named her Ellen. I already have to deal with all this trash talking and arm wrestling and rough housing and fighting and belching and mooning. At least I don’t have to deal with dolls and dress up too. Yikes!

Evan watched Alan eat his Hot Pocket and scroll through his cell phone. He’s probably on Facebook or something. Mom wouldn’t let him have Facebook