The Dips: Book One - The Reunion, #1

By G. G. Rebimik

A high school folk band from '69 reunites after 50 years to save one of its members only to end up fighting modern-day crime with a 60s sensibility.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. G. Rebimik
• Release date: Jul 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393392538

G. G. Rebimik

I grew up on wind swept shores. Stormy seas and salted winds expanded the string of my imagination allowing me to go anywhere I wanted.  A study of the epic tales from the East confirmed my flights. Or, to make things simple...I'm basically a nobody with a portal--same as you. I write in a minimalistic style, using the fewest words to produce the brightest image--a silver screen format if you will--which allows the reader to expand into his/her own experience.  

Book preview

—  June 1st  7:00 am  —

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The Florida Everglades, together with the swampland along the Gulf States, purify The Great North American wash as it slips into the Gulf of Mexico providing nutrients for one of the most energetic spawning grounds in the world.

The newlyweds passed through a narrow mangrove entanglement, then into a clearing. They were bright-eyed and tanned, not to mention courageous as they cruised the deep Everglades in a flat bottom boat powered by a small motor. As Sam turned their skiff towards the sunrise, a warm breeze washed over them, its caress gave him the assurance he was looking for.

They beached on a tiny island less than twenty feet across. The mud-clod outcropping hosted a few reeds growing near the edges which Sam hoped would provide some privacy. Gators would certainly nest here, he thought.

Meg lifted her worried face. Sam, you sure about this? she said in her quiet way.

You’re the goddess, he replied.

Yeah... guess I forgot, she said more to herself while surveying their latest vacation spot.

Well, I sure didn’t, Sam said, throwing an air mattress on the island along with sheets and a small cooler filled with ice and refreshments.

Uh-huh, Meg mumbled, tying the boat to a tangled root-mass. Can you at least be quick about things? she said.

Nope, came Sam’s reply.

What’s your excuse this time? she said.

Meg, don’t need one, Sam replied. We’ve got all day, or until the sun burns us out.

Or a twelve-footer shows up, she said.

Sam grabbed an old rifle and snapped the bolt shut. Gator stopper, he said.

Really? You ever shot that thing? she said.

It should work, Sam replied. Odds are in our favor.

Sam, can we rethink this?

Meg, no, Sam replied. I’m with you, and you’re with me. That’s all there is to it.

She nodded a little trying to be more accepting of the situation. Sure feels prehistoric, she said, watching vapor lift-off and play above the surface. Never had goosebumps like this before. She gave her forearm a quick rub, then showed Sam.

Spirits in the land, Meg. Millions of years, untouched.

I’ll say, she replied, letting her eyes drift across the rough patch of earth and old feathers woven into nearby reeds.

Meg, you know being out here is what I like.

She nodded a little. Just not sure of all the other things you might be likin’.

Meg, there’s nothing else. You know that.

You sure? she said. We’ve only been married a short while.

Meg, I’m sure, and don’t forget we’ve been steady since high school, he said.

Yeah, well, no show today, she replied.

Meg, come on, look around.

Sam, believe me, I’ve looked, she replied, and, well, I can’t even describe what I see.

Sam swept his arm out like a game show hostess. Why Mrs. Marcel, you’ve never had a stage like this before! Sam gave an encouraging smile.

Shut it, boy, she replied, motioning to the half-made bed. Put your butt down there or let’s pack and get back to the swamp we know.

Sam quickly finished the bedding then faced his beautiful wife with her soft brown eyes and shoulder-length mahogany-colored hair. Meg, you ok? he asked, seeing the tightness in her arms and shoulders. She took a final look around then pointed for him to get on the mattress, then laid beside him. They kissed a little, even laughed some as the sun lifted over the cypress trees, and, though it was early, the temperature pushed above eighty degrees.

We’ve done some unusual places but nothing like this, she said.

Meg... you’ve got to relax, he said.

Yeah, exactly how am I gonna do that? she said. What if I conceive out here?

Meg, are you kidding? It would be the greatest thing. A smile lit Sam’s face.

Really? she replied. Half gator, half boy?

Meg, oh, god, no, Sam said. It’d be a hundred percent you and me.

Not so sure with the spirits in this place, she replied.

Meg, I’m sure—don’t think this way.

I can’t help it, she replied. How can you always be so sure about things?

Just can, that’s all, he replied. Comes natural.

Sam, seriously, you’re not rollin’ the dice with our lives, are you? she said. I do get frightened. I’m not you.

Meg—

Meg what?

I’ve got love to give—lots of it, he replied.

I’ll bet you do, she said.

Meg, don’t get on me, he said. We agreed to be open about things.

I didn’t know you meant everything, like, in the middle of boiling-hell everything, she said. What if we fucking die out here?

I did, Sam replied.

I did what? she said.

Meg, I did mean everything. It’s the best way—the only way I can see things workin’ for us. Life is tough, Meg. We have to be strong.

Yeah, ten percent strong and ninety percent nuts, she replied, looking to the ancient reeds playing with the breeze. I do remember agreeing to some vague notions you had, she said. Thing is, I’m not sure gator island fits the equation.

It fits, Meg. We fit, and quite well if you know what I’m sayin’.

Uh-huh, she replied. Must be some big-ass equation you got.

Sam moved closer and gave his wife a tender kiss. Meg, that’s why we got married.

She couldn’t help but smile. So, we gonna motor our flat-bottom all over the world and do what we’re doin’ here?

Meg, you know it’s my dream, he said.

She nodded a little, remembering some of their past conversations, but never taking them seriously. Most of her friends had taken small jobs in small towns, never venturing far.

Meg cleared her throat. Captain, we need a bigger...

You’re killin’ me with the humor, Meg. You know I’ll build one—just need to save up.

Meg gently touched her husband’s chest. I know you would. You’re a talented carpenter, Sam Marcel. Sorry for the harassment.

No harassment, Meg. You’re everything to me.

She returned a tender kiss. Did you really check for crocs?

Besides the one I’ve got? he replied.

You know how it is when we get going, she said. I don’t like surprises.

I looked around, he said.

All around? she countered.

As far as I could see, he replied.

Meg relaxed a bit and took a deep breath.

Sam remained quiet, allowing his wife to settle in. Feel better? he asked.

She gave a slight nod. How many little ones you plan on giving me?

Depends on the savings account, he replied.

We got barely enough to motor out of this hole, she said.

Meg, it’s beautiful here. It’s beautiful wherever you are.

You sure? she said, unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt. You won’t get tired of me and drop me off one day?

Never! he replied. Not for a while, anyway.

She rolled on top and kissed her husband softly, whispering. I’m available until the first ant crawls up my leg.

I’m pretty sure they can’t swim this far, he whispered back.

If you’re wrong, guess what? Laundry for two months, she said. I mean all of it—wash, dry, fold, put away.

I’ll be on the lookout, Sam replied.

The world receded into rivers of deeper and deeper feeling which seemed to pierce the earth’s core, until, that is, an airboat zoomed by, its wake covering them with swamp water.

What the— Sam said, curling to a sitting position with Meg on top, their breathing heavy. Sam caught a glimpse of the boat as it disappeared through a wave of swamp grass. 

Looked like Gus Rawlins’ boat, he said.

He’s dirt, Meg said. Think he saw us?

Sure as hell hope not, Sam replied. We’ve got our boat pretty well hidden. Oh, god, here he comes.

The airboat raced back. The driver killed the engine, and the boat hopped up onto the edge of the island, barely missing the newlyweds. Sam reached for his rifle.

Easy, boy, the gaunt-like Gus Rawlins said, aiming his shotgun at them. Don’t mean no harm, son. Gus appeared neither bright nor lucky, just another swamp rat checking traps.

Good, then get the fuck off our island! Sam shouted.

Gus extended the barrel of this blaster towards them. "Lower the rifle,