Chapter Fourteen
In the dark heart of the night Duncan slipped out of Jaho’s blanketed hatch and darted to the bank of the swamp. A figure was receding out on the water, and in the light of a half moon he could dimly see the slightly muddy water where the man had passed, the track of the narrow path of firmer ground that twisted its way through the beds of quicksand.
For more than half an hour Duncan followed the old man down the narrow, treacherous path, fighting his fear when clouds briefly obscured the moon and he lost the trail. One false step and he could be pulled into the killing mud, and if he lost sight of his ghostly guide he knew he would be hopelessly trapped. In the silence, mosquitoes bit at his ears and bubbles gurgled as they burst, reeking of decay. He quickly pressed on
