and swiped past a dozen more from the past week—deer and coyotes and raccoons and possums,
all of them either daytime shots or green silhouettes with bright white eyes.
“Don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a golf cart headed in our vague direction,” Daisy said quietly.
I looked up. The cart was still a ways away. I swiped through more pictures until I got back to September 9th,
and there, yes, in shades of green I could see the back of a stocky man wearing a striped nightshirt.
Time stamp 1:01:03 A.M. I screenshotted it. “Dude’s definitely spotted us,” Daisy said nervously.
I glanced up again and mumbled, “I’m hurrying.” I’d swiped to see the previous picture, but it was taking forever to load.
I heard Daisy run off, but I stayed, waiting for the photograph. It was odd, for me to be the calm one while feeling Daisy’s nerves jangling.
But the things that make other people nervous have never scared me. I’m not afraid of men in golf carts or horror movies or roller coasters.
I didn’t know precisely what I was afraid of, but it wasn’t this. The image revealed itself in slow motion, one line of pixels at a time.
Coyote. I glanced up, saw the man in the golf cart seeing me, and I bolted.
I wove back toward the river, scrambled down the riverbank wall, and found Daisy standing above my overturned canoe,
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