“No way, creeper! Put that camera
down!” one of my friends yelled as she vainly tried to cover her
body with her slim arms and tiny hands.
The man grinned again and said with a
thick country accent, “Pretty girls for my collection.”
“Oh my God,” my other friend said,
panic clear in her voice.
“Listen, buddy,” clearly, one of
my friends had perfected being fearless. “We are not models on a
photo shoot and you are damn sure not our photographer, so put the
camera down and go away. NOW.”
The creepy man in the boat chuckled.
“Tough talk from a girl in a bikini and an innertube. Where y'all
gonna go?” He chuckled again, clicking away on his camera.
“You're not going anywhere but home with me.”
He was right. We were alone on this
stretch of river. The current was slow, barely pushing us along. We
had no way to move faster, and what little paddling we could do with
our hands, he could easily match or better. The banks were high, but
even if we managed to get to them before the man in a motor-powered
boat and climb up, there was nothing around but woods. No houses, no
roads for miles. We could run through the woods to get away, but we
were barefoot and the bumpkin in the boat was wearing what appeared
to be hunting boots, thick and sturdy. It was no contest; he would
definitely catch us in the woods.
I saw a sand bar coming up soon, and I
could see that the sand only breached the surface on one side of the
river, leaving plenty of room for a boat to zoom by on the other
side. Damn. Even if we could get to our feet, what help would that
be? What could we do besides give him better angle for his pictures?
Then I saw the driftwood washed up on
the bank by the sandbar. What was I thinking? SMASH!* I figured that at
best, a hit to the head would hurt enough to shock him so that we
could get a head start in the woods, bare feet be damned.
*http://drunkieblogger.blogspot.com/
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