For an instant nothing happened, it was like the heartbeat's delay as a whipped horse connects the pain with something being demanded of it. Startled gears and rods engaged; the huge tires bit into the coral dust, spitting stones and screeching. With the slow momentousness of a rocket lifting off, the Caddy leaned back then started humping forward.
Inertia overcome, it took off fast. Dust billowed; rocks flew. Pineapple saw his friend streak past, terrified, saw that his elbows were locked as he squeezed the wheel, his lips pasted back against his teeth.
The roaring auto barreled through the contested boundary of earth and sea, mowed down some baby mangroves and squashed a frog or two. Tepid water splashed against its grille, the enormous tires grabbed for purchase in the muck, spun like eggbeaters in batter.
For a time the car became a fat unwieldy boat, confused wakes spreading from its bulky hull as it churned and labored onward, the exhaust pipes shooting forth twin geysers. Then water shorted out the lights and turned the fuel to poison, and with a deflating suddenness the engine died, the ripples calmed, and the wild ride was over.
The car had traveled maybe fifty feet from shore and was immersed not much deeper than the bottom of its doors.
Even so, Fred's knees were shaky when he climbed out and stepped cautiously into the mild water. Sure enough, the muck was soft and swirly beneath his feet; his leg spiked through to mid-thigh and he trudged ashore with the dazed gait of the sole survivor of some dreadful wreck.
Pineapple met him at the water's edge and, together, they gazed out at the car. Moonlight played on its windshield and on the pleats of its folded-down top.
After a moment's contemplation Piney said, "Not exactly what I'd call sunk."
Fred said, "It'll settle. Give it time to settle."
They gave it time.
Fred wanted to believe he saw the car subsiding. He thought the top of the back fender had been exposed at first, and now it wasn't. The water made a short horizon that was just at the seam where the trunk opened.
Piney was strolling back and forth around the clearing. After a while he said, "Fred, people who live in houses, you think they do things half-ass?"
Fred reclaimed his smokes and lit one up. Match light played off his cupped hand. "You saying I did this half-ass?"
"I didn't say that. I was just wondering."
They watched the car some more. Crickets rasped. The mangroves gave off a waxy smell.
Pineapple said, "Better swamps up north."
"You keep saying that," said Fred. "What the fuck's a better swamp?"
"Deeper."
"Deeper," said Fred. "Now you say deeper. You could've said that before."
Piney shrugged. "Deeper's better. Kind of obvious I thought."
They watched the car. Sometimes it seemed to be settling lower and other times it didn't. Then it started making noises.
"D'ya hear that?" asked Fred.
It was a faint scratching sound, but then it stopped. Soon it started in again.
"Chassis rubbing through the muck," Fred theorized. "Wait and see, once it breaks that crust on top, it's gonna settle good and quick."
But the Caddy didn't settle noticeably faster, and after a time the scratching changed to a weak but rhythmic thump that carried with it just a hint of metallic ring. Pineapple looked at Fred. "That sound is dry," he said. "That's not an underwater sound."
Fred said nothing, listened hard. The car seemed finally to be diving slowly downward. The thumping got just slightly louder, took on the insistence of a pleading knock. Then there was a sound that could only have come from a human throat, a whimper.
The hair stood up on the back of Piney's neck and he was wading out before he'd stopped to think.
"The trunk," Fred hollered at his back, "I think it opens underneath the dash."
Piney plodded on. He sank knee-deep, thigh-deep, crotch-deep in the muck. His puny and heroic steps seemed to break some stalemate between gravity and friction, and the Caddy started sinking faster. Water gurgled as the bottom bubbled under it like cooking oatmeal. By the time he reached the car, the door was sealed by marl. He propped his hands against the bottom of the window frame and, straining with his skinny arms, he lifted and wriggled free of the mud and managed to flop over the door, landing face-first in the driver's seat. He found the lever, yanked it
The trunk latch opened, the lid popped up.
Fred saw water cascading over the lip of the trunk as if it were a failing dam. The weight of the intruding sea made the Caddy's stern tilt downward, it groaned with the shift in its balance. Water flooded in, little eddies twisted around the tail fins.
Fred sensed a different kind of movement too, sensed it before he saw it. A human being was struggling toward the air; he knew it. A moment passed; breath stalled but the water didn't rest.