Luna
The second we emerge from the safety of the bayou, my instincts soar into high alert. Instead of being surrounded by pine-oak and tupelo trees and picking my way through the inkberry or Joe-Pye weed, I find myself on a road, which I've only seen from a distance. Up close, they're bleached-out, hard surfaces with the texture of a dried alligator carcass.
Cars zoom past at alarming speeds. When trekking through the swamp, I'd heard the distant sounds of these beasts and seen them from afar, but up close, the rectangular metal boxes are bigger than a swamp monster and even more intimidating. I stop and shake my head, unwilling to take a step into this foreign land and be trampled by one of their metal monstrosities.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Ama mutters. "Has Axel made a mistake or
what?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, grabbing her sleeve.
"I didn't say a thing," Ama says. She steps onto the hard surface of
the road, yanking on my wrist.