He wasn’t sure whether the fence was supposed to keep people out of the swamp, or keep the swamp away from the people. The snakes were seriously getting out of control. You couldn’t live in Florida and not know about the yellow anacondas, Burmese pythons and boa constrictors. They were a huge problem since they’d been accidentally introduced. The snakes loved it here, and they didn’t have anybody to eat them, so they were pretty much everywhere. He’d heard rumors at school about snakes that had even eaten little kids. Sometimes he’d just come here and stare over the fence, peering from the concrete stronghold of their subdivision into the dank, vegetation choked, black‐watered quagmire. The swamp creeped him out but, at the same time, it pulled at him, beckoning somehow.

The sidewalk was much smoother than the pavement, and he rocketed past all the backyards, blipping from fence to fence at high speed. He veered into the swamp on the fenced walkway that linked the back edge of his massive development to the business district on the other side of the swamp.

There was trash everywhere in here; soda bottles, needles, plastic bags, broken glass. This pathway smelled even worse than plain old swamp; like exhaust and beer mixed with the smell of a dead body rotting in mud. He raced past a couple of sleeping old homeless guys on benches, relieved it was getting lighter outside. He never came here in the dark.

Once he hit the business district, everything clicked. I’m going to OceanLand. He hadn’t realized it until that very moment. He slowed for a fraction of a second, Seriously Frost? Umm, Duh! YES! It was only a couple of miles from their house, which was one reason their mom took them so often—she’d bought a family membership after the divorce. Broken family membership, more like. He whipped through the back parking lots of the Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Wendy’s and Exxon. When he got to Wal‐Mart, he knew he was close. Slowing, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the OceanLand perimeter. First was the gigantic parking area, which is what people saw when they pulled in. It was so big you could plunk down a freaking small town on that lot with room to spare. Behind that was the park itself, which was enclosed by a huge 12‐foot‐tall solid wood fence that snaked back into thick vegetation. Miles’ gaze fell against the trees back there, and instinctively he pushed his board toward them. But this time his foot came down carefully, gently. He’d gone on high alert. He was pretty sure that OceanLand wouldn’t want people sneaking around back there, especially after that Harvey Mott guy managed to get himself killed. Not to mention Dusky yesterday. The hair on the back of Miles’ neck went up as he realized what he was about to do. He pressed his mouth tight in resolve. I am doing this.