The water was dark and flat. Trees closed in on both sides with late autumn fire. We moved slowly, the engine low and steady in case we hit submerged logs. This was the Great Dismal Swamp. Men had once hidden here—runaways, fighters, those who wanted to disappear. Moonshine was made in here. It was quiet now, but not empty. You could feel the past pressing in through the trees. Three days passing through the swamp. We didn’t say much. Just watched the way the light hit the water and tried to keep the boat in the middle.
