And then the snake’s jaw clamped down on the branch, an inch below Nick’s little finger. He saw the two poison fangs digging into the smooth bark, saw beads of venom swell up. His heart gave a leap. Now! he thought.
He pulled the branch toward him, dragging the snake toward him by its fangs. The resistance was formidable: it was like pulling on a thick rubber band. But the cottonmouth was unwilling to let go of the branch, and Nick managed to stretch out the snake’s neck until he could pounce with his left hand, grabbing the cottonmouth just behind the head, where it couldn’t turn to bite him. Nick dropped the branch, grabbed the snake halfway down its body with his right hand. The cottonmouth’s glassy reptile eyes gazed into his, expressionless, as Nick tried to lift it so that he could fling it into the water below. But the tail was anchored around the tree limb, and muscles pulsed in Nick’s hands, sinew flexing, testing his strength. The body was so thick that Nick couldn’t quite close his right hand around it; he could feel the muscles working against his grip, trying to pry the fingers apart, and he clamped down, digging fingertips into the scaly skin, tugging at the snake as he tried to pull it from the limb.
Furious ants swarmed over the snake and Nick’s hands, bit them both without mercy. The snake dropped the branch and opened its mouth wide, the mouth tissues blossoming like a deadly white flower. It tried to turn its head to bite Nick in the wrist, but Nick held it fast by the neck and wouldn’t let it double back on itself. Drops of venom welled at the tips of the fangs. Its muscles pulsed, flexed, strained beneath Nick’s fingers. And then its muscles surged, and its tail left the tree limb and tried to coil itself around Nick’s right wrist.
Nick gave a yell of alarm as the snake’s fat body writhed in his hands. He thumped his hand onto the tree limb, scraped the cottonmouth’s tail off his wrist against the bark, then raised the snake in both hands over his head and flung it through the air.
“Yaaaaaahl” he roared, a scream of rage and triumph.
The cottonmouth curled in air, almost turning itself into a knot, and then hit the water. There was a splash, a twist, and suddenly the aquatic snake was swimming, in its element. Its body surged effortlessly in the water, its head carried high, eyes focused…
Eyes focused on Nick.
Nick felt his triumph turn to disbelief and horror. The snake was coming back to the tree. The cottonmouth was coming to kill him.
“Stay out of my tree!” Nick shouted. Heat flushed his skin. “My tree!” He waved a fist. The snake kept coming.
Nick turned, snatched at the branches behind him. He grabbed one of the strongest and seized it, bending it back, fighting it. There was a crack as he tore it free. He stripped twigs and leaves from it, turned it into a club.
The cottonmouth pulsed its way to the tree, its head winding a path through the smaller branches so that the thick surging body could follow.
The first, leafy branch that Nick had dropped was still lying in his lap. He took that branch in his left hand and the new club in the right. He hit the club against the bole of the tree a few times, trying to get a feel for the weapon. He tasted bitter despair on his tongue: the club was far too light to smash the head of the snake.
The hopelessness brought defiance to his lips. “You want a piece of me?” he demanded of the snake. He snarled. “You come and get it!”
The cottonmouth’s weaving head slid around the bole of the tree, its cold, inhuman eyes intent on Nick. The forked tongue flickered from the soft white mouth. Nick smashed at the snake with the club, hit it in the neck. The snake reared back, then dropped its head and surged forward.
Nick smashed with left and right, trying to confuse the snake with the leafy branch and then hammer it with the stick. The cottonmouth coiled protectively when it was struck, but then extended itself again and continued its motion along the tree limb. Nick hammered and hammered. The cottonmouth struck at the club and missed. Nick hammered at it, the hot blood bringing strength to his arm.
“You want a piece of me?” he shouted. “You want this tree?” He smashed the club down on the snake’s neck, pinning it to the tree limb. He snatched out with his left hand and grabbed the cottonmouth by the neck, just behind the head. The snake’s tail whipped around, coiled around his wrist.
“You think I care if you grab me?” Nick demanded. The snake tightened on his arm. Nick held the snake’s head with his left hand while he smashed at it with the club in his right. The cottonmouth’s head darted left and right to the limits that Nick would permit, seeking escape from the blows. Then Nick lunged forward and smashed the snake’s head into the bole of the tree with all of his strength. The snake’s body spasmed on his arm. He smashed again and again.
“You want a piece of me, cottonmouth?” he demanded. “You come and take it!” He smashed the snake’s head against the tree until the snake hung in loose coils from his arm, until Nick’s hand was scraped and bloody and the snake’s forked tongue hung limply from its mouth. Then he wearily uncoiled the snake from his arm, held it over the water, and let it fall.
The Mississippi received it with barely a splash.
“My tree!” Nick shouted. “My damn tree!” His cries echoed in the empty grove. Birds shrieked in answer.
He slapped ants from his hands, from his legs. Snapped off another leafy branch, began to sweep the ants from his limb, from what remained of their nest.
The tree was his, and he was going to keep it.
He touched his shirt pocket, felt Arlette’s necklace.
He would give it to her, see the sparkle in her eyes. He knew that now. Hours passed. The day grew hot, and the ants grew torpid. Perhaps they’d found something to eat, or lost interest after the destruction of their nest. The insects that drove him crazy now were mosquitos, dancing around him in swarms.
Farther out on his limb, the mother opossum rustled its way through leafy branches and squawked at its babies. Every so often it would peer out to see if Nick had left. It always seemed disappointed when he hadn’t.
The water level seemed to be dropping a little. The sodden tops of bushes were more visible. The water had ceased to run with its earlier swiftness, now lay still and dark, its surface reflecting the bright rays of the sun.
After sitting on his limb till his body felt like a giant cramp, Nick decided to climb a little higher and discover what might be seen. He clambered higher, heaving and sweating as he pushed his way through tightly woven branches.
This was really the sort of thing the snake would have done much easier.