The Florida swamp wasn’t all fire and brimstone, but it was definitely a place where those condemned to being in it suffered abject misery. Crashing down from an adrenaline high, Sybil stared at Westford’s back and wrung out her jacket hem, chiding herself for not sucking it up and focusing on her mission. The truth was, she was exhausted, and like everyone else, when exhausted, she gave in to moments of weariness and feeling overwhelmed. The weather wasn’t helping. They had walked all night, and she had insisted Jonathan take back his coat, which meant she had been soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone ever since. The persistent rain had pelted her goose bumps nonstop, and every prick stung like a stab. A couple of hours ago dawn finally had broke and ushered in muggy heat, but the rain still hadn’t stopped. Neither had the bugs. Mosquitoes and some kind of gnats constantly swarmed them. Her bites had bites. So did Westford’s, which had her thinking godawful thoughts about wicked mosquito-borne diseases, like the West Nile virus and eastern equine encephalitis.
