Wetland (2027)

He wedged the bar under the stake and pulled. The wood groaned, then surrendered. He tossed it into the reeds. He moved to the next, and the next. Each pop of loosened metal was a small, wet sound—like a frog’s leap, like a turtle sliding off a log.

Elias looked at the boy’s frightened eyes, then out at the cathedral of cypress and Spanish moss. Nothing? This place was the last argument against the arithmetic of profit. It was the slow, breathing conscience of the county. wetland

“Hold on,” Elias grunted, swinging the punt around. He reached down, hauling the boy over the gunwale. The child shivered, reeds clinging to his wet jeans. He wedged the bar under the stake and pulled

A splash startled him. Not a fish. A boot. He moved to the next, and the next