When Walt had dangled from the bottom of the net in that extended position for two minutes, he decided it was time to start planning what he should do when he sneaked back to camp hours ahead of schedule. Exceedingly pleased with himself, he grinned demonically, released his vise-like grip on the net, and …
SSSSHHLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!
Walt was dumbstruck to find that he had just sunk past his waist into mud before his feet hit a solid bottom, probably made of wood. This didn't make sense; he was almost within arm's length of the trunk of the tree he had been suspended from, and several roots were also close by. How could this be? Then he remembered that Locke did say the ground was soft underneath the trap, but this was ridiculous. The boar trap had been rigged so that it was situated over a recently constructed meter-deep mud pit, and he never saw it coming.
While Walt was trying to comprehend this new turn of events, he heard a laugh from just beyond the edge of the clearing. And then another, and another. The firmly mired boy just had to just stand there while the others revealed themselves. Slowly Walt recognized that he had been the victim of an elaborate practical joke. If it had happened to someone else, it might have been hilarious. Walt tried not to admit that this happening to him was humorous as well. However, he couldn't help picturing himself stuck in mud nearly up to his bare chest, and that image was just too funny. Walt could not contain himself, and soon was giggling, then chuckling, and laughing, harder and harder, at the absurdity of the situation.
Looking around, Walt saw that something amazing was happening. No one was fighting or bickering, which had seemed to always be the case recently. Sawyer and Sayid had always seemed to be enemies, and now they were standing side by side enjoying a good laugh. Next to them were Shannon and Boone, who seemed to have forgotten that they were constantly insulting each other. Jin and Sun had reunited, at least for the moment, exchanging commentary in Korean. Walt hadn't been aware that Jin was capable of laughing. Claire and Charlie stopped by, but had to leave quickly for fear that Claire's laughter might bring on premature labor. On the other side of Sawyer, enjoying the moment as much as any of the others, stood a smiling Kate and Doctor Jack, the latter being overly pleased with himself for his accurate psychological evaluation.
Laughing hardest of all was Hurley. "Well, good for him," thought Walt, "maybe he deserves it after he lost all that money to me." Farther away two people were busy writing something. Writing something on a pad was his father, and writing in that small journal was that swimmer/spy who was at least indirectly responsible for Walt's current location. Surprisingly enough Walt's recent feelings of pure hatred toward her had vanished. Finally, Locke was off by himself, regarding the spectacle at a considerable distance from the opposite direction, behind Walt, and maintaining his mysterious demeanor. Somehow Walt had helped everyone put their differences aside, at least for one day. It was a magnificent achievement, even if it was accomplished by a joke at his expense.
Walt was having a revelation. The fact that the adults had bothered to construct this mud pit indicated that they thought Walt would escape the boar trap, and in doing so were paying him quite a compliment. Despite his current situation, Walt was genuinely appreciative of their opinion of his abilities and determination. They hadn't been out to get him; in fact they had banded together to create this adventure. It worked because they had all acted like they wanted nothing to do with him, and his success left him feeling altogether good about himself for the first time in ages. His attitude toward these good-hearted people had changed quite abruptly for the better, and henceforward he would be cooperative with them.
Inescapably the center of attention, Walt was going to reward his caring and thoughtful audience with a show. He flexed his biceps and made a goofy threatening face like he was some comic book monster ready to come after his persecutors, uttering "I … will … get … you … for … this!" He then filled his lungs to capacity, and beat his chest vigorously while giving his best rendition of a Tarzan yell. He tried to take a step toward the others, but was too deep in the muck to do so, thereby substantially reducing the effectiveness of his threat and causing another round of laughter. Walt had heard the phrase "captive audience", but for the time being he would be the captive performer.
As he noted earlier some tree roots were almost within reach. The mud could not have been very thick or he would not have sunk in so far. Thus he tried rocking back and forth, lunging harder in the forward direction, and slowly made progress to the point where he could grasp a root. The others were enjoying the spectacle of the struggle, and it went without saying that no one would be offering Walt any assistance. But Walt would not have accepted it anyway. His mother and stepfather never let him play in the mud, so this was a new and fun experience. Also, the mud was significantly cooler than the atmosphere, and was soothing and comfortable in its own way.
Having grasped the root, Walt was able to pull himself close enough to grab it with his other hand. But before trying to extricate himself, another thought occurred to him. Balancing with both hands on the root, he bounced his body at the knees and waist, deliberately working his way into the mud until it covered his shoulders, and then reached his chin. The other castaways were treated to a maniacal grin from a head perched on the surface of the mud. When Walt had enough of his mud bath, he straightened up and began his latest escape attempt in earnest.
Maintaining his two-handed grip on the root, with a lot of effort Walt pulled his left leg upwards, and dug his toes into the side of the mud pit. He then was able to move his right leg up a similar amount, so that the goo was now just at his waist. He dug his other toes into the pit side, but didn't get as a good a toehold as before. When he next tried lifting his left leg again, his right foot slipped, and his center of balance fell away from the wall. Without any leverage, Walt had to watch helplessly as his stomach slid smoothly beneath the surface. But he actually enjoyed the sensation of the sinking feeling so much that he repeated the procedure, this time losing his foothold on purpose so that he sank almost chest-deep in the ooze once again.
Deciding that was enough, the next time Walt drew himself waist-high he stretched forward as far as he could along the root before releasing his toehold. He sank back only a little this time, and with a lot of effort, rocking his body from side to side and kicking but not letting go the root, pulled himself millimeter by millimeter away from the mud hole. After many minutes of substantial effort, Walt finally extricated his legs from the pit, and stood on solid ground for the first time in almost three hours. His audience saw a heavily panting figure thoroughly covered with mud from neck to toe.
"Looking good, Swamp Thing!"
That was something Walt could cherish, a new nickname from Sawyer that didn't refer to Walt's lack of height. Walt responded by roaring while pounding his now mud-covered chest.
"Hey, Lil' Dude, that was awesome. Totally worth every penny!"
It turns out that Hurley had been watching Walt's entire ordeal through binoculars from a hidden vantage point, ready to assist in case something went wrong. Walt was glad he hadn't known that; it would have severely diminished the excitement of his adventure. And now it looked like he wouldn't have to pay a fine from his backgammon winnings.
Hurley's expression made Walt think, and he asked, "Mr. Locke said the boar trap net was Boone's idea, but what about the mud?"
Hurley replied, "C'mon man, everyone's been bummed lately. You gotta agree we could all use a little entertainment."
Walt answered back, "Just as I thought. All right big fella, next time we play backgammon you're in big trouble!" Walt's effort to maintain a straight face with that threat was a spectacular failure.
After catching his breath, Walt started advancing toward Michael and the swimmer. The mud encasing Walt's body made even walking somewhat laborious. Before Walt could get too close, the swimmer ran off in mock terror toward the beach. He then approached his father, and asked, "What'cha writing there?"
"Uh, uh," Michael answered, "This is a surprise for your eleventh birthday."
Later Michael would reveal that the day before had taken a couple hours off from building the raft, and dug the pit to the right depth and lined its bottom with solid logs.
Walt thought for a second, and remembered that his father had sent him all those funny drawings on his birthdays, but had only seen recently for the first time. He guessed he would be getting a picture of Swamp Thing in a few months. "Okay. Then I can start helping on the raft now?"
"I hope you don't think I'm being too hard on you, but there is one more thing you must do."
"All right, what is it?"
"You need to take a bath."
Walt giggled, and headed off toward the world's largest bathtub, more commonly known as the Pacific Ocean.
His curiosity aroused by all the commotion, Vincent struggled to his feet and headed toward the source of the sound. Soon he encountered a lumbering mud-covered object dripping mud with each step.
"Hi, Vincent, wanna play now?"
Unsure of what the talking object with the unfamiliar smell was, Vincent turned tail and ran off towards the beach.
"Oh come on, don't you recognize me?" Swamp Thing increased his pace the most he could. Upon reaching the shoreline, near where the new raft was being built, he dropped into shallow water and started rinsing the mud off. It took some time, and Vincent warily watched from a distance around a corner of the partially constructed raft as the strange-looking object transformed in a being with a familiar shape and scent. Now sure of himself, Vincent charged as Walt started back up the beach. The Labrador barked as he leapt, giving Walt a split second to brace himself for the imminent tackle.
"Oof!"
Vincent knocked Walt flat onto his back, and started licking his face.
"Stop that, it tickles!"
Ignoring the verbal command, Vincent continued with his show of affection towards his master. Walt squirmed under the weight of his dog, but was pretty exhausted from the day's events. Having just had the wind knocked out of him, he was engaging in a losing battle with the well-rested pet. Consequently Walt had to endure the tickling caused by the slobbering creature. After a minute Walt could no longer put up any resistance, and lay helplessly on the beach laughing uncontrollably while being tormented by Vincent's tickling. When Walt starting gasping for breath, Vincent stopped, and apparently suddenly remembering that it was still quite hot, collapsed squarely on Walt's chest, pinning him to the sand.
"Oh Vincent, get off … ," but with his strength rapidly fading away Walt acquiesced, having neither the heart nor the power to push away his beloved pet. He was content to lay there the rest of the day, now as Vincent's captive. Walt could start helping with the new raft for real tomorrow.
The End