The beast moved toward the bread without creating a ripple. Like it was in some kind of stealth mode.
Wilson eased over until he stood at the very edge of the airboat, imitating the sound of a baby gator just like a professional Miccosukee guide. “Euhh. Euhh. Euhh. Euhh.”
Jelly stood right behind Wilson and glanced back at Parker. “A female will come to protect the young. A male to eat them.”
A fact that Parker was well aware of. Jelly’s dad had been stationed here only a few months longer than Parker’s dad, but sometimes she still treated him like he was a total newbie.
The gator advanced. Crept closer. Parker estimated the distance between the nose and eyes. Eleven inches easily. So, the brute was an eleven-footer. Definitely bigger than any he’d seen in the few months he’d lived in the Chokoloskee and Everglades City area.
“Easy now. No fast movements,” Wilson said. “Let’s not scare it away.”
The face of it was pure evil. Menacing teeth rimmed its mouth like it was coming to dinner—and brought its own utensils. “It doesn’t look scared.” Parker laughed. “Just hungry.”
Wilson gripped the gator-tooth necklace around his neck. “He sees this—and believe me, he’s scared. That’s why he’s moving so slow.”
Did Wilson—or Jelly—stop to think that maybe the gator was being careful not to scare its prey away? “Yeah, or maybe he’s stalking you.”
Wilson laughed and tossed another clump of bread, but closer to the airboat this time. “Euhh. Euhh. Euhh. Euhh.” The gator took the bait and it didn’t stop. “That’s it. Come to papa, you big galoot.”
The alligator closed the distance and snapped up the bread without even the slightest pause.
Jelly stood there next to Wilson, grabbing pictures with her phone as the monster glided toward them. “Now I wish I still had my trail cam.”
Parker rolled his pant leg above the survival knife strapped to his calf, sensing he needed to be ready. But what good would a knife be against a vicious carnivore like that gator?
“Look at the chompers on that thing,” Wilson said.
Parker couldn’t get past the size—and the terrifying look of it. Black. Powerful. Deadly.
“Move away from the edge, okay, Jelly?” The sides of the airboat weren’t more than fifteen inches above the surface of the water—if that. Could the beast climb over the edge? “You too, Wilson.”
Neither of them budged.
The gator clawed its way onto a small mound of sawgrass and roots next to the boat, allowing the monstrous size of the beast to be seen for the first time. Wilson grinned. “Got your phone, Bucky?”
Parker patted his pocket. “Yeah. Why?”
Wilson backed a couple of feet away from the edge. “Get pictures of me and Jelly with this beaut.”
Right. And if Parker’s dad ever saw the photo there’d be a lot of explaining to do. The gator crept forward and rested its chin on the top edge of the airboat—jaws open with that gator grin going on. The mouth, white and pink inside—and strangely clean looking. The teeth . . . absolutely wicked.
“Can that thing get in here?” Parker pictured it. Grabbing Wilson by the leg—
“Wouldn’t that be interesting.” Wilson tore off another hunk of bread and sidearmed it into the alligator’s gaping mouth. A personal pizza–sized trapdoor of sorts opened in the back of the gator’s throat for an instant . . . and the bread was gone. “If gators didn’t have that watertight flap in the back of their throat, they’d drown. Did you know that?”
“Spare me the nature lesson,” Parker said. “Just back away from that thing.” Wilson was close. Too close.
“I’m going to bag me a gator this big one day.” The French bread was half gone. Wilson took the stump and whacked the gator right on the snout. The gator didn’t even react. It just stayed there with its jaws open like it was daring him to try it one more time.
Jelly gasped, but not like she was disgusted or anything. “Do that again. I’m switching to video.”
“Their vision directly in front of their nose isn’t so hot,” Wilson said. He held the loaf off to one side. Immediately the gator swung its head toward it. Wilson jerked the bread away. “Pretty good off to the side, though.”
Really good. And it looked like the gator was staring right at Parker now. The thing didn’t blink. Creepy.
Parker wanted a weapon in his hands. Something a lot bigger than his survival knife. The aluminum gaffing hook on board looked ridiculously lightweight. He glanced around the airboat. Small tool box. First aid kit. A wooden paddle. It was probably too thin at the business end of it to do any good against a gator half that size. He picked it up anyway. He’d have liked it better if it were a Louisville Slugger.
There was something almost hypnotic about the gator. Parker knew they should leave, but part of him wanted to stay. Wanted to watch.
Jelly stepped closer to the edge of Typhoon—and the beast swung its head her way. She jumped back, stumbled over the dock line, and nearly slid backward off the other side of the airboat. Parker’s hat flipped off her head into the dark water.
Parker grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.
She gave a weak smile. “That was fun.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” Parker used the paddle to scoop the hat out of the water and drop it on the deck. “Seen enough, Jelly?”
Jelly picked up his cap, smacked it against her thigh to knock off some of the water, and slapped it back on her head. “Just a few more pictures.”
Whatever hypnotic spell the gator had over Parker was broken now. This gator was way too big to mess with. The unsettled feeling grew and crept over Parker. They didn’t belong here. He checked his watch. “Let’s go. If you’re done tormenting the killing machine, that is.”
“Killing machine?” Wilson waved the French bread from side to side in front of its nose. “It’s nothing more than an overgrown lizard. With really big teeth.”
“That lizard is at the top of the food chain here.”
Wilson shook his head. “As long as we’re in a boat, we’re the top of the food chain. Get a picture of this.”
“Seriously?”
“Then we’ll go. I promise.”
Parker gave Jelly a look—silently trying to talk some sense into her. What if the beast lunged into the boat and grabbed her?
“Be sure I’m in the shot,” she said. “I’ve never seen one this huge.”
Big help she was.
“Forget it. Let’s go.”
Jelly smiled the way she did when she was about to talk him into something he didn’t want to do. “Pleeeease, Parker? For me?”
Something about the way she said it made him wonder if he was overreacting with all his jittery feelings. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. It didn’t really matter. Her mind was set on getting more photos. Trying to talk her out of it would eat more time than taking the stupid picture. Even though it didn’t feel right to stay, maybe compromising was the best option.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Parker dropped the paddle on the deck and pulled the phone out of his pocket. “Let’s just make this fast.” He dropped onto one knee near the edge just in front of the propeller cage—a good seven feet from the gator. He swiped to the camera app and held the phone out over the water. He shot a burst of pictures, then checked the screen. “Got it. Now can we go?”
Wilson laughed. “Just shoot a quick video clip.” He went back to swinging the loaf from one side of the alligator’s head to the other, just out of reach of the monster’s jaws. The monster’s head swept from side to side a split second behind Wilson.
“He’s figuring out your timing.”
“Then you’d better film it fast so I can stop.”
Jelly struck a pose next to Wilson. “Just ten seconds—then we’re done. Promise.”
“Okay, but you seriously better hope your dad never sees the footage. He’ll put you on a leash, and your trail camera will never be strapped farther than y
our mailbox.” Parker switched to video mode and held it out an arm’s length from the boat—nice and low to the water for a dramatic angle. “My idiot friends are demonstrating just how incredibly reckless they can be—”
“Or how brainless alligators really are,” Wilson said.
The gator snapped. Wilson jerked backward into Jelly, dropping the bread. The gator scarfed it up from the deck of the airboat. Parker kept filming.
“Whoa!” Wilson grinned. “That was fun.” Suddenly the smile slid off his face. He stared at his arms for a moment, then rubbed down goose bumps.
The whole gooseflesh thing with Wilson—Parker had only seen that happen to him once before. Wilson had claimed his Miccosukee blood warned him of mortal danger. Which was totally bogus. More likely his years spent in the Glades sharpened his instincts. Wilson’s subconscious picked up on some type of present danger.
“What is it?” Apparently Jelly noticed Wilson’s reaction too.
Maybe Wilson was seeing the stupidity of what he was doing. Finally. Parker stretched out farther, still filming. “Admit it. This was stupid.” He wanted Wilson’s confession on the video.
Wilson looked up, scanning the surface of the Everglades like there was something else behind the goose bumps besides the gator in front of him.
“Bucky!” Eyes wide, Wilson pointed toward the water by Parker’s phone.
A second gator, coming from behind the airboat—and Parker. Bigger. Massive black head. Not two feet away from Parker’s arm—closing in.
Jelly screamed—and Parker’s world spun into slow motion even as he pulled back. He saw every detail.
The gator lunging. Fast . . . so incredibly fast. Jaws opening. Swamp water streaming out. Yellow teeth closing over Parker’s forearm.
He felt no pain. Just pressure—and incredible strength.
With a sideways snap of its head, the monster ripped Parker off the platform—and into the black waters of the Everglades.
CHAPTER 2
Everglades National Park
Saturday, June 13
8:37 p.m.
THE GATOR YANKED PARKER UNDER the surface with so much force that he felt his arm would rip off. It was a no-contest tug-of-war. The alligator went into the death roll, twisting Parker back to the surface and under again. God, help!
His shoulder grazed the bottom. It was that shallow. The monster’s snout just inches away from Parker’s face. The water too dark for a clear view, but he saw the pale smudge of his arm—with terrifyingly big teeth sunk deep. The bone in his forearm snapped, zinging a shudder through his shoulder.
The gator spun again with stunning power, churning the water. Parker broke the surface—caught a comet of sky—but was under again before he could gulp air. He heard Dad’s voice in his head, and immediately obeyed, clawing at the pouch of skin under the gator’s jaw with his free hand. He grabbed the leathery hide and yanked as hard as he could.
Release. Release. God, make him let go.
Obviously the gator had other ideas.
CHAPTER 3
Everglades National Park
Saturday, June 13
8:37 p.m.
“DO SOMETHING, WILSON!” Angelica stood helplessly watching. “Do something!”
Parker was no more than a blur in the bloody froth as the alligator spun him in the death roll. She saw him for a millisecond; then he was gone again.
Fight or flight. Jelly was in neither zone. She stood there frozen. This can’t be happening. Can’t. She didn’t dare go closer to the edge. The eleven-footer Wilson had been feeding was still there with its wicked grin.
Wilson grabbed the paddle and smacked it across the side of its head so hard the paddle split. The gator dove underwater and out of sight. Would it go after Parker too?
“Bucky!” Wilson crouched at the edge, clutching the busted paddle—ready to pounce. But he seemed as helpless as Parker.
“Help him!” Angelica screamed. But what would she do if Wilson jumped in and the other gator got him?
Wilson looked terrified, which didn’t help Angelica a bit. He scrambled to the back of the airboat—like a coach running the sidelines—just as the gator rolled Parker to the surface and back under again. “Fight, Bucky. Fight!”
But the thing outweighed him by what, five hundred pounds—at least. Parker didn’t have a chance.
CHAPTER 4
Everglades National Park
Saturday, June 13
8:38 p.m.
LIGHT-DARK. LIGHT-DARK. The death roll kept him totally disoriented. Dizzy.
Keep fighting—or play dead. Dad’s voice in his head again. Alligators drown their prey, then stash the body underwater until the flesh softens up. They’re easier to tear apart that way.
This monster was too strong, and as long as Parker kept struggling, the gator would keep him tumbling.
Play dead. Play dead. God, help me!
His lungs were on fire, but Parker forced himself to go limp.
The beast seemed to sense it immediately. It took two more complete turns before the thrashing stopped—and the gator released its grip.
Parker felt the bottom under his good hand and steadied himself against the frenzied spinning in his head. He counted off five quick seconds—hoping the gator would swim off to form a perimeter, keeping other alligators from its prize. Convulsing for air, he pushed off the bottom and broke the surface. Stood. Choking. Coughing. Gulping air. Water only up to his chest. No gator in sight—not on the surface anyway. His watch was gone, but his arm was still there. Airboat twelve feet away, and on a crazy-weird angle.
Wilson stood on the edge, the remains of a paddle in his hands like a harpoon. “Get in! Get in!”
Jelly motioned frantically, cheeks slick with tears.
Head still stuck in some kind of Tilt-A-Whirl syndrome, Parker sloshed and stumbled his way to the boat, expecting the wicked jaws to clamp down on him again.
“Hurry!” Wilson shouted. “The other one is close too.” He slapped the water with the paddle—as if that would scare a 650-pound alligator away. “C’mon, Bucky!”
Parker clawed at the water with his good arm, the other hung limp at his side, trailing blood and torn flesh. It was impossible to walk straight—or was the boat moving?
He reached for the boat. Wilson tossed aside the paddle and dragged him halfway onto the deck. “Pull your feet in!”
Jelly gripped Parker’s legs and tugged.
Parker rolled onto the deck. Coughed. Spit up swamp water. Coughed again. He eyed the edge of the airboat. Absolutely knew the beast could get in if it wanted to. “Get us,” he choked the words out, “outta here.” There was no way he should have gotten away from the gator. How had he escaped? Only God could have rescued him.
The dizziness eased slightly. Parker sat and tucked his feet in tight . . . far from the edge. “Go.” The gator was watching. He knew it.
Wilson broke out the first aid kit. Tore through it. “Gotta slow that bleeding first.” He pulled out an ace bandage.
Blood pooled on the airboat deck. Too much blood.
“Can you hold your arm out?”
Parker grabbed his mangled arm just above the elbow and held it out. Shredded flesh. Muscle. And the sickening white of exposed and shattered bone. But it wasn’t his arm. It couldn’t be. There was no pain. None.
“You’ll be okay.” Jelly took his bloody hand in both of hers. “Parker? You hear me? Parker, look at me.”
But all he could see was his arm.
Wilson wrapped the bandage around and around. Blood seeped through nearly as fast as Wilson could get another layer looped around his forearm.
Wilson whipped off his T-shirt and wrapped it around the bandaging. “We gotta get you back.” He helped Parker to his feet and pushed him into the seat. “Hold on. Can you do that?”
Parker nodded.
Wilson glanced at Parker’s bloody arm, like he wasn’t so sure.
“I’ll help,” Jelly said. She sat next to h
im, one arm around his shoulders, the other across him and gripping the armrest like a human seat belt.
The alligator surfaced. Stared Parker down with angry eyes. Probably wishing he’d held him under for another minute. Half that would have done the job.
“Go, Wilson.” Parker had to get out of this Godforsaken corner of hell.
Typhoon roared to life. Wilson revved the engine. Threw the rudder stick full forward and stood on the gas. The airboat side-slid and Wilson steered it right at the alligator. Like he truly meant to take the thing out. The beast had that gator grin going on as it melted into the black waters again. Like this wasn’t over yet.
Wilson drove like a lunatic. The grass rake gobbled up the water and the sawgrass in front of them. Jelly leaned into Parker, obviously doing her best to keep him in the seat.
Parker tried to grip the armrest with his bad hand, but he couldn’t seem to make it work. He couldn’t even close his fingers to make a fist. He pictured himself being thrown from the airboat on one of Wilson’s wild turns.
Wilson looked over his shoulder. “Stay with me.”
He had no intention of leaving. Not that Wilson’s driving was making it easy.
Wilson glanced back again. “Talk to me. You’re not looking so good.”
He wasn’t feeling so good either. “Cold.” Which was weird. It had to be over ninety degrees. “Dizzy.”
Wilson’s eyes flicked down to Parker’s arm. Parker followed his gaze to the blood drizzling off his fingertips and splattering to the deck. Tiny rivulets zigzagged their way to the edge of the airboat and over the side. He was leaving a blood trail for the gator to follow.
“Jelly,” Wilson said, “more pressure on that wound!”
Parker was pretty sure she’d need more hands. His arm was losing blood in too many places, and if Jelly stopped holding him in the seat he was sure he’d be thrown to the deck—or water—on the next turn.
Wilson side-spun to a stop. Let Typhoon idle. She bucked as if in protest even as Wilson jumped off his seat.
Parker glanced back at their wake. Was sure he saw the alligator following—which would have been impossible, right? “Why . . . stopping?”
Escape from the Everglades Page 2