This was his chance. “I’m not lying. The gator is here—I’m giving you fair warning.”
Kingman paddled with one hand to coax his boat closer to the camera. He gripped the shotgun with the other. “Now I’m going to give you a warning. I’ll have this camera in five seconds. Then I’m going to hunt both of you down. I’ll feed you to the gators myself.”
The Boy’s Bomb was sinking fast. The bow still pointed toward the tree line, the stern toward the open waters of Sunday Bay. The Merc was over halfway underwater now, the weight of it pulling the boat down fast. Once the top of the transom sunk below the surface, he’d be in the water anyway. Parker had to move, but the thought of jumping into the black water made him lock up.
Kingman—and his boat—got closer to the bread with every stroke. “I’m really enjoying this, Gator-bait. How about you?”
Go, Parker. Move! “God—help me!”
Wilson sloshed his way to the cypress. “C’mon, Bucky. You can do it!”
Taking a fresh grip on Amos Moses, Parker splashed toward the front of the boat and leaped off the raised bow—into the dark waters.
Wilson motioned frantically. “C’mon, c’mon.”
Only when Parker ducked behind the first cypress did he dare look back again.
“Almost there, Gator-bait.” Kingman was stretched over the side of his boat, dog-paddling to the bread buoy. “A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go . . .” He sang the little song eerily slow, and pointed the shotgun right at Parker for a moment before paddling again. “Heigh-ho the dairy-o, a-hunting we will g—”
Suddenly the water exploded in front of Kingman. A massive black head burst out of the water and clamped onto Clayton’s arm. The shotgun dropped into the water immediately.
With a jerk of its head, Goliath plunged back below the surface, ripping Kingman from his Whaler.
Wilson screamed. “It got him, Bucky—it got him. That thing’s a monster!” He held the machete at the ready and backed deeper into the flooded cypress forest.
Parker sloshed up beside him, holding Amos Moses out in case Goliath came their way. Flooded cypress forest behind him—crawling with venomous snakes no doubt. The gator-infested waters of Sunday Bay—and the sinking Boy’s Bomb directly in front of him. There was no place to go. And the idea of swimming all the way out to Kingman’s empty boat? Not a chance.
Goliath rolled to the surface with Kingman’s arm still in its mouth, churning the water into a bloody foam. The monster’s white belly showed for an instant, then Kingman and Goliath went under for round two.
Water up to their waists, Parker and Wilson stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons at the ready.
“Keep your eyes peeled, Bucky! This place will be crawling with gators—looking for their share of meat!”
CHAPTER 79
THE MOMENT THEY BROKE FREE of the Lopez River and into Sunday Bay, Jelly was at the bow alongside Parker’s dad.
“There!” She pointed toward an empty boat a good two hundred yards away. “It’s Clayton’s.”
Uncle Vaughn squinted. “And a second skiff is swamped. It’s the Bomb!”
Even from this distance she picked out the teal bow barely nosing out of the water. The stern and motor were on the bottom. She whipped Parker’s hat off her head, clutched it with both hands, and pressed it to her lips. “Let him be okay, God. Let them both be okay.” She said it aloud—but only God would have heard it over the roar of the outboard.
Dad had the ranger skiff wide open. “Where are they?”
Jelly strained to see any movement. Any sign of life.
The water erupted in front of Clayton’s boat. A monstrous alligator rolled its victim below the surface with a blur of fierce speed.
“No,” Jelly wailed. “No!”
In her heart, she knew it was Parker—and the curse had found him again. But this time the toll would be paid. There’d be no way they’d get to him in time.
CHAPTER 80
RIPPLES FROM THE FIGHT RUSHED past Parker, like the water itself was afraid and wanted out of there. Goliath and Kingman steamrolled to the surface. Kingman pummeled Goliath’s snout with his free hand. He got whipped under again.
“We can’t stay here,” Wilson said. “We have to get to Kingman’s boat.”
He was right. They were at the bottom of the food chain as long as they were in the water. But moving toward Goliath seemed unthinkable. Kingman’s boat drifted closer to shore and bumped past the nose of the Boy’s Bomb now. Thirty feet away. Maybe thirty-five. There would never be a better chance. “Together?”
Wilson took a couple of quick breaths and gave a single nod.
Parker lowered Amos Moses so the point cut through the water ahead of them. Wilson walked backward, machete raised, to guard against a rogue gator making a rear attack. The first step was the hardest—but once they got moving, they picked up speed.
Goliath slapped Kingman under again.
“Ten more feet,” Parker said. The water reached his chest. Submerged branches and logs hooked his feet. Snagged his pants.
Goliath surfaced—alone this time.
Kingman broke the surface an instant later, gasping for breath. His arm bloody and shredded. Lots of bone showing—but the arm was still there. Barely. “Ahhh—ahhh—ahh!” Wild-eyed, he clawed at the water with his good hand, trying to get to the tree line.
Goliath ignored him—like it knew Kingman was already in the bag. It swung its massive head toward Parker and Wilson.
“He’s seen us,” Parker shouted.
Goliath stared at Parker for an instant—and with a powerful snap of its tail, bore down on him with terrifying speed.
Even then Parker knew it was too late. He’d never pull himself into the boat in time with his gimpy arm—not with the extra weight of his wet clothes. He’d likely be in Wilson’s way, delaying him too. If Parker stayed in front, the gator would get them both. But if Wilson went first? He pushed Wilson past him. “Get in! Get in!”
“But what about y—”
“My arm—I’ll slow you—wouldn’t be right. Now go—I’ll hold him off!”
CHAPTER 81
SEVENTY-FIVE YARDS OUT—and Angelica’s dad had the ranger skiff wide open. Clayton staggered toward the cypress like a one-armed zombie. The monster gator shot like a torpedo toward Parker and Wilson.
“Parker!” Angelica screamed.
He stood there—Amos Moses in front of him like a harpoon, just like he did on Gator Hook Trail. Only this gator was terrifyingly bigger. With what looked like an angry roar, Parker took a step closer and attacked—rushing the monster gator while Wilson dragged himself over the bow of Clayton’s boat.
Uncle Vaughn crouched in the bow, shotgun at the ready. “Bring me in between the boats—right on top of him.”
Angelica’s dad banked hard and bore down on them at full speed.
She judged the distance, her panic rising. “Faster, Dad. Faster! Dear God—please save him!”
Safely aboard Clayton’s boat, Wilson leaned out and reached for Parker—but he wasn’t even close.
Parker jabbed at the gator like a madman—but each time the beast forced him backward toward the trees. Goliath raced in for the kill—and opened its mouth.
She couldn’t watch—but couldn’t turn away either. “Parker—noooo!!”
CHAPTER 82
WICKED, EVIL EYES. Black. Smoldering. Parker thrust at the beast over and over with Amos Moses. Each time the gator stick made contact, the monster drove him farther from the boat and Wilson’s outstretched arms.
“Die, die, die!” He speared Goliath again and again. It was like attacking a log. The knife never penetrated the tough, bony hide. Goliath kept advancing with easy, unhurried sweeps of its tail—like Parker was a sure thing. An easy meal.
“That’s it,” Wilson shouted. “Keep that gator stick in front of you.”
Parker had the knife point firmly against the gator’s shoulder, creating a buffer of space between man an
d beast. If Goliath got past the blade, Parker was dead.
He picked up movement in his peripheral. Kingman.
Kingman stumbled toward the cypress—cradling his mangled arm. “Help me, help me, help me . . .”
Maybe Kingman was in shock—and unless he got help, he’d be dead soon. Parker wouldn’t be far behind him.
Goliath ignored Kingman, despite him chumming the water with his own blood. The gator’s primal instincts should have made him back off Parker—and go for the easy prey. But the beast didn’t veer away from Parker. Like it knew Kingman wouldn’t get far. Like the beast just wanted another kill.
Mouth slightly open, water rushed between yellowed, dagger-like teeth. Goliath clawed at the water and swept his tail side to side with more force now, pushing Parker back with tremendous power.
Parker’s foot hooked on a submerged root, and he stumbled backward. He struggled to keep the knife point on the gator’s hide. If it slipped off, there’d be no stopping the thing.
“Bucky!” Wilson’s voice—sheer terror.
Goliath stopped. Its jaws opened wider in a hideous, mocking smile. Like it knew it had him and wanted to relish the moment.
Parker got his feet back under him. Kept backing up while Goliath floated in place and watched.
“Get to the trees,” Wilson shouted.
But there was no turning his back on Goliath to retreat. The monster would have him before he got to the nearest cypress. And there was no getting past the gator to the safety of the boat. Parker was pretty sure Goliath knew that too.
Wilson leaned over the side of the boat, slashing at the surface of the water with his hands. “Hey Goliath—look at me. Over here. Easy meal.”
But Goliath kept his eyes on the meal in front of him—and advanced.
Kingman whimpered from someplace behind him—like he knew Goliath would be coming for him next.
There was no escape. No rescue. The water—waist deep. But that was an illusion. He was in high water now. Way over his head. “God help me! Jesus, please!”
Parker backed up until the butt end of Amos Moses bumped the cypress with the strangler vine. Stand your ground and fight, Parker. He planted the back end of the solid oak gator stick firmly against the cypress behind him. He crouched low, and took a fresh grip on Amos Moses.
Goliath showed his teeth. The pink insides of his mouth.
“Been there, big guy,” Parker shouted. “See these scars? We got the skull of the gator who did this—and God help me, I’m going to have your head, too, Goliath!”
Careful to keep the blunt end of Amos Moses anchored against the tree, Parker positioned the dive-knife tip directly in front of Goliath’s nose, where a gator’s vision is the worst.
Mouth gaping, Goliath lunged with a mighty thrust of its tail.
Parker lowered Amos Moses slightly—aiming for the trap door in the back of its throat. He felt it slice through the soft flesh.
The pink insides of Goliath’s mouth turned bright red as blood spurted from its throat and out from between its teeth. The monster drove forward and thrashed to get at Parker, impaling itself on the gator stick.
Parker ramrodded Amos Moses deep down Goliath’s throat with all his might—his hands getting closer and closer to the lethal incisors with every thrust.
“Stick him, Bucky!” Wilson jabbed the air like he held Amos Moses himself. “Stick him good!”
A ranger skiff raced toward them. Dad!
Goliath writhed, flailing its head from side to side like a dog shaking a rag doll.
The force of the gator’s frenzied head swings ripped the gator stick from Parker’s hands.
The alligator whirled around toward deeper water, plunging below the surface—the last two feet of Amos Moses still sticking out of its mouth. His wicked tail slashed back and forth as it dove into Sunday Bay, the tip clipping Parker across his cheek. He stumbled backward a few steps, but never lost his footing. He reached for Jimbo—strapped to his calf—pulled it free from its sheath, and held it at the ready. Warm blood streamed down his cheek and onto his shirt.
Suddenly the ranger skiff was there, blasting between Clayton’s boat and what was showing of the Boy’s Bomb. Uncle Sammy threw the outboard into reverse, the engine screaming and the backwash pushing Parker back a couple of feet.
Dad leaped over the side—shotgun in hand—and splashed to Parker’s side.
“I see him,” Jelly’s dad shouted. “Toss the gun!”
Dad heaved the shotgun back to the boat.
Uncle Sammy caught the weapon in mid-air and pumped four rounds into the water along the port side of the skiff—and hopefully into Goliath himself.
Dad gripped Parker’s shoulders. Patted him down to his ribs. “You okay?”
Parker smiled. “Better than I’ve been in a really long time. But Kingman isn’t doing so good.” He shot a glance at Kingman’s mangled arm, and instantly relived his own gator death roll. Somehow Kingman had cinched his nylon belt around his upper arm, effectively stopping the bleeding.
His dad’s eyes followed Parker’s and narrowed in obvious concern. “We’ve got the satellite phone. He’ll need an airlift.”
The nose of the ranger skiff had drifted close enough to touch now. Jelly slipped over the side and rushed to Parker. She wrapped her arms around him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“This was my fault,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry. I have a lot of explaining to do.”
Dad wrapped his arms around both of them. “Plenty of time for that on the ride home. Let’s get you two in the boat, and that rescue chopper for Clayton. And then we’ve got your sister to pick up.”
She looked up with a trembling smile and nodded. “It’s going to be a busy day.”
Wilson stood in Kingman’s boat. He grinned at Parker and shook his head. “For a guy who hates alligators, you’re sure in no hurry to get out of the water.”
“So, let’s get out already,” Jelly said.
“And about that Everglades toll?” Jelly pointed at Wilson. “I think we can put that superstitious mumbo jumbo to bed. God is more powerful than any curse.”
Wilson raised both hands, still gripping the machete. “No argument from me. Any guy who squares off against a fifteen-foot gator—and comes out with only a scratch—is blessed, not cursed.” He pulled King of the Glades alongside the ranger skiff and climbed aboard.
Jelly laughed in that shaky way that people often do after they’ve had a brush with death. “God answered my prayers—can you believe it?” She slapped Parker’s cap back on his head. “But get out of the water. I’d rather not have to ask for a second miracle today.”
Uncle Sammy held the shotgun in one hand and pulled Jelly out with the other.
“You’re next,” Dad said. He reached for Parker’s survival knife and motioned toward the boat. “I’ve got your back.”
Like he always did. Between the wet clothes and his gimpy arm, Parker struggled a bit to drag himself over the side. But he did it—and all on his own.
Jelly slugged Parker in the good arm the moment he got inside. “Promise me you’ll never go in the Glades again.”
“Never again. There’s no reason to anymore.” He looked around him just as Dad hoisted himself into the boat. A break formed in the thunderheads and beams of sunlight filtered through. For an instant the verse Grandpa wrote on the back of the plaque jumped into his head. “Even in darkness, light dawns for the upright.”
“You were right all along, Parker,” Jelly said. “This is a place of death.”
Parker instinctively scanned the water—searching for any sign of Goliath.
Kingman was looking too—cowering to one side of a cypress. “Help. Me.” His eyes wide—like he expected Goliath to circle back for him.
Kingman reached toward the ranger skiff with his good arm. “Don’t leave me here.”
This from the guy who minutes earlier intended to keep Parker and Wilson from ever leaving the Glades.
“Goliath isn’t the only monster here.” Uncle Sammy jabbed his finger toward Kingman. “You’re a predator. I should let you die.”
Kingman took a step toward their boat. “You can’t leave me.” He spoke through clenched teeth—like maybe the pain was beginning to register.
“Leave him, Mr. Malnatti,” Wilson said. “You’ll be doing God a favor. He won’t have to bother zapping him with lightning.”
Kingman waded closer. “You could never live with yourself.”
“Oh, I can live with myself.” Jelly’s dad pointed at Kingman. “Even if I leave you. Believe me.”
After all Kingman did, there was a part of Parker that wanted him gone. The world would be a better place. And here, in the Glades, frontier justice had likely been exacted more times than anybody could ever guess. But to leave someone to die—even an enemy—would go against everything Dad had taught him.
“We need him,” Jelly said. “We don’t even know where Maria is. For all we know—”
“Where’s my daughter, Kingman?” Uncle Sammy’s voice came out more like a growl.
“She’s in Flamingo City—and we know how to find her,” Wilson said. “We don’t need this swamp scum. Let’s tow his boat to the middle of Sunday Bay and let him swim for it.”
Parker glanced at his own mutilated arm. “No—not that.” It would be barbaric. He caught Jelly’s eye. She smiled—and gave a nod so slight he might have imagined it.
“You can find her,” Uncle Sammy’s eyes bore into Wilson, “for sure?”
Wilson nodded. “Absolutely. He told us everything we need to know. Bragged about it. Let’s just let Goliath finish what he started.”
Uncle Sammy glared at Kingman. His eyes blazed with an intensity like Parker had never seen before. Was he really going to leave Kingman?
“You’d be no better than me.” Kingman managed a lopsided grin.
Escape from the Everglades Page 34