Dad put a hand on Uncle Sammy’s shoulder—like everyone knew the life and death decision rested with him. “He’s not worth it, Sammy. Let the courts deal with him.”
Uncle Sammy’s hands clenched and unclenched. He nodded, finally, and fired up the outboard. Nudged the gearshift forward. The skiff glided closer to Kingman. “Let’s get him in the boat—and call for an airlift.” He looked directly at Kingman. “We’ll get you to a hospital. Then you’ll be put in a cage—where monsters belong.”
Parker let out a deep sigh, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it. “Good call, Uncle Sammy.”
“Get him in here before I change my mind.”
Kingman was still losing blood. How he stayed on his feet was beyond Parker. But if they didn’t get him help, he’d go downhill fast.
Kingman, smirking, waded to one side of the bow, his mangled arm dragging and twisted at a weird angle. He grabbed hold and struggled to pull himself over the side. Wilson took a step back toward the stern, arms crossed, refusing to help.
Dad grabbed Kingman’s good arm while Parker took a handful of his shirt. Together they dragged him into the boat, with Kingman yelping and howling the whole time. He landed on the deck with a heavy thud—on the arm Goliath had been gnawing on.
“My arm! My arm!” Kingman writhed in fresh pain, clutching at the maimed arm.
“Sticking your arm out there over the water like you did?” Wilson said. “Somebody needs to school you on living in the Everglades.” He shook his head and leaned in close. “Now who’s the real gator-bait?”
Parker looked at his own arm . . . grateful for every scar . . . every stitch that had held his arm together. Right now his 60 percent mobility looked really good.
“That was incredibly insensitive, Wilson,” Uncle Sammy said. “But thank you.”
Wilson did a little bow. He lifted the alligator-tooth necklace over his head and held it out to Parker. “Thanks for loaning this to me. But it’s yours now. The way you went after Goliath? You were insane.”
“Maybe you should keep it,” Parker said. “I’m done with the Everglades, remember?”
Wilson shook his head. “You earned this, brother. Besides, without me helping you out of jams after you move up north, you’re going to need this for a little Miccosukee luck.” He pressed the necklace into Parker’s hand.
“Luck had nothing to do with how this turned out.” Parker smiled. “And I think you know that. But I’ll wear it with pride—and think of you every time I do.”
Dad got on his satellite phone to call for a Coast Guard rescue chopper. Uncle Sammy climbed aboard King of the Glades and threw anchor. “We’ll send rangers to tow this back. And see about the Boy’s Bomb, too.”
The sight of his boat—with just the nose above water—should have crushed him more, shouldn’t it? But he was alive—and eternally grateful.
Jelly studied Parker for a moment. “Something is different about you. At first I was going to say your fear of the Glades was gone . . . but I think that’s been gone for a while.”
“Gator Hook Trail,” Wilson said. “I cured him of that back then.”
Parker did not want to think about Gator Hook Trail.
Jelly shook her head. “It’s something else.”
In a weird way, Parker felt it too—but even he wasn’t sure what it was.
“You’ve grown,” she said.
“He’s about a foot taller in my book,” Wilson said. He turned to Parker’s dad. “So maybe now that we know this guy is blessed, not cursed,” he jerked his thumb toward Parker, “maybe you’ll want to skip that transfer and stay.”
Dad laughed. “Not going to happen, Wilson. It’s time—and we’re going.”
Parker totally agreed. But he could walk away now. He didn’t feel the need to run.
EPILOGUE
PARKER WAS THE FIRST ONE to the beach by Smallwood’s for the celebration two weeks later. A National Park Service picnic table sat right where the Boy’s Bomb had always been, thanks to Dad and Uncle Sammy. Thankfully, the Boy’s Bomb wasn’t still resting on the bottom of Sunday Bay. Rangers had towed the skiff back to Chokoloskee—and they’d even pitched in to outfit it with a rebuilt motor to replace the water-damaged one. So, the Bomb would ride again—but along the New England coast just north of Boston.
Parker’s dad got a two-week extension on the transfer. There had been too many loose ends to clean up here—and of course there was a party scheduled.
Thanks to the airlift, Kingman survived. But his arm was too badly mangled to be saved. They’d amputated it just above his elbow. Parker didn’t want to think about it.
Parker gripped Wilson’s gator-tooth necklace and looked out over Chokoloskee Bay. The cypress were magnificent. Amazing how they grew right out of the water and didn’t rot. A blue heron flew overhead—like it was enjoying the view as well.
So much had happened. He’d wanted out of this place ever since Dillinger pulled him off the airboat. Over and over he’d prayed to escape the place, but God just didn’t let it happen. Parker had been so convinced a change of geography was the answer. But if God had made the transfer click in place right away, Parker’s problems would have gone with him. No, instead of getting Parker out of the place, God allowed things to get worse and worse until he realized what he really needed.
He hadn’t needed a change of address nearly as much as he thought. He needed a change of heart. Getting far away from the Everglades was never the answer. He needed to get closer to God. He needed to remember that even living in the worst place on earth wasn’t Godforsaken . . . because God would never leave him.
Was Parker glad to leave? Oh, yeah. But the desperate need to escape was gone. God had actually been really good to him when he kept the transfer from going through all those months. The delay was just long enough for Parker to figure out that running away from this place wasn’t the answer. Actually, he did need to run, but it was all about who he was running to—not where.
He looked down at his scarred arm. Flexed his fingers. Turned his hand over and did it again. Life created scars. He got that. And when he left the Everglades and headed north in the morning, he’d take those scars of experience with him. He wouldn’t be carrying any invisible baggage, though. Big difference.
Mom said Dad and Uncle Sammy had reached some kind of legendary hero status within the National Park Service for their tireless dedication to the job. After how things turned out, the Boston office was chafing to get Dad up there—and now they were hoping to get Uncle Sammy, too. Mom wouldn’t tell Parker more than that, but she seemed really, really excited about it.
Dad and Uncle Sammy had always been heroes in Parker’s book—for as long as he could remember. The minute Dad and Uncle Sammy got back to the marina after rescuing Parker and Wilson in Sunday Bay, they raced to Flamingo City to find Maria. The way Parker heard it later, there was never a girl more shocked to see her dad show up at the door. But at least she didn’t try to run. Kingman had only gone to see Maria twice while she was at his aunt’s place—and they’d argued both times. Maria found out he wasn’t beyond hitting her—and she had the bruises to prove it. Her head still wasn’t screwed on right, though, and they drove her straight to some kind of home in Fort Myers for people escaping cults—or toxic relationships.
“Bucky!” Wilson pedaled up with Jelly a couple of lengths behind him.
They dumped their bikes at the cypress tree and hustled over.
Jelly snatched Parker’s cap and slapped it on her head in her signature move. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
Parker shrugged. “Saying my goodbyes, I guess.”
“Going to miss the place bad, eh?”
“Not the place,” Parker said. “Just the people.”
Wilson slung his arm around Parker’s shoulders. “That would be me Parker is talking about, Jelly.”
“Right.” She pointed down the road leading to Smallwood’s Store. “Here comes the foo
d.”
Dad and Mom were in one pickup, Uncle Sammy in the other.
“Tell me you didn’t make the meal,” Wilson said. “I do not feel like PB and J.”
“Ha.” Jelly’s eyes sparkled in that teasing way. “You’ll have to wait and find out.”
Wilson groaned. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
“Never.”
Wilson watched the men park their trucks. “I thought Maria would be with your dad.”
Jelly shook her head. “She’s still in the detox program. It’ll be a long haul.”
“She okay?”
“No,” Jelly said. “But she will be. When she finishes in Fort Myers she’ll go to a live-in situation with a counselor in the Chicago area for a while.”
Wilson gave her a sideways glance. “All the way to Chicago? Sounds a little extreme.”
It did seem like a long way to go for a shrink.
“She’ll be with Amy Baker—a friend of a friend. Amy did wonders for her—and she’ll do the same for Maria.”
“I can’t imagine how relieved that must make you,” Parker said, “and your dad.”
Jelly nodded. “These last two weeks she’s already made great progress. We’ve talked on the phone. In fact,” she looked at Parker, “she wanted me to give you a message.”
Maybe there was a time when Parker would have been more interested, but now?
“She said she’s beginning to see you were right about monsters being real. And that the worst kind walk on two legs.”
“Sasquatch,” Wilson said. “Better known as skunk ape down here. Am I right?”
Jelly slugged him in the arm. “She’s talking about Clayton, idiot.”
Wilson rubbed his arm, grinning. The guy was in fine form today.
“She also said when she gets back she thinks she owes you an apology—and maybe even a hug and a kiss for all she put you through.”
“What about me?” Wilson looked like he’d been slighted. “I helped, too. A lot.”
“She never mentioned you, Wilson.” Jelly kept her eyes on Parker—like she was watching for his reaction.
“Her apology is accepted,” Parker said. “But she can give the hug and kiss to Wilson.”
“Oh, Parker.” Jelly’s eyes were as alive as the sun dancing on the water. “You really have changed.”
Parker wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that.
“So,” Wilson said, “did we ever find out what that mysterious payout was all about?”
Jelly nodded. “My dad was going to hire some guy who extracts kids from cults—and deprograms them. Parker’s dad was handling the payout.”
Wilson almost looked disappointed, like he’d wished the men were doing something more risky. “So nothing that could have landed them in jail, eh?”
“Technically no,” Jelly said. “But Maria wouldn’t have gone willingly—so it would have looked like a kidnapping. That was bound to lead to trouble.”
Parker didn’t even want to think about how many ways the plan could have gone south, especially if Maria was with Kingman when the snatch took place.
“That’s desperate,” Wilson said.
She shook her head. “That’s a dad who desperately loves his daughter.”
Wilson shrugged. “I liked the idea of a hit man better.”
“You’re insane, Wilson,” Parker said. “I’m just glad Kingman will go to prison. He’s one guy I hope I never meet again.” Especially not alone.
“I think that’s a sure thing,” Jelly said. “Two counts of attempted murder. And there’s more they’ll be investigating. It seems Clayton bragged to Maria about some things he did—and she’s just starting to talk about them.” She shuddered. “Awful things.”
Stories Parker didn’t want to know. He’d already seen and experienced enough to fuel bad dreams for a long, long time.
“So,” Wilson said. “What about Principal K? He helped Maria pull off her great escape—even lined up a nice couch for her to sleep on at his sister’s house. Does he get to write himself a hall pass on this?”
“Technically he didn’t break a law,” Jelly said. “But the way I heard it, the school board voted to boot him—and his fallen Star of Integrity—right out of a job.”
Wilson grinned. “I’m actually looking forward to going to school Monday.”
If the new principal was anything like the ones Parker met at other schools he’d attended, Everglades City School—students and teachers included—was going to be a ton better off.
“There’s just one thing I’m dying to know about Clayton’s arrest,” Wilson said. “And I’ll bet Bucky here wants to know, too.”
Parker had no idea where he was going with this.
“But Parker, being the fine Christian that he is, probably is too kind to ask the burning question.”
Now Parker was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.
“When the police took Kingman from the hospital, how in the world did they handcuff him—with him having only one hand?”
Parker didn’t want to laugh—especially since he’d almost lost an arm to an alligator himself. But the goofy expression on Wilson’s face made that almost impossible.
Uncle Sammy walked by carrying a cooler. “Clayton Kingman is going to be in jail a long, long time. That’s all I care about. “He’ll never lay a hand on my girl again.”
“Not his right one, anyway,” Wilson said. “The gator saw to that.”
Yeah, Wilson was on a roll today. Parker looked down at his own messed-up arm and breathed a silent prayer of thanks—again. Even if he never got full use of his hand again, it was still attached—and for that he was grateful.
“Parker.” Uncle Sammy stood at the bed of the pickup. “We got something for the guy who never gave up on my Maria.”
A moment later Uncle Sammy held up the gator stick.
“Amos Moses?” Parker rushed over, with Wilson and Jelly right on his heels. “How in the world did you find it?”
Parker took his gator stick and inspected it. The dive knife was still secure. Some deep scratches and scrapes—but otherwise in great condition. Had Goliath somehow upchucked the gator stick? He held it out in front of him, like he did when Goliath had charged him. Amos Moses felt good in his hands. Right, somehow.
“One more thing.” Uncle Sammy nodded to Parker’s dad—who was already reaching into the bed of the pickup.
Dad held up the most massive alligator skull Parker had ever seen. Bleached-white bone with wicked-looking eye sockets big enough to slide a tennis ball through. The teeth . . . yellow with streaks of brownish-orange—and ginormous.
“Is that him?” Parker looked from his dad to Uncle Sammy, and back. “Goliath?”
“Oh yeah,” Uncle Sammy said. “What’s left of him.”
“You got him!”
“No,” Uncle Sammy said. “You got him. You rammed that gator stick of yours down his throat. That’s what did him in. That flap in the back of his throat—to keep water out—wouldn’t close. He must have tried to shake Amos Moses loose, but he drowned himself in the process.”
“Seriously?”
Dad grinned. “He was dead when we got to him.”
Wilson squeezed through for a closer look.
“I’ll never forget the sight of you facing off against Goliath,” Uncle Sammy said. “That took some real grit.”
“Grit?” Jelly shook her head. “What are you talking about, Dad?”
“Courage. Perseverance. You, know. Grit.” He said it like he was surprised it wasn’t in her vocabulary. “But all through this, Parker, you demonstrated a grittiness like I’ve never seen before—except maybe in your dad. And the way you kept looking for Maria and didn’t quit? Definitely gritty.”
Grit. Gritty. Parker looked at his dad. “How do you spell gritty . . . with one T or two?”
Dad held up two fingers.
Suddenly it all made sense. That’s what Grandpa was trying to say about integrity. Sometimes doing th
e right things take courage. Perseverance. “Grandpa’s sign.”
Dad smiled. “I knew you’d figure it out.”
“I figured something out, too,” Wilson said. “I teased Bucky a lot about being a boy scout—because he was always trying to do whatever he thought was the right thing. It drove me nuts.”
“I think you said it would get us in trouble someday,” Parker said.
Wilson nodded. “But when Goliath was bearing down on us, somehow he figured the right thing was letting me get in the boat first.” He turned to Parker. “If you’d gone first, I’d have been in water facing Goliath. And with just a machete?”
“You’ve got Miccosukee blood,” Parker said. “You’d have been okay.”
“Of course,” Wilson said. “Definitely. But there’s also this teensy-weensy little chance that you saved my hide.”
“Wait,” Jelly rubbed her ear. “You’re finally realizing that doing the right thing is a good thing?”
“All I’m saying,” Wilson said, “is that I’d follow this boy scout anywhere.”
“It’s about time you wised up,” Jelly said.
Uncle Sammy brought the skull to Parker and handed it to him. “I’m proud of you, son.” He swung his arm around Parker’s shoulder and turned to face the others. “Ladies and gentlemen, meet Parker Buckman . . . a boy who faced his monster—and became a man in the process.”
Cheers, whistles—and some really stinging claps on the back from Wilson. Jelly turned away from him, dabbing her eyes.
Wilson raised his hand. “Hold on just a second, everyone. I’m not so sure Bucky deserves all the credit for killing Goliath. I think you’re forgetting one gigantic factor.”
“Give it up, Wilson,” Jelly said. “You were in the boat when Parker rammed Amos Moses down Goliath’s throat. Don’t even try to claim credit.”
“You want to hear my theory or not?”
“Not.” Jelly smiled.
Wilson waved her off. “I think Goliath was poisoned.”
Everyone laughed.
“Think about it,” Wilson said. “Kingman is toxic, right? Totally bad blood. Now remember, Goliath swallowed a mouthful of that poison when he chomped on Kingman’s arm. I say that’s what killed Goliath.”
Escape from the Everglades Page 35