Alligator (19 page)

The next morning, without a word spoken between them, Clete and Randy broke camp and headed back for town.

Thick mists, chilling and ghostly, were still hanging over the swamps when the hunting party set out the next morning. Most of the men were using their boat poles, to save on gasoline. They wanted to make sure they had some gas left just in case. The men pushed their skiffs off from shore and disappeared into the thick mist. They had to follow the sound of the Saurian; they couldn't see it; they couldn't even see one another.

Thompson didn't say much to Marris as they pushed off from shore and headed back into the swamps. Marris was glad of it. He was tired and hung-over; every muscle in his body felt liquid and quivering. He could see that most of the other men felt the same as he did. They were moving slower than yesterday, and their faces were sullen. Nobody had said very much over breakfast, except Rye; he had talked nonstop from the moment he got up. The others had remained quiet, and it seemed to Marris it was more than a hangover that everyone was feeling. It was like they were spooked. Maybe it was just because of all the mist on the water. Marris couldn't see more than a few feet ahead of himself. He knew it would be easy to lose his bearings, and he didn't like the feeling.

Sam, too felt disoriented. He could only see part of the boat in front of him; he couldn't even see the men inside. It would be easy to get lost now, he thought. Easy to get lost, and hard to find the way back. Sam wasn't a mystical man, but Luke's warning kept coming back to him. He had said nature was on the alligator's side. He had said they didn't belong out there. Looking out at the thick, swirling mist, Sam felt it was true.

O'Neill and Albert were only five feet ahead of Ben and Sam's skiff, but they couldn't see it. Albert felt sick to his stomach. He had drunk close to a full bottle of Scotch yesterday. Even though his business was selling the stuff, he himself wasn't a drinking man and he had been up most of the night, vomiting his guts out. All night he had thought about Matty. It embarrassed him that he missed her already, but he did, and he wished he were home.

It took almost two hours to reach Devil's Point. By that time, most of the mist had lifted, and the sun burned like molten steel in the bleached sky. It heated up the air and reflected off the water in blinding silver lights.

As the Saurian rounded the tip of the point, Lee cut the engine and threw out the anchor.

"What're we stopping for?" asked Rye.

"An old canal," Lee answered. "I never noticed it before."

"I don't see any canal."

"That's what you're payin' me for."

Lee climbed the side rail and jumped into the ankle-deep water. He waited for the others to join him. Rye snatched up his rifle and said to John and Maurice, "Either of you two chickenshits comin'?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," replied John. There was a cocky smile plastered across his face.

Rye caught the look and flashed a smile of his own. "Glad to have you along."

The canal was only a hundred yards away, but Rye didn't see it until Lee pointed it out. Even after he had waded up close, the old canal was so overgrown with palmettos and sawgrass that he had difficulty believing anyone had ever been there before them.

Lee motioned for Rye and John to follow him and headed into the thick growth. Suddenly the insects, which had been merely annoying on the water, were legion. Rye and John tried to ignore them, but they clustered around their heads and buzzed in their ears. The insects penetrated right through their clothes and stuck to their sweaty bodies. Rye noticed that Lee didn't even seem to be bothered by them, and it made him angry.

As they followed the canal farther into the woods, the vegetation became thicker. Huge roots tangled and knotted over one another in the black, spongy soil. Waxy leaves, still damp with dew, crowded out the light.

There was a terrific din. Every animal in creation seemed to be shrieking, buzzing, or croaking out its life along the canal. Great white herons and turkey buzzards took off all around them, struggling hard to get their ponderous bodies airborne, crying out as if agonized by their own effort. Otters, frogs, limpkins, looney birds all added their own special sounds to the general uproar. Every blade of grass was a whole galaxy of insect life.

The men passed through tunnels of shade and patches of light. There were vast temperature differences between the two areas, and they alternately shook and sweated in response.

John froze as he saw a snake that was coiled around some palmetto branches like a piece of rope, poised to strike. He tried to bring his rifle up, but his hands were shaking, and it fell to the ground. Lee picked up the rifle and handed it back to him.

"He can't do you any harm," said Lee. "Water pilot's no worse than a garden snake, just a bit bigger."

Rye laughed. John felt the corner of his mouth begin to twitch in anger. It was the only part of him that ever betrayed his emotions; it seemed to have a life of its own that he couldn't control. He wondered if Rye had picked it up. He figured that he had; John knew he would have if he were in Rye's place.

The men continued along the canal. It seemed to Rye that the vegetation was becoming thicker. The ground was almost completely covered with the complicated root structures of a million plants, and the sawgrass was becoming so dense that it was difficult to get through it. Up ahead, Lee had stopped at the edge of a clearing. It wasn't until Rye had drawn up to the clearing that he could see why.

It was like looking back two million years. A ring of huge, ageless cypresses, dripping angel-hair moss, rose high above him, blocking out most of the light and splashing gloom across the thick sawgrass. The air was moist and cool, like a cave. A sudden chill ran through Rye, and he could see his breath.

Rye was stunned. There was a brutal power, a primitive carelessness about the scene that filled him with awe and with terror. He knew then how ancient man must have felt the first time he saw an eclipse. Rye looked over at John and saw he was feeling it, too.

Lee didn't enter the clearing at first; it was as if he didn't dare to, but he couldn't take his eyes off it. There was a savageness, an arrogance, that was magnificent. The monumental proportions, the dreadful beauty of it overwhelmed him and made him feel very small and very insignificant.

The men didn't speak for several minutes. Finally Lee said, "It's him."

"How can you be so sure?" Rye snapped. He wanted to argue. He didn't want to have anything to do with what he had just felt.

"This is where he lives." Lee's voice was firm and sure. Rye knew he was right.

Lee walked around the edge of the clearing, looking for the signs that he knew would be there. John and Rye followed behind. John had a sneering smile on his face, and he was swaggering, but Rye knew John had sensed the power, as he had.

At the other end of the clearing, nestled at the end of the clogged-up canal, was a huge mound. Covered with branches and logs, overgrown with sawgrass and pickerel weed, it could have been a hill. Lee knew it was the alligator den. He stood close to the mound. Even within inches of it, only an experienced eye like his would have known. "No wonder he ain't been caught," he said.

Rye walked over to the mound. He could see the entrance now, which led from the canal into the ground. Most of it was underwater, and if Lee hadn't pointed it out, he would never have noticed it.

"It almost looks like he camouflaged it," Lee said.

"It just looks like a hole to me," said John. He walked over to the entrance and looked in, but quickly turned away.

"It's probably the size of a cathedral inside," answered Lee.

Rye drew closer to the den. "Do you think he's around?"

"It's impossible to tell," said Lee.

The entrance to the den was only a few feet away from Rye, and through the covering of branches and leaves, he could see the enormous breadth of it. With a terrible fascination, he stared into the black pit that disappeared into the ground.

The size of the den, the way it was hidden, made Rye realize that until now the alligator had not been the main reason for this hunt. It had been a convenient excuse. He had begun to feel that he was shrinking in Miami, so he had come out to the swamps with the vague hope of finding whatever it was he had lost. At times he had even doubted that the alligator existed, or at least that he was as described, but he didn't doubt it any more.

One thing he knew for certain—getting an alligator that size wasn't going to be easy. He could do it; the animal might have size, but he had brains, and that was what counted in the end. It would be a tough fight, and that would make the victory even better. The only hitch would be if someone else got there first. He'd just have to make sure that they didn't. Rye started to take off his clothes.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked John with a sneer.

"I'm going in."

"Be a bad idea if you met him down there," Lee warned.

"I know what I'm doing." Rye drew a huge Randall-Bowie from its sheath. "Worse than that have tried to get me. Isn't that right, John?"

The sneer on John's face disappeared. John realized he'd been too cocky. He was positive he'd covered his tracks, but obviously he was wrong. So now it was out in the open. He decided that maybe it was better that way. A slow sneering smile crept over John's face. The smile was meant to tell Rye: You're right, but let's see what you can do about it.

Rye's eyes flashed his answer to John; it was a brutal look. Then Rye jumped into the canal and waded into the tunnel.

Lee handed his rifle to John. "Cover me. I'll try to stop him," he said.

"Let him go." John turned away from the canal.

Lee thought he had never seen eyes that were as cold and indifferent as John's. The two of them deserved each other. Lee knew if he had any sense at all, he'd leave them both out there and let the alligator try to digest them. But sense had never been one of his strong points.

Lee jumped into the canal and waded up to the opening of the den. There was no sign of Rye. It was as if he'd been swallowed up by darkness. He tried shining a flashlight into the hole, but the blackness was too profound, the tunnel too winding, to see anything. He knew there was nothing he could do about Rye for the moment. Following him in there would only make things worse. If the alligator was there, Lee would become like a cork in a bottle, trapping Rye between the two of them. The only thing he could do was station himself outside the mouth of the den and wait.

A moment after Rye had crawled into the tunnel, he was engulfed by the darkness. He could see nothing; he was relying solely on touch. It was not a sense that he was used to depending on. He could feel that the walls were made of packed mud and that the tunnel twisted and turned. It wasn't high enough for him to stand, and he had to pull himself through on his hands and knees.

He tested himself, and was relieved to find he wasn't scared. He was excited but not scared.

The tunnel widened into a huge cavelike room. A chink of light filtered through from what Rye decided was the end of the chamber; the light was faint, and Rye still couldn't see.

He was overwhelmed by the silence. He had never known such silence before. Aboveground there was always the sound of something; even if one wasn't aware of it, it was there, making a steady background. Here there was nothing.

The air was heavy, supersaturated with water. He could feel it condensing on him. There was a terrible, putrid stench of rotting flesh and vegetation that made him gag.

It took a full minute for Rye's eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. After that he could see that the alligator wasn't there, though he hadn't expected him to be. The alligator would have heard Rye's movements and attacked long ago.

He looked around the chamber. It was close to forty feet long, six feet wide, and almost as tall as a man. Its walls were of mud, packed very tightly. It was an efficient job, and not much cruder than a room in a medieval castle. Now Rye could just make out where the shaft of light came from. It looked like there was another entrance.

Rye still couldn't stand up straight. Even crouched, his head hit the ceiling. He got back down on his hands and knees and began wriggling through the slime. Almost immediately his hand hit a solid object. He picked it up and held it close so he could see it. It seemed to be the femur of an animal. From the size of the bone, Rye judged it to be quite a large one. He felt himself shiver. For a second, seeing the bone unnerved him; then he brought himself back under control and continued on.

Again he felt something solid in the floor, and he forced himself to look. There was a glint in the dim light that looked like it came from some kind of metal. He held the object closer until it was almost touching his face. He knew what it was. It was a hand, a partially eaten human hand. Rye's throat closed up; his heart contracted in terror. He threw the hand away, appalled, terrified that an animal could do that to a man. Rye violently struggled through the muck toward the other entrance. He wasn't thinking; all he knew was that he had to get out. He tore at the muck, his hands and knees slipping under him until he was wriggling like a snake. The panic was like a bleeding wound in his center.

Finally he found the other tunnel, and the terror lessened. But he could still feel his heart contracting violently. The tunnel was filled with the sounds of his own body. He scratched his way through the winding tunnel until, with incredible relief, he again felt the water of the canal.

Just as Rye was about to swim up to the surface, a huge black shadow spread across the water and blocked out the light. Everything turned black and cold, as if the sun were eclipsed. The water began to chum; it became a violent whirlpool, hissing and boiling, seething at the center. The pressure of it pulled at Rye's body, sucking him in. A shock ran through him. It was a shock of fear and of recognition. He knew it was the alligator.

He rode the surface of the water, not three feet above Rye, covering the entire canal with his blackness and bringing night. His giant stomach was pitted with the scars of dozens of wounds, and pieces of rusted and torn metal were imbedded and grown over in his thick skin. Algae was encrusted on him. Seaweed and tiny shells of millions of minute sea animals clung to him as if he were a ship. His body contained a whole other life.