51

I HIT HIM A LITTLE TOO HARD and before I knew it, we were both in the murky water. Below the surface, I grabbed on to Johnson who was doing his best to get away. When we broke back to the top, I could hear yelling from the shore. Max stood at the boat ramp, waving her arms. I didn’t have enough time to wonder why she was there.

“Alligator!” she screamed.

On the opposite shore, I could see the bull who was still keeping an eye on his territory. Attracted by the commotion in the water, it rose on all fours keeping its belly high and began an awkward flat-footed walk to the water. I let go my grip on Johnson and dove, remembering what the cop had said about attracting a gator. I swam below the surface until I saw the hull of the boat. I came up behind the motor.

Johnson seemed to be following his own advice. It was too late for him to dive without disturbing the water, so he floated on his back as still as if he were a corpse. The old guy was ballsy as hell. The image of Psycho getting taken out by the truck popped into my head and I didn’t dare breathe.

When the alligator got to within ten feet of Johnson, it stopped. The beast turned around and headed back toward the bank. Had something else caught its attention? Johnson still floated unmoving, and I wondered if maybe he had had a heart attack and died, until I spotted the slightest flap of his feet to propel him toward the boat.

I was still in the water behind the motor as I coaxed him on silently in my mind.

Come on. You can make it. Take it nice and slow.

He was maybe ten feet from the boat now. I planned to hop into the craft at the last minute to haul him in. Any sooner and I’d chance alerting the beast. Johnson got bolder and moved his feet and arms a little more to get to the boat quicker. The gator snapped around and raced toward him again.

I watched the beast’s powerful jaws clamp down on Johnson’s leg, then release it. It snapped again and held on this time. In spite of his injuries, my father’s old friend fought for his life, going for the monster’s eyes with his fingers. I remembered what he had said about the death roll. If Johnson went under the surface, there would be no chance.

I scanned the shore. Where was Max? I know I wasn’t imagining that she had been on the shore when this all went down. She was nowhere in sight. I was going to have to do this myself.

What had Johnson said? Stick your hand down the alligator’s throat and pull the flap that keeps it from drowning.

No freaking way. Instinct told me to get in the boat. Peering over the side, I saw the paddle that had gone overboard between the boat and the battle royale. Johnson’s only hope was if I could beat the monster about the eyes and snout with it. With any luck, the animal would lose interest and swim off for a meal that took less effort. I leaned over the side, but the paddle stayed inches from my reach.

Instinct is just another word for smarts and I never had much of those. I couldn’t watch the guy get eaten. So, with no time to waste, I threw myself over the side hoping that the bull wouldn’t decide that I was tastier than the crusty old cop. Its powerful jaws remained clamped on Johnson’s leg as the water reddened from shredded muscle. For the time being, the beast seemed content to hold on to its prize instead of gnawing the limb off. Meanwhile, Johnson screamed bloody hell.

I got close enough to use the paddle to pound at the alligator’s bony head. No easy achievement while in the water. It withdrew its eyes into its skull and acted like I was nothing more than an annoying fly interrupting lunch.

I thought of climbing on its back and riding it like a mechanical bull, but decided I wasn’t a superhero and scuttled that idea. I whacked it on the head again and it opened its jaws. Johnson was now free and the gator channeled its anger toward the paddle. It snapped down on it several times until the blade splintered. With open jaws, it lunged at me, when—with more luck than I’d ever experienced in my life—I was able to ram the business end of the paddle into the creature’s mouth.

The reptile’s teeth scratched my arm as I shoved the paddle down its throat. If this didn’t work, my future kids were going to be calling me Lefty. Assuming that I lived.

The alligator coughed and sputtered.

Eventually, the beast decided neither one of us was tasty enough to drown for.

“Sorry about that,” I said as it swam off. And I meant it.

It wasn’t easy to hoist myself on to the side of the boat with my scraped arm stinging even worse than when the little fish had attacked me when I found Keller. Finally, I managed to get one leg, and then the other, over the side.

Johnson was sputtering by the side of the boat. I grabbed the back of his shirt with two hands. “Help yourself, man. I can’t do this alone.”

He managed to get his hands on the gunwale and I was able to haul Johnson over the side as if I were landing a big fish.