by Shelley Katz
When Rye turned around to hand back the bottle of Wild Turkey, he almost died laughing. "Jesus Christ!" he roared. "If you turkeys are scared at ten miles per hour, what the hell are you gonna do at fifty?"
John and Maurice stared straight ahead. They didn't want to think about that.
Ranged behind the Saurian, like baby chicks following their mother, were ten skiffs. Sam Pruett and Ben Ferguson were in the lead boat. They had rented it from Orville Levi, who had gotten it from God knows where. It was in pretty bad shape, and if Ben hadn't known something about motors they would probably still be back at the pier.
Sam and Ben passed a canteen of liquor between them. Sam was feeling good. His second thoughts were gone, as was all feeling in his legs. He held the canteen in one hand and waved to the people on shore with the other. Ben laughed to himself. In all his years of knowing Sam, he had never seen him drunk.
Sheriff Thompson and Archie Marris were running just behind them. Thompson was in the bow, and Marris was spread out across the entire stern. There was no question in anyone's mind that there was a severe weight problem in that skiff.
Thompson was washing a sandwich down with a beer when a small sardine fell at his feet. He picked it up by the tail and, through squinting, drunken eyes, tried to figure out what it was and where it came from.
"Hey," he said to Marris, "did you know there was sardine out here?"
"Only in cans," answered Marris.
Thompson held the sardine closer to his face. A droplet of oil plopped on his nose. He looked over at Ben and Sam, who were trying to keep back their laughter. Suddenly it was raining food, as Ben, Sam, Marris, and Thompson sent candy bars, pellets of bread, and even a few beer cans flying at one another. A little farther back, Ace Collier was riding with his friend D. W. Hendricks. D.W. was nineteen, a year older than Ace, and the son of the only grocer in town, which made him close to royalty in Ace's eyes. D.W. and Ace were drinking pre-mixed screwdrivers from D.W.'s father's store.
Ace's head was already spinning, and he was having a hard time keeping the boat in a straight line. It was zigzagging all through the water, and Ace was laughing so hard that he started to drool.
Orville Levi almost jumped out of the boat when Ace and D.W. came barreling toward him. It took Simon Long all his strength to keep him in. Everyone had thought Levi was crazy when he announced he was going out with Simon. They seemed such an unlikely pair. Levi was crazy like a fox. Simon was a fisherman, and probably the only man besides Lee who knew anything about the swamps.
Charlie O'Neill, who worked in Levi's gun shop, was in the next skiff. When Levi had heard that he was planning to go out, he had threatened him with everything, including a lynching. O'Neill had gone anyway, and he had taken the Franchi, too. He figured he'd take his chances. Albert Johnston rode with him. O'Neill knew Albert wouldn't be much help with the skiff, nor did he have a clue how to shoot a gun, but it all seemed worth it when O'Neill considered that he'd undoubtedly pack a hell of a picnic from his restaurant.
Floyd and Lloyd Simmons, sixty-year-old twins who owned the local junkyard and lived in a trailer on the premises, rode together. They did everything together, which was convenient, since nobody in town had to spend time worrying which was which.
In the next boat was Tucker Cox, the pharmacist, and Lump Abner, who had been sheriff before Thompson. Both men were closing in bn sixty faster than they liked to think about, and though neither of them said it, they weren't sure how long they'd stay out with the rest.
Mike Sears, a tall, muscular blond, who was the town stud, and Ted Smallwood, a slight, somewhat sickly boy who partnered a semi with Mike, were next. They were amusing themselves by throwing empty beer cans at the people on shore.
Nobody from Everglades had ever seen the men in the last two skiffs before, so they were figured to be foreigners. Actually, two of the men were barbers from Naples, Florida, and the other two owned a used-car lot on the AIA.
The Saurian pulled out of the channel and into the river, leaving behind the jumble of houses and people as it entered the mouth of the jungle.
The river was still a wonder to Lee. Every few miles, a tar-paper shack crumbled on the moist banks. For the most part, however, the land was virgin, just as it must have been centuries ago, when the Calusa and Seminole fished and hunted, bred and died along its shores.
Sawgrass, barbed and brutal, jutted out of the soft, muddy earth like sharp knives. Live oak, mahogany, gumbo limbo grew thick along the banks, casting cool shadows out onto the river. Cypress domes towered over the other trees, their tops stuck out of the rest of the foliage like giraffes.
Every inch of the land was alive with wildlife. Crabs scurried around the black soil, cockroachlike; craggy turtles sunned themselves on pitted limestone rocks; huge herons, cormorants, and pelicans stood on wooden buoys, scanning the water for fish. Otters and rat snakes, gators bugs and frogs, spiders and ground hogs, Cape Sable sparrows and mosquitoes vied among themselves for what little space was left by the thick tangle of vegetation.
Lee felt the spray kicked up by the caged propeller against his face. It made him feel fresh and clean and very relaxed. He pulled a map out of the supply box and handed it back to Rye. "We'll take the river as far as it goes, then cut around Mormon's Island to Devil's Point." He had to shout over the motor to be heard.
"What's there?" Rye yelled back.
"That's where they found the bodies. My guess is his den's somewhere around there."
"I ain't payin' for guesses."
Lee shrugged impassively. He knew the way to handle Rye was not by anger; Rye was used to anger. What he wasn't used to was being ignored. It was a potent weapon.
Rye was disappointed that he didn't get a rise out of Lee; he enjoyed turmoil. "Tell me, Boone," he yelled, "what happens when we find this den, if we find it?"
"We wait for the gator," answered Lee.
"Well, just suppose the gator's decided to skip town?" Rye's voice was thick with sarcasm.
"Don't happen," answered Lee. "A gator builds himself a nest when he's young and sticks by it. He just keeps adding to it as he grows bigger. It ain't like one of your tract houses. That gator's probably been living in the same spot for fifty years."
Lee pointed to a small mound of dried grass and sticks huddled against the river bank. "That's a gator den," he shouted.
"I know what a gator den looks like," snapped Rye.
Lee snickered. "Well, then, you'll know you're lookin' in the wrong direction."
Lee drew the Saurian up close to the mound. Growing between the sawgrass and rotting compost of leaves and twigs was a fine blue grass. He reached down and pulled some of the grass out of the soft earth. "This is pickerel grass," he said, handing the clump back to Maurice. "You can always tell a gator den by this grass. It's the only place it grows."
"Why's that?" asked Maurice.
"Gator shit." Lee looked over at Rye as if the shit he was talking about were sitting next to him. "Ain't that a fact, Mr. Whitman?"
It took John enormous self-control not to laugh. He had never seen anyone get the better of Rye. The fact that it was some backwoods hippie who was half Rye's age added to his enjoyment. He could see Rye casting a murderous look at the back of Lee's neck, and felt jealous of Lee for the power he had.
By mid-morning, the sun was hot and full on the men. The air shimmered with light and moisture, and the Saurian's wake sparkled in tiny points of light that were almost blinding. Orchids speckled the ground with their impossible hues, and huge cypresses cast cooling shadows.
It had become so calm and beautiful that even Rye noticed it, and his muscles, which were usually strung up tight from nervous energy, uncramped and relaxed. Thoughts about land deals and mortgages, even proxy fights, blurred and softened until they disappeared completely into a warm bath of mindlessness.
The four men looked out, squinting into the bright sun and watched the passing panorama in silence. Each man had drawn into himself,
for once not calculating and scheming, not weighing one another's reactions, but at peace. In the beauty of the morning, Lee almost forgot the great hulk of a man who sat next to him.
Downriver, in an open stretch of water, John caught sight of a golden-brown bobcat dog-paddling through the water toward shore. John wasn't the only one who saw him. Along the muddy river banks, several alligators watched the bobcat's struggles through half-closed eyes. They waited until the bobcat was mid-water, then slowly slipped into the water. Gliding smoothly and effortlessly, without even going full speed, the alligators began to close the gap.
"Hey, look!" yelled John.
It was a fascinating sight. The bobcat was still unaware of the alligators. Then an undefined instinct, a vague scent of danger, made the bobcat look back. He screamed in terror when he saw the five black pitted backs and the bulging eyes hunched in the water behind him. He began smashing at the water with his paws, desperate to reach shore. The alligators speeded up; their yellow eyes and snubbed snouts skimmed the surface; their armored tails sliced the water into wakes. On the other shore, several more alligators slid into the water to join them.
"Looks to be open season on bobcat," said Rye with a chuckle. "Hope you fellas don't mind if I just join in." Rye lifted his rifle, took aim at the lead alligator, and fired rapidly. Waterspouts sprang up around the alligator, and thick sprays of water haloed the air, but he hit nothing. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled as he reloaded. Rye could see Lee turn away in disgust. The tightass, he thought.
John picked up his rifle. "It's better than the bear at the penny arcade," he said, and threw several shots. He hit one of the back alligators in the tail. It didn't even slow him.
"Tough bastards, ain't they?" yelled Rye. "Aim for the head. You ain't gonna bother them none no place else."
The skiffs began to arrive at the scene. Rye held up his hand in warning to the men. This was his game. Rye, took his time aiming, and thunked a bullet home. It knocked the alligator clear across the water, flipping him over and exposing his soft, fleshy stomach. Rye took another shot. The wounded alligator howled in pain, twitching violently, then went lifeless. His body bobbed up and down in an ever-enlarging pool of his insides.
The other alligators stopped. The smell of blood had distracted them. Suddenly they turned and rushed to attack the dead alligator. The bobcat took advantage of the delay and swam faster.
Rye stopped shooting and watched John as he concentrated on the big lead alligator. An interesting thought crossed Rye's mind, and he shifted his rifle, trapping John between the cross hairs. All he would have to do was squeeze his finger, he thought. Just a little squeeze. Interesting, he thought, but not ultimately worth it. He shifted the barrel back out at the water and blasted the bobcat into the air.
"Airboat's a hell of a toy," Rye said to Maurice. The men had changed places, and Rye sat in the pilot's seat, next to Maurice. Lee and John sat in back. Lee kept a careful watch on the water ahead. He trusted Rye's nautical instincts about as much as he trusted Aaron's business acumen.
Rye steered the Saurian over the calm water directly into the brassy afternoon sun. Lee could see reflections of the shoreline quickly speed across the silver lenses of his sunglasses. Trees, birds, and flowers raced over his face; a deer was caught there for a moment, then quickly scampered back into the woods.
"Now, when I was a boy," continued Rye, "I always wanted one of these things, but we didn't have the money. Jesus, we didn't have enough to buy a dugout off a drunken Indian, and these things was a rarity then. But I surely did want one."
Up ahead, Lee could see that the water was breaking up.
"Cut the motor!" he shouted. "There's some rapids ahead!"
Rye stopped talking, looked for a moment, then turned back to Maurice. "As I was sayin', I wanted—"
"I said, cut the motor!" yelled Lee. "This boat's too flat to handle, rapids full speed."
"I heard ya the first time." Rye spun the Saurian around and headed back toward the other skiffs. "Who's game for a bit of racin'?" he yelled, shutting down the motor. "Hundred bucks says I make it over first."
"I'll make it two hundred!" yelled Marris.
"You ain't got fifty cents to your name!" yelled Levi.
"I got a hundred bucks!" screamed Ace.
"Who axed you, kid? Make way for your elders!" Marris yelled.
"Kiss my ass!" Ben screamed to Rye.
"Well now, if you win, that's just what I'll do," Rye laughed.
Lee's eyes were smoldering. "I've had enough!" he yelled. "Get out of the pilot's seat."
Rye laughed and started up the engine. He swung the Saurian back toward the rapids.
"Jesus Christ, this is crazy!" Sam yelled to Ben. The white water loomed just ahead, and he could hear its roar over the engine.
"You want me to let you off on shore?" asked Ben.
Sam hesitated. "You think we can make it over the rapids in this thing?"
"You never know till you try. Well, which is it?"
Sam nodded, and Ben drew them up alongside the other skiffs, which were lining up as best they could in two parallel rows alongside the Saurian. They pulled into the back lines; once they hit the rapids, a couple of feet here or there wouldn't make a difference.
Lee reached over and grabbed Rye's arm. "I said, enough!" Rye shook his arm loose and flashed a smirk at Lee. "Are you crazy?" screamed Lee. He shoved Rye aside and tried to wrench the steering post from his hand.
Rye pushed into gear and screamed, "Go!"
Shoving the Saurian into full throttle, Rye plowed directly into the heart of the rapids. Lee fell back into his seat and held tightly to the struts.
Suddenly the choppy water rose up. Maurice screamed, "Rye, maybe we shouldn't—" but it was too late. They were surrounded by thundering water. It roared and hissed all around them. Maurice couldn't hear; he couldn't even think. The spray whipped his face and knocked the air from his lungs until he could hardly breathe.
Rye pulled the Saurian into the lead almost immediately. It belly-flopped all over the surface. The flat platform hit the water like a pancake, then bounced up into the air.
Just behind the Saurian, Marris and Thompson were fighting to keep second place. Ben and Sam were just behind them and closing the gap. The rest of the boats weren't making much of a race of it. They were all bunched up, banging into one another and tipping from side to side.
The rapids became faster. Huge boulders were sticking out of the river and blocking up the water into boiling whirlpools. Rye zigzagged through the maze of rocks and seething water, but he was picking up too much speed to have control. As he swerved to miss a large log that was careening through the turbulence, the edge of the Saurian hit a rock. The airboat ricocheted, rising into the air, suspended for what seemed like hours; then it tottered and tipped back into the water.
John was practically thrown overboard. He held tightly to his seat and screamed, "I ought to kill you, you son of a bitch," but his words were eaten up in the roaring air.
Rye was straddling his seat as if he were riding a Brahman bull, laughing and shouting with delight. With the wet wind battering his face and the roar of the water all around him, his mind was so glutted with sensation that he felt nothing but release and joy. Ahead, the wildest part of the rapids foamed white, and Rye plowed toward them with a furious, pounding excitement.
The tight knot of skiffs had broken up, and only three of them were giving Rye anything of a challenge. The skiffs carrying the out-of-towners were the farthest back. The men had jumped out and were trying to reach shore for the portage.
Most of the others were taking the rapids closer to shore and staying out of trouble. Only Mike Sears and Ted Smallwood had stuck to the fast water and were starting to lose control. Their skiff glanced off a boulder and was thrown into a whirlpool where the spinning water picked them up and whirled them around. Mike screamed. Ted pulled out the boat pole and jabbed it against the boulder. He was pushing them out of the eddy, tryi
ng to get them to shore, when the rapid water took them up once again and they sped forward.
Ben and Sam were only a few yards behind Rye, but they were beyond seeing that. All they could see was the chopped, angry water that swirled just ahead of them, and all they could feel was the steady rhythm of their straining bodies. Sam fended off the rocks with the boat pole while Ben worked the motor skillfully. There was a clearness in their minds. They saw, then acted. Nothing more. There was no room for extraneous thought. It was only when they started to pull level with the Saurian that they remembered the race.
"Gotcha!" Ben yelled at the airboat.
"Like hell!" returned Rye.
All at once Thompson and Marris drew up, whooping like cowboys, then pulled ahead. Marris worked the motor until it screamed. Suddenly a rock loomed up before them. Thompson tried to yell a warning, but it was caught in his throat. The skiff crashed into the boulder and was thrown into the air. It flipped, throwing Thompson and Marris into the water.
Thompson grabbed hold of the spinning boat and pulled his head above water. Marris was holding on to the same side and Thompson could hear him choking and sputtering. It sounded like he was vomiting. Thompson held on even tighter as the skiff, no longer balanced by an even distribution of weight, spun from side to side, carrying the men downward in the angry white water.
Suddenly the skiff cut the Saurian's path. Rye spun hard over and tried to avoid the skiff, with its two passengers kicking and splashing frantically. The Saurian lurched to the right and just missed it, but was thrown directly in the path of a tangle of cypress logs that were caught between some rocks. The airboat plowed into the logs and was knocked off balance. It looped around like a derailed roller coaster, hanging in mid-air, then crashing back down to the surface.
