Randy White - Seduced

Had he found my boat?

I hurried on, and didn’t slow until I got to the mangroves. Cautiously, then, I worked my way over rubbery, knee-high roots and under limbs one quiet step at a time.

Patches of water appeared through the foliage, then a wedge of my skiff’s gleaming white deck.

I stopped; my breath caught. Something foreign was on the deck, an object that didn’t belong and hadn’t been there thirty minutes ago.

A few steps closer broadened the waterscape. Not an object-an appendage , it looked like-the bloated, hairless leg of a man with very dark skin… or skin that had been charred by fire.

If it was Larry, why had he removed his pants? And why was only one huge thigh visible? No, couldn’t be. It was much too large to be a human leg.

Another quiet step, then another, I moved with the pistol ready. I watched hairless flesh expand to the thickness of a telephone pole, then slowly, slowly contract.

I knew then what had happened: a snake had found the only large flat rock available and was warming itself beneath the noon-bound sun.

The monster python.

Had to be… unless more than one monster existed here.

Twice I started toward my skiff but lost my nerve, and walked numbly inland. Stood in the ficus gloom, trying to ignore the baritone boom of Caldwell’s pleas echoing across the island. If I heard him, so did Larry… and so did every stirring creature for miles.

If the men reunited, I would become less of a threat. They would arm themselves with whatever they could find, then attack, or create a diversion, to draw me away from their true objective: my boat. There was no other way out of an area where muck was too deep to support human weight and water too shallow to swim. Never mind the reptiles that had feasted themselves into famine. Alligators, snakes, and saltwater crocs were all that was left here. Now apex survivors had only themselves to prey upon, but the sun would soon awaken their sensory organs to the scent of a new food source: mammals; three oddities that walked on slow hind legs.

The fact was, we were all trapped. Reptiles included.

I took out my phone in the pointless hope a transmitter on Marco had doubled its range. The GPS triangulated enough satellites to show my position, but this was not a satellite phone.

I put it away, and listened to Caldwell’s pleas become threats.

“Hey… Hey! I know you hear me. My feet; I’m bleeding. I can’t walk. Hear me? I CAN’T WALK. At least bring back my boots. Hannah! Goddamn it! Let’s discuss this like adults or, I swear to Christ, I’ll find you and cut off your…”

I ignored the rest but understood what I had to do. Seeking shelter on the island was no safer than confronting, maybe killing, the snake that had commandeered my boat.

I tightened my gloves, retraced my steps, and, like a child on tiptoes, stepped clear of the mangroves. Water seeped in and numbed my toes while I waited for the python’s reaction. There was none.

I returned to shore; left the machete hanging with my shoulder pack and holstered the pistol in favor of the shotgun, which I loaded. To stumble and lose my only dependable weapon was unthinkable. Also, two barrels of buckshot had a better chance of taking off a snake’s head-if the antique shells fired. If they didn’t, the pistol was there at my side.

When I was ready, I moved along the bank to avoid sinking in muck. Slid closer and closer until I had a full view of what I was dealing with.

What awaited made me want to cry.

The bulk of the python lay out of sight on the floor of the boat, but a six-foot tail section spilled onto the stern. This suggested the reptile had entered via the transom. Looped like fire hose over the forward casting deck was a much longer segment. I’d mistaken a piece of it for a human thigh, despite its massive girth and its buckskin-on-black scales.

Where was the snake’s head? That was the question; potentially, a life-or-death question. I couldn’t see it from where I stood. Not sufficient elevation. I would have to wade close enough to look down into my skiff. Only then might I find a vulnerable target to shoot.

Fear streamed a scenario to consider: peering up, when I poked my chin over the gunnel, was the snake, already alerted by its radar tongue. The fangs-on-bone crunch when Roberta was struck echoed within me until I winced.

Another possibility: the snake’s head would be near the motor, or the console wiring, or over the fuel tank. Some component impossible to repair. Pull the trigger, I might be left with a boat that wouldn’t start and a two-hundred-pound snake that was still alive, and agitated.

Caldwell’s baritone rage offered guidance from far away. “Buddy… Buddy Luck! Hey, man, can you hear me? Goddamn it, find that crazy woman. Hear me, Buddy? KILL HER… TAKE THE BOAT.”

Buddy Luck…

There was no alternative. I was dealing with two killers who clung to the pretense of their own fake names. I had to be bold or forfeit a chance to take control. Yet my feet would not move without conjuring positive hopes.

Overhead, the sun glittered in a high, blue sky, but the breeze retained an icy edge. Pythons didn’t function well if the thermometer dropped below fifty. Twenty degrees colder-even ten-they had to regulate body heat by coiling or seeking shelter. Thermoregulation, it was called.

Or was it a process known as brumation?

I was so nervous, I couldn’t remember what I’d read. Some of the data conflicted, or was undependable, because exotic reptiles had found ways to adapt. Surviving the cold required behavioral changes. The same with ambush techniques-they had to adjust to the habits of their prey. Nature was shrewd. Nature was relentless.

One example: a tree growing parallel to the ground, by shooting branches skyward, had produced an exotic fruit for an unknown span of generations.

All I knew for certain was, the day wasn’t getting any colder. Factoring windchill, I guessed the temp to be low fifties. The sluggish snake I’d killed earlier gave me confidence enough to think: Stop wasting time, take back what is yours.

Courage forged from necessity is a tenuous, untested ally. But it was all I had.

I continued along the bank, my skiff tethered fore and aft like a hammock that cupped a sleeping giant. Separating us was an awning of mangroves. Too noisy to push my way through, so I ventured into deeper water. Not far, only up to my knees. I knew better than to trust the spongy bottom, yet it seemed the safest way. I slid along as if on tiptoe, closer and closer, focusing on the snake’s tail.

The reptile had yet to stir.

The footing was iffy. My thighs pushed a mild wake. When I was too far from shore to turn back, the boat began to rock imperceptibly, yet I could not stop. The bottom might collapse beneath my feet. In slow motion, I shouldered the shotgun.

Five yards separated us, close enough that my nose scented a reptilian, uric musk. Yet, the sun pushed me onward, step by careful step, and soon banged the boat’s hull with my shadow.

The python moved . On the forward deck was a massive-bellied loop of scales. I watched it contract abruptly, as if holding its breath; an ambush technique, possibly, to lure me closer. Playing possum was one of nature’s most effective tricks.

I freed my left hand from the shotgun, and was reaching for the boat’s transom, when a distant crash of foliage caused me to freeze. Larry-it has to be Larry, I thought. An intentional diversion.

I turned to look.

Turning was a mistake. My right foot sheared through the crust and was immediately suctioned deeper into muck. I struggled to recover, then vaulted forward because my foot was anchored. The shotgun nearly flew out of my hands as I went down and under. After much splashing and kicking, I surfaced and immediately panicked. The snake could not possibly sleep through so much noise. I clawed and stumbled my way toward shore, afraid to look around because I knew- I knew- the python would be sailing toward me, head high above the water like a dragon from a nightmare.