Gloria Skurzynski - Mysteries in Our National Parks - Deadly Waters - A Mystery in Everglades National Park

A MYSTERY IN EVERGLADES NATIONAL PARK

To Danny and Kathy,

who radiate grace and bring us joy.

Text copyright © 1999 Gloria Skurzynski and Alane Ferguson

Cover illustration copyright © 2007 Jeffrey Mangiat

All rights reserved.

Reproduction of the whole or any part of the contents is prohibited without written permission from the National Geographic Society, 1145 17th Street N.W., Washington, D.C. 20036.

Map by Carl Mehler, Director of Maps; Thomas L. Gray, Map Research; Michelle H. Picard, Martin S. Walz, Map Production

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to living persons or events other than descriptions of natural phenomena is purely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Skurzynski, Gloria

Deadly waters / Gloria Skurzynski and Alane Ferguson.

p. cm.—(National parks mystery: #3)

Summary: While visiting the Everglades National Park with their parents, the Landon children uncover the mystery of dying manatees and learn important lessons about the natural environment.

ISBN: 978-1-4263-0966-3

1. Everglades National Park (Fla.)—Juvenile fiction. [1. Everglades National Park (Fla.)—Fiction. 2. Manatees—Fiction. 3. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Ferguson, Alane. II. Title. III. Series.

PZ7.S6287De 1999

[Fic]—dc21 99-23985

Version: 2017-07-05

The authors are sincerely grateful to the experts who have helped with this book. Captain David S. Nolan of the real Pescadillo; Teri Rowles, Fishery Biologist of the National Marine Fishery Service; Sentiel Rommel, Research Scientist at the Florida Department of Environmental Protection’s Marine Mammal Pathobiology Laboratory; Tom Pitchford, Assistant Research Scientist at the Florida Department of Environmental Protection’s Marine Mammal Pathobiology Laboratory; John Tyminski, Shark Biologist at the Center for Shark Research, Mote Marine Laboratory; Captain Frank and Georgia Garrett of Majestic Everglades Excursions; and The Everglades City Sheriff’s Office Substation. In Everglades National Park, our sincere thanks to Jim Brown, Maureen McGee-Ballinger, and Rangers Kelly Bulyis and Carl Hilts. A very special thanks to Skip Snow.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

AFTERWORD

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

PARK DATA

STATE: Florida

ESTABL ISHED: 1947

AREA: 1,506,539 acres

CLIMATE: Subtropical. Rainfall averages 60 inches each year. From mid-December to mid-April it is usually warm and dry; from mid-April to mid- December it is hot and humid, with lots of mosquitoes.

NATURAL FEATURES: Freshwater sawgrass marshes, pinelands, mangrove forests and islands, dense stands of tropical hardwood trees, extensive estuaries and open-water marine habitat.

The snake’s five-foot body stretched across a thick tree limb overhanging the Everglades waters. Its unblinking black eyes watched the man. For a brief instant, the man’s gaze locked onto the snake’s before he returned his attention to the object in his hands. “Good thing a snake doesn’t talk,” he told himself. “I’d have to kill it.” Mosquitoes whined around him, landing on his arms, but he didn’t bother to swat them off.

“Whatever it takes,” he told himself. “Almost done.” There was no room for mistakes, not on something like this. He had to be careful, careful….

And then he saw them, three figures huddled on the wooden dock, two boys and a girl. They were far away, a couple hundred yards, maybe, but they were staring in his direction. And one of them was pointing something. A camera!

The snake flicked its tongue before it slowly wound its way down the tree to disappear into the dark tangle of mangrove roots. Coolly, the man started up the engine of his boat and headed it toward the dock, toward those kids.

“Whatever it takes,” he told himself again.

Upstream, two round alligator eyes blinked just above water. The gator was middle-size: about five feet from its tail tip to its blunt nose. As it skimmed forward, it left behind a rippled wake that barely disturbed the canal’s surface. While Jack Landon fumbled for his camera, his sister Ashley pointed, following the path of the dark shape in the water. The gator was closing in fast.

“Look, Bridger, he’s after that duck, or whatever it is,” Ashley murmured to the boy standing beside her. “Should I yell to warn it?”

“Gator’s got to eat, too,” was all Bridger answered. A tall, lean, tow-headed 14-year-old wearing a Stetson hat, jeans, and cowboy boots, Bridger Conley had already proved himself to be a boy of few words. And strong opinions.

The three of them—Jack, Ashley, and Bridger—stood beside a canal in the Florida Everglades, watching the large bird that kept swimming underwater, with its whole body submerged. Every minute or so the bird’s small head and long, skinny neck would snake upward, breaking through the sun’s reflection on the water. Then back down it would go, gliding beneath the surface like a seal. It didn’t seem to notice the danger it was in.

“Hold it…hold it,” Jack muttered, twisting his lens to focus. Catching both animals in one picture would make a magnificent shot. Jack knew the bird didn’t have much of a chance, not with those quick jaws and razor-sharp teeth coming nearer and nearer as the alligator quietly shortened the distance between them.

“I don’t think I want to watch this…” Ashley began, her hands clutching the wooden railing.

Seeming unconcerned, the bird ducked its head beneath the water and came up with a small fish speared on its beak. Immediately the bird’s rope-thin neck snapped like a whip. Momentum flipped the fish into the air before it fell back into the open beak. As the bird swallowed its catch, the alligator slid even closer, advancing through the grass-edged water, only inches from its prey. Closer, and….

With a splash, the alligator struck—too late! One split second before the big jaws snapped closed, the bird had exploded skyward, leaving the gator with nothing but a mouthful of air. If an alligator could look disappointed, this one did.

“Yes! My duck made it! It got away!” Ashley pumped her fist into the air as she gave a little half-bounce. “Did you see that, Jack?”

“Yes, I saw it,” he answered. “Only it isn’t a duck, it’s an anhinga.”

“How’d you know that?” Bridger asked.

“Read about it in the visitor center. Anhingas swim submerged. Look at it now, on top of that tree—it’s drying its feathers.” Silhouetted against the sky, the bird seemed to be posing for Jack’s camera, stretching out its wings to warm itself in the sun.

“Well, whatever it’s called, I’m glad the gator didn’t get it,” Ashley said. “I know you said everything in the food chain’s got to eat, Bridger, but I hate seeing an animal get killed. I don’t even like to see fish die, but I guess that kind of thing doesn’t bother you, since you said you like to go fishing.”

“Doesn’t bother me at all,” Bridger answered.

He was the latest in a series of foster children who’d lived short-term with the Landon family: Jack, Ashley, and their parents, Steven and Olivia. Bridger was unlike any of the other foster children the Landons had sheltered. He seemed friendly; he just didn’t talk much. For Ashley, who talked all the time, this made Bridger a real challenge.