Its tail shot out again and I tripped.
My pistol clattered to the ground.
Thrusting forward, I dove onto the beast’s slimy body. I tried to stab it with my machete, but it was moving too fast. My other hand scrabbled for purchase before finally latching onto a hard scale.
The gator convulsed and thrashed from side to side, repeatedly smashing into the grotto’s walls. I struggled to maintain my grip but with each blow, my hand weakened.
Crap. How do I get myself into these situations?
The beast whipped downward and next thing I knew, my free hand was clutching at air. The gator shook violently and my legs spilled off of the side of its body.
Lifting my machete, I plunged it at the gator. It slashed through the air and I held my breath.
But the blade missed its mark, sailing harmlessly to the side.
A glancing collision stunned me and tore the machete out of my hand. I landed back first on the sharp, jagged edges of chewed-up bedrock. Looking around, I saw Beverly shifting her aim, trying to shoot the gator without shooting me.
My eyes fell on my gun. I reached for it with one hand and grabbed a spare magazine with the other.
But the beast whipped around and loomed before me, casting a gigantic shadow in the dim light afforded by my fallen flashlight. I stared into its bright red eyes. It was ready to strike.
There was no time to grab my gun. No time to dodge. No time to run.
Just time to die.
The gator’s head shot toward me. It moved so fast that I didn’t even have time to lift my hands to my face.
Suddenly, loud, harsh bursts punctuated the grotto. The alligator reared to the side and then backward.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, I grabbed my machete and gun from the ground. Then I rolled to the other end of the cavern and loaded the pistol.
My eyes stayed locked on the beast as it slid backward. Then, without warning, it lunged into the river. With a tremendous splash, it disappeared from sight.
I watched the water for a full minute, waiting for the monster to reemerge.
But it never did.
Finally, I turned away from the river and looked toward the mouth of the unfinished tunnel. My jaw dropped. Ten heavily armed men stood in a tight semi-circle. Their hardened faces, covered with impassive expressions, revealed little.
A man stepped forward. He carried a shotgun. A thin column of smoke trailed out of the barrow. I recognized him as the man I’d spoken with back at the passage.
The gator wrangler.
Although his best days were behind him, his body remained burly and powerful. His eyes, menacing and furious, studied me carefully. “I told you to leave these tunnels.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, I should’ve warned you. I’ve never been one to follow orders.”
“It’s going to cost you. Drop your weapons.”
“No.”
Light clacks sounded in unison as nine other guns swung in my direction.
The man took a cigar out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Put them down, you live. If not, you die. It’s your choice.”
I looked at Beverly. She looked back at me with confusion etched across her face. Then she shrugged.
Grunting in frustration, I set my pistol and machete on the ground.
The man took a second to light his cigar. Afterward, he directed me to stand aside while he retrieved my weapons. “Start walking,” he said harshly. “And don’t try anything. Or I’ll kill you myself.”
With no other recourse, I followed a few of the other men back through the dark tunnel.
See you later, frying pan. Fire, here I come.
Chapter 50
I marched through the tube, my brainpower split between the battle I’d just fought and the one that was coming. I knew I’d never forget the alligator. But if there was one thing that could give me temporary amnesia, it was a confrontation with the men who seemed to control the beast.
I slowed my pace until I was walking next to Beverly. She hobbled slightly. And although her soot-covered face lacked expression, I could see the tension lines around her jaw every time she placed her weight on her injured leg.
“How bad is it?” I asked quietly.
“I can walk.”
The barrel of a gun jabbed into my shoulder blades. “No talking.”
It was the alligator wrangler. I shot him a glance. “What should I call you?”
“Cap. Cap Cartwright.”
“Cap? Are you serious? That’s not even a real name.”
“I’m not sure a guy named Cyclone should be making fun of other people’s names.”
“How do you know my name?”
“How do you think?”
I thought quickly. “You searched me after saving us from the flooded trackbed. I don’t carry a driver’s ID but you could’ve gotten it from a half dozen other things in my satchel.”
“Very good.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out.”
We marched all the way back to the partially built station. We paused for a few seconds as Cartwright closed over the grating and reattached the wires that held it in place. Then he led us toward the second northbound tube, the one we never got a chance to explore. But instead of turning into the tunnel, we marched right past it.
I lifted my chin. “Just where are you taking us anyways?”
Cartwright ignored me and continued walking. At the westernmost end of the platform, he knelt down in front of the wall.
A few moments passed. And then, as if by magic, it jerked open. I caught a glimpse of a small, dimly lit corridor. I barely had time to appreciate the workmanship before I was prodded into it.
I examined the walls as I entered the tight space. They were made of bedrock and lacked a concrete cover. We followed the corridor in a twisting, turning path. On the way, we passed by a couple of side corridors. Eventually, I lost my sense of direction, which evoked a small feeling of panic deep in my gut. I could handle underground passages, but getting lost in one wasn’t my idea of a good time.
I wanted to say something, to ask about the tunnel system, to gain assurance that we, in fact, weren’t lost at all. But my head told me to keep quiet. Less ruckus meant boredom for Cartwright and his men. Eventually, they’d let down their guard.
Then I’d strike.
We passed through a couple of additional corridors. As we walked past one particular section of wall, I noticed a jutting piece of bedrock.
A very familiar jutting piece of bedrock.
How nice. They’re leading us in circles.
The thought irritated me. Why were we walking in circles anyway? Was it to keep us from escaping? Was Cartwright trying to mess with our heads? Or was it something much, much worse?
Are we lost?
We continued walking, following Cartwright through the labyrinth of passages. With every passing second, I grew increasingly stir-crazy. My pent-up emotions clamored at the gate.
We took a sudden right and crossed through a short corridor. At the end, Cartwright opened a door. Bright light filled my eyes. Half-blinded, I stumbled through it.
I looked around. We stood in the middle of a large room. A gigantic piece of machinery poked through one of the walls. A long metal shaft connected it to the opposing wall.
Through spotty vision, I examined the rest of the room. It was an intriguing area, outfitted like a hunting cabin. Seven beds were pushed up against the eastern wall with a couple of additional cots stacked neatly in the corner. There were a few dressers, a bookshelf, and even a small kitchen.