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Startled that the animal was only a yard away, I lurched backward, which caused it to lift its head, alerted by my sudden movement. Through a green haze, I could see the monitor’s opaque eyes—they were the color of lead, like two indifferent ball bearings—and I could also see that its vertical pupils were dilated wide in the darkness as it attempted to decipher details.

I jabbed the spotlight forward, closed my eyes and hit the switch. The explosion of light was so bright that it pierced my own eyelids. I felt a suctioning void of water pressure as the monitor lunged backward, and then rocks and sand began to rain down on me as it bucked its body free of the hole.

I waited for several seconds, eyes closed, waving the spotlight like a flamethrower. Carefully, then, I switch off my night vision and opened my eyes.

Even in the searing brightness of the light, all I could see was silt. Visibility might have been better had I switched off the spotlight, but I wasn’t going to risk that. Instead, I allowed several seconds to pass and then crawled to the opening, thrusting the spotlight ahead of me like a spear.

At the mouth of the tunnel, I stopped. I found my fins and put them on as I swiveled my head, expecting the monitor to attack at any moment. Visibility in the lake basin was fair, and I used the light to search the area as far away as the drop-off. Just because I couldn’t see the monitor, though, didn’t mean that it had abandoned its pursuit.

I switched off the spotlight and activated my night vision. Instantly, visibility improved. Perry was still above me on the inner tube less than thirty feet away. It seemed incredible that he was unaware of what had just taken place, but water is the relentless keeper of its own secrets.

I continued to search, rechecking the lip of the drop-off, then scanning the lake’s surface. Stars were bright. I could still see the bouncing lucency of the beach fire. If the monitor hadn’t surfaced, it was somewhere nearby—perhaps behind me, or below me in deeper water, waiting for me, its prey, to reappear.

I checked the orange numerals of my watch. It was 8:07 p.m. I had been underwater for forty-three minutes and my tank was nearly empty. Alligators can stay under for up to two hours and perhaps the same was true of monitor lizards. I couldn’t sit there and wait for the thing to surface. I had only a few minutes of air left, so I had to do something and I had to do it fast.

Die on the bottom of an ancient lake or risk dying on the surface in the jaws of a prehistoric lizard?

I forced myself to settle back against the rocks and think about it. There had to be a better option.

TWENTY-SIX

IT WAS 7:58 P.M., ACCORDING TO TOMLINSON’S NEW watch, when he and Will and Arlis stopped at the rim of the cypress head, still hidden by trees but close enough to the lake to see King. They watched the man toss a limb onto the fire and then yell toward the water, “Quit your complaining! You stay right there until your new boyfriend surfaces. This was all your idea, so just shut up and do what you’re told.”

The little Honda generator was running, but not loud, and from the darkness they heard a man reply, “Shit, he’s been down there for almost an hour! I’m damn near frozen to death, King! King? Goddamn it, pull me in, dude—I’m serious!”

The men continued bickering as Arlis whispered, “Those are the two killers—sounds like I was wrong about those gunshots. They haven’t killed Doc yet. By God, that’s good news!”

Will spoke, saying, “Yeah, but they will—we’ve got to do something,” his voice soft compared to the sapwood fire crackling and the cicada roar that echoed through the darkness of cypress trees and starlight. Then he said, “You think you’ll be okay if we sit you down against a tree? How’s your leg?”

Arlis’s leg had been bleeding since he was bitten—not fast but steady—even though Tomlinson had done something smart right away, which might have saved the man’s life. He had stripped off his wet suit and cut off one of the sleeves. Then he’d helped Arlis slip his foot through the neoprene tube and slide it tight over his calf, which had slowed the bleeding. But the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

When Tomlinson guessed it was because there was something in the reptile’s saliva that prevented coagulation, Arlis had said, “Maybe that’s what’s causing me to feel so sick, too. A by God giant lizard! A Florida boy like me, I would’ve never guessed this would happen in a million years.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Tomlinson had replied. “Blame me. I’ve been dodging dragons for years—those bastards. You just happened to get in the way.”

That had struck Will as funny and he’d laughed for the first time since they’d arrived at the lake. And his opinion of Tomlinson climbed another notch. The man had an easy, gentle way of dealing with people, always making himself the butt of his own jokes, pretending to be weirder than he really was—something Will understood but, he guessed, not many other people did.

Arlis was badly hurt—not just from the lizard—and he was sick, but that didn’t cause the old fisherman to be any less stubborn or full of fight. He had used the tire iron to chop away at the roots, making the hole wider, until he got too dizzy and then finally sat down in the mud and the stink of old bones. It had taken Will and Tomlinson twenty minutes to finish the job.

When Will had finally muscled himself through the hole and was safely above water for the first time in hours, Tomlinson had shouted, “We did it!,” sounding surprised and happy even though they were all thinking the same thing: Hurry up and get out of there before that damn giant reptile returns.

Every step of the way, their mood improved, until they were safely down the mound, and Arlis decided it was time to tell them about the killers and about the gunshots that might have killed Doc Ford. Tomlinson and Will had Arlis slung between them, acting as crutches, so the man could move along on his one good leg, but they stopped when they heard that, and Tomlinson said to Will, “That can’t be. I would know it if Doc was dead. I think Arlis is wrong.”

Whispering, Arlis had replied, “How would you know? You’ve been underwater the whole time.”

“It’s a feeling I’ve got,” Tomlinson said. “We’ve got to find him.”

“By God, I hope you’re right. But I’m not wrong about those killers. Unless they skedaddled while we were down in that snake pit, they’re still at the lake. I would have seen truck lights. Or maybe you’ve got a feeling about that, too?”

Lowering his voice, Tomlinson asked, “The lake’s just through those trees, right? I’m all turned around. It seemed like we came a hell of a lot farther than we did.”

“It’s close,” Arlis said. “Why do you think I keep telling you to keep your voices down? Those fools got my Winchester and a little bitty pistol and they’d just as soon shoot us as look at us. So this is where we part ways. You and the boy head west, cut straight through the swamp to the road. You’re a sailor, you’ve spent your life following stars, so I reckon you can find your way out. I’m gonna rest here for a few minutes, then I’m going back for Doc. I just wish I didn’t feel so sick and dopey. I think that lizard by God poisoned me. It’s like there’s acid in my veins.”

Will had felt free and full of energy until then, happy to be alive. It was good to be outside, with plenty of air to breathe, walking on his own two feet instead of treading water. But the quality of the old man’s voice was upsetting. Arlis’s whole body was shaking and his skin felt fragile like wet paper. He was talking brave, but his voice couldn’t hide how sick he felt. Arlis was scared and weak, and sometimes his voice cracked, like he might be close to collapsing.