Alligator (8 page)

Lopez Hummock was the closest uninhabited island of any substantial size. Lee had never understood why it was so good for hunting, but it usually was, and since it was close to town, most often he'd at least start there.

Lee liked coming to Lopez Hummock. The island was covered with Caloosa mounds, piles of seashells as big as cliffs, made by a long-extinct tribe for a long-forgotten reason. It appealed to him that no one had ever figured out what the mounds were for. He suspected that the Caloosa hadn't had any reason at all, and it made him feel a philosophical kinship with them.

They hadn't been on Lopez Hummock for more than five minutes when Lee spotted tracks. He shook his head in disbelief. Wasn't it always that way; some were just born lucky.

"Well, sir, you got your wish," he said as Clete and Randy caught up.

Clete's sullen face brightened. "Bear?"

"Black bear. Four, maybe five hundred pounds."

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Clete. He was just about peeing in his pants.

"Sshh," warned Lee. "The wind is runnin' to us now, but it's unpredictable, and it's gonna shift a few times before we catch up to him."

"How far ahead do you figure him to be?" asked Randy. He was all business now: the general mapping out a plan of action, figuring out the troops' dispersal, marshaling supplies.

Lee knelt and took a good look at the tracks. "Not far, a mile ahead at the most. See how heavy the tracks are? He probably just ate, which should slow him up some. The problem is this damn wind. It ain't gonna be easy."

"Well," said Randy, rubbing his hands together as if he were sitting down to a fine meal, "time's awastin'."

Lee didn't answer. He just looked at the two men, then turned and quietly moved off into the forest. Lee decided that if that overstuffed general said that one more time, it would be him that was awastin' instead of time.

Lopez Hummock was still sparkling with morning dew. It made the waxy green leaves shine gemlike against the slick black earth. Everything smelled green. Lee felt the soft, spongy earth under his feet and the wind brushing his face, and relaxed into the joy of movement. He slipped from the cool, sullen part of himself which he reserved for the outside and moved into the special world that he reserved for himself. It was always like that when Lee went hunting. It was when he was most alive. There was a different level of consciousness. He became sensitive to everything around him, like a child. Colors and tastes and smells were more intense and varied. Everything but the woods and the rhythm of movement faded and became muffled. Time was erratic; it expanded and contracted so that Lee could not tell if he had been tracking the bear for a few minutes or a few hours.

Clete, however, could tell almost to the minute how long they'd been groveling through the woods, pulling burrs from their pants and sliding in mud so foul it smelled like the floor of an Army latrine. They'd been at it for a half-hour, and so far as he was concerned, if they didn't find that bear damned quick, he would personally kick that crazy's hick's teeth down his throat. He could see Lee's red shirt through the trees. It seemed to have a life of its own, bobbing up and down, sprinting over logs, and he disliked Lee more than ever for the ease with which he moved.

Up ahead, Rab stopped and howled. It was a piercing, abject, almost human cry. Lee stood perfectly still, listening eagerly to Rab's howls, understanding the meaning of them as if they were spoken in his own tongue. He answered Rab with the hunter's cry, a strange, piercing falsetto that ended in a gasp. The moist air seemed to shudder with it.

"He's spotted him," said Lee. "Be sure and stay back far enough."

"Listen here, you!" snapped Clete.

"Shut up, boy." Randy nudged Clete with his gun butt in warning.

Lee watched Clete for a moment, showing him his best blank stare, then rushed toward the sound of Rab's howls.

Randy and Clete tried to follow as best they could, but the mud kept making them lose their footing. Clete slipped forward, hoping that his rifle was ready, trying to remember if he had done everything he should have but unable to think clearly because of the logs and rocks under his feet.

Lee stopped. Ahead, through the fierce tangle of jungle, he saw the massive, locomotive-shaped bear. The first sight of an animal he was tracking was always a thrill, and this one didn't disappoint him. The bear was big, bigger than most. Its hunched body was like a great black hole cut out of the green forest. It was pacing back and forth with strong, decisive strides, and its fur shone with dew and the effort of movement.

Clete ran up and, seeing the outline of the bear through the trees, aimed his rifle. "Lemme get him."

Lee grabbed the butt and forced it down. "You wouldn't stand a chance from here. Wound a black bear and he's as mean as a grizzly."

Clete turned beet red, but he didn't lift the rifle again.

"What do you suggest?" asked Randy. This was not quite how he'd tell the story back in Coral Gables when all his friends were gaping at the head. In that version, Lee would be asking the general what to do, and the general would be mapping out the strategy. Randy had always been proud of his ability to delegate authority; he figured he could change around the details of the death struggle after the skin was lying snugly in front of the fire.

"We'll circle him. You stay well behind, and I'll signal when you've got the shot."

Lee started inching toward the clearing, but he'd lost the feel of the woods. Something didn't seem right to him; he sensed trouble from the two men. He tried to reassure himself. After all, he'd had dozens of clients as bad as they, some even worse, but still his instinct told him to be on the alert.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw Clete moving up behind him. That idiot didn't trust Lee to give him the first shot. He must want to get Papa real bad. Lee turned to warn him to stay back, but it was too late. Clete tripped over a log and fell to the ground. There was no question that the bear heard him. The startled animal let out a terrified shriek, and, growling angrily, he took off into the forest. He crashed through scrub willows and catkins like a ten-ton bulldozer, leaving behind him a thick swath of destruction.

Randy pulled Clete to his feet. "Asshole," he growled.

"It wasn't my fault."

"Asshole."

Lee remained impassive. "We'll try to follow him," he said as he disappeared into the trees.

Like a complicated sensing device, Lee's body was alive to every nuance of the woods. Broken trees limbs held whole stories for him; he could read an animal's entire life just by looking at him. He was back with his instinct again, and the trail of the bear was as easy to follow as Highway A1A.

Ahead he could see the flash of Rab's tail through the trees. He slowed up, knowing the bear could not be far away. Suddenly, a terrifying, fear-tinged howl cracked through the forest and chilled Lee. It was Rab's warning. The bear had turned.

Lee rushed ahead, circling toward Rab and the bear. He danced over dead logs and leaped huge patches of mud with a surefootedness that was almost unearthly. He checked behind for Randy and Clete, but they were nowhere in sight. Rab howled again. The cry told Lee that Rab was holding the bear.

He stopped. Ahead, through the trees, he could just distinguish the outline of the bear and Rab's brown-and-white body darting back and forth. He'd bayed him. Where the hell were those two, Lee thought. Rab was good, but he couldn't keep the bear indefinitely.

Lee heard the crack of a bullet. There was a terrible roar. It was a cry of pain and fear, and it came from the direction of the bear. Lee knew instantly what it meant. Clete had taken a shot and it was a bad one.

Lee rushed forward toward the clearing. As he was running, he heard another shot. This one split a tree limb.

He stopped at the edge of the clearing. Ahead was the bear. He hadn't seen Lee yet, but Lee had a good view of him. His huge gut was split, and blood poured from it in a thick, angry stream. His eyes were frenzied, and his mouth hung open.

Suddenly the bear reared onto his back legs. He thrashed at the air for a moment, then crashed-back down on all fours and charged. Crazy and careless, throwing off blood like sweat, the bear crashed toward Lee. Rab howled, trying to divert him, but the bear had smelled human, and he knew where the danger lay.

Lee lifted his rifle. With luck, he had time for only one shot. All at once, Rab made a leap for the bear's throat. The bear lunged forward and swiped at him with his enormous paw. It sent Rab flying into the air.

Lee aimed. For one split second, he caught sight of another movement in the slough ahead. Shifting slightly under the surface of the muddy water was a huge black shadow. Suddenly the shadow rose up, and the enormous back of an alligator broke water. His body was as long as three tall men, and so wide it almost filled the entire slough. Lee thought it impossible that anything living could be that big. And then it was gone. It had all happened so quickly that Lee wondered if he had really seen anything, but he knew that he had.

In the next second, Lee fired at the bear. It was good. The bear crumpled to his knees, shuddering violently, then sprang up again. Lee got off another shot. The bear stood up on his hind legs and howled, a long, anguished cry that sounded as if the very life of him were escaping with it. Then he fell forward and crashed to the ground.

Lee approached carefully, but there was no need for precautions; the bear was dead. Flies had already begun to cluster around the carcass.

Ten feet away, the lifeless body of Rab lay in the brush. Lee didn't approach it. Grief was a great hollowness inside him, and he turned away. It was then he heard the wail, a terrible, anguished, almost inhuman cry coming from the forest. He realized that he had forgotten about Clete and Randy. He took one last look at Rab, then headed toward the sound.

Several yards back, in a thicket of scrub willow, Randy was kneeling on the ground. Clete was in his arms, and there was blood all over him. When Randy saw Lee approaching, he pulled a handgun and started yelling hysterically, "Get away. Do you hear me? Get away." He took a shot, just inches from Lee. "Stay away, I said." Hysteria strangled Randy's voice and made it sound very far away.

Lee froze. He tried to keep his voice cool and soothing. "Let me come over and help."

"You see, I thought he was the bear."

"Now, easy, easy, I'm just going to come over..."

"It's too late now!" Randy screamed. "He's dead! Where were you before? It's your fault. You should have been with us." Randy fired again. This time the bullet came so close, it was clear he was a good shot and had just missed Lee on purpose. It gave Lee the feeling that perhaps Randy was more in control than he had thought. "Next shot and I'll kill you!" Randy shrieked. "You want to help? Go back and get the sheriff."

Randy turned back to Clete and began wailing, but he kept glancing back at Lee. There was the wild look of madness in his eyes.

Lee didn't move any closer. He knew there was nothing he could do except go back for help. He began to back up, keeping his eyes on Randy. Clete still hadn't moved, and Lee knew he must be dead.

Lee backed into the trees until he was out of sight, then turned and headed back to town. He played the hunt over and over in his mind. How had it happened? Randy was a good shot, too good to have made that kind of mistake. He knew there was going to be trouble; everything had gone wrong. Rab was dead; poor old Rab was worth ten Cletes, but there hadn't been anything he could do about it. He could still hear Randy screaming after him, and the words seemed to echo through the forest. "What kind of a son of a bitching guide are you, what kind of guide are you?"

Sheriff Thompson was on the take. Everyone knew it, except his wife, who, if she thought about where the money for her new three-speed washer and dryer came from when their bank account was down to $147 and small change, might have been able to figure it out. But Ricky Thompson had been raised by a shrewd mother who shielded her from anything remotely resembling an inquiring mind, thereby insuring her daughter's early marriage and future happiness. So Mrs. Thompson remained in the dark.

Sheriff Thompson was not a deceptive man, though. He readily admitted he was open to all possibilities. He knew taking money was no reflection on his ability to serve, and thought it was completely justified in light of the ridiculously low wages given to public servants who took their lives in their hands every time they stepped out the door. Most of the town agreed with him, and it worked to both Thompson's and the town's advantage. He got his money, and they got low taxes.

Thompson put down his dog-eared copy of
My Gun Is Quick
and leaned back in his swivel chair, lost in thought. Late-afternoon light spilled through the dirty windows into his bleak office with its nicked wood desk and disemboweled easy chair. It lighted on his acne-scarred, round face, making him look something like the man in the moon. Only he wasn't smiling. As a matter of fact, he was doing just the opposite.

Sheriff Thompson's nose was out of joint. He was a man with a clear and unbendable notion of right and wrong. And if there was one thing that rankled his sense of justice, it was that cocky bastard Lee. If he could have proved it, he would have gotten him for contributing to the delinquency of the Clarke girl long ago. He had known right off when that smartass came back from Nam that he'd have trouble out of him, but little had he expected it would be this big. He cleared his clogged sinuses and chewed on the spittle reflectively. "Ain't nothin' easy," he complained to himself.

The sheriff looked over at the one and only jail cell. He could see Lee sitting on the bed, staring out into space, and the sight made him wince. The bastard still had that cocky sneer on his face. Jesus, he thought, but wouldn't he give a month of Sunday dinners to be the one to wipe it off. It occurred to him that if he could provoke Lee into a fight, he could get his licks in subduing him. He smiled at the thought and called over to Lee, "Well, Mr. Smartass, you really done it this time, didn't you?"