I was drowning. I had to act fast or this would be the uncanny
end of Eli McMorn.
Moments before, I’d been chased off the high bluff at the
western edge of the Claiborne Sinks by a strange entity with a deadly lantern
and a giant spectral hound. I hit the surface of the ancient river hard, like
someone pushed from a helicopter onto the unforgiving surface of a paved parking
lot. It’s a miracle that I didn’t black out on impact.
Hours and hours before, Claiborne Police Sgt. Bill Friemann placed
me in steel handcuffs because he suspected that I had something to do with the disappearance
of Prof. Albert Gruner. The dead officer’s decision to cuff my wrists to the
front saved my life. If he’d cuffed me behind the back, someone else would be
telling this story.
The Alabama River was deep at the bottom of the high bluff, and
my momentum carried me far beneath the surface of the dark water. Muddy, foamed
water filled my nose, and I had to fight the instinctive urge to gag and cough.
My descent slowed after a few seconds, and I felt the river’s current pull me
south towards downtown Claiborne.
I still held the strap of my backpack and the dead policeman’s
bundle of filthy clothes. I hoped that the handcuff keys were somewhere in his
pants or shirt. Loose change and a red pocketknife fell out of his pants when I
ran through the woods, but I hoped that the keys were somehow still there. My
life depended on it.
My boots grew heavy, and they pulled me down like a magnet
towards the river’s black bottom. My mind raced. Should I undo the complicated
laces to my boots and kick them off? Time was short. It seemed hopeless. I had to
reach the surface and hold on to the bundle.
Suddenly and without warning, something large and alive rammed
hard against me in the water. A wide swath of rough, knobby hide brushed along
my upper arms and chest. It was a large alligator. I must have fallen nearly right
on top of him from the bluff.
Panic welled up inside me. Adrenaline dumped into my veins. The
backpack’s strap slip through my fingers. In my mind’s eye, I pictured it
spiral down and away beneath my feet. It would take me a while to replace all
the ghost-hunting gear that it contained. Most of it was no doubt ruined by the
night’s events anyway.
It was impossible to see, but I swear I could feel the water
churn as the huge gator spun hard to make another pass at me. There is no such
thing as a nice alligator, and I knew he was returning for what he thought
would be an easy meal. I had to act fast if I hoped to see the sun rise.
My heart rammed in my chest as my mind wavered from lack of
oxygen. I had been underwater for just over a minute, but it felt much, much
longer. I craned my neck toward the surface to see if it was close and that was
when I felt the gator’s powerful jaws close on my lower right leg. As the maneater
pulled me down, two words passed through my mind like a curse: death roll.
(All rights reserved. This
story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are
products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely
coincidental.)
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