The moment I reached the edge of the house, a man sprang from just out of my sight and plowed into me. He was short, but strong and powerfully built. He knocked the air from my lungs, slamming me hard onto my side. His momentum caused us both to roll. He reached for my neck and yelled, but I held him back as our bodies spun in a dark, chaotic blur.
Just as I was about to force him off and pin him down, I spotted a black void just ahead of us. It was the edge of the pit. The deep concrete abyss filled with hungry alligators.
Before either of us could stop ourselves, we both flew over the edge. The man yelled in my grasp as we free fell the ten-foot drop, wind whipping past us and darkness swallowing us whole. We landed hard on our sides, splashing into knee-deep water and pounding into the hard pavement.
I grunted as pain shot up from my hip and left elbow. Both dazed from the blow, we fought to get our bearings and reengage. My M4 was long gone, having been ripped free from my grasp before I rolled over the edge. Ignoring the splashing of scurrying alligators on the other side of the pit, I lunged for the young man as he withdrew a handgun from his hip. Holding him tight at the wrists, I forced the weapon away from me. He clenched his teeth, then yelled out and pulled the trigger, shooting a series of rounds straight in the air. My eardrums screamed in pain and rang from the blasts. Squeezing tighter, I adjusted my position and slammed his hands down. Twisting and using my right leg for leverage, I snapped his right wrist with a powerful jerk.
His screaming became maniacal as the weapon splashed free.
Holding him down with his face barely above the dark, murky water, I pounded him with a series of knuckled punches to his face and the side of his head. Blood poured out from his nose and mouth, and his head dropped back.
I let go of him, turning around just in time to see the dark outline of a massive gator thrashing toward me.
My primal instincts kicked in. I still had my Sig holstered at my side, but a beast of that size would take a hell of a lot of 9mm rounds to take down.
I jumped to my feet and darted for the edge of the pit. My boots splashing, I jumped as high as I could and grabbed the top edge. My fingers fought for traction, but the metal edging was slippery and angled toward me. With the sounds of the approaching gator getting dangerously loud at my back, I struggled with everything I had to get myself out of there.
Just as I thought it was over, that I’d be forced to drop down and try and subdue the prehistoric predator with a well-placed shot, a hand appeared from around the edge. It was Jason. He grabbed hold of my wrist, leveraged his body back, and pulled with all his strength. I jerked up high enough to plant my free hand on the corner and yank my body up the rest of the way. Just as my feet cleared the pit, the massive beast’s powerful jaws snapped, chomping down on nothing but air.
I scooted up the rest of the way and twisted into a crouching position.
“Damn good timing,” I said between labored breaths. I wiped the water from my face.
“I wanted to wait just long enough to make it dramatic,” he said.
Our attention was drawn instantly to the sound of painful cries coming from the dark pit below. We couldn’t see much through the blackness, but we saw enough. The wild thrashing of gators, and the man’s body being torn to pieces in the middle of the frenzy.
Jason froze suddenly, then placed a finger to his earpiece and looked toward the garage fifty yards east of the main structure. I’d lost my radio somewhere in the scuffle, so I placed a hand on his shoulder and pointed at my empty ear.
“It’s Lynch,” Jason said, listening carefully. “Scott says he ran into the garage.”
We both stood. I withdrew my Sig and stormed toward the building. When Jason followed, I turned and waved him off.
“Check the main structure,” I said. “There could be more of them.”
“But what about Lynch?” Jason said.
I continued forward, my eyes boring holes into my target destination. “I’ll deal with him.”
FORTY-SIX
I slowed as I approached the garage. It was much smaller than the main structure. Metal-sided and missing part of its roof, it was dark and had a gloomy vibe. The side door was cracked open, but not enough for me to slip through. I grabbed the metal frame and hinged it just enough to peek through.
It was dark inside as well, just a single dim light on the opposite side of the open space. There was a row of three parked vehicles taking up most of the interior. Two were vintage and in terrible shape. The third and farthest one from me looked like a box truck, though it was hard to tell from that angle through the cords and cables that hung from the rafters. Old dusty workbenches filled with various tools lined the back side of the space. I spotted the skiff we’d seen back in Jones Lagoon resting on the floor near the workbench. The one with the tracker that had led us to their location.
I squeaked the door farther open slowly, kept my Sig raised, and stepped inside, water dripping from my soaked clothes. Halfway across, I heard sounds coming from the other side of the truck. As I stepped closer, I saw that the roll-up door at the
