Finally, Dee stopped. He had found what he was looking for, an access point to the surface, a manhole with a rusty metal ladder bolted to the circular magnicrete wall that rose up probably ten or more feet to a metal cover … and whatever waited on the other side.
Dee was already scaling the ladder, moving with the agility of a man half his age. That Dee had once been an All-Zone wide receiver for Admiral Shepherd here in town had been common knowledge among the spacers of their day, but two bad knees had doomed his college career, and he’d opted for rocket jockeying. Still, the man kept himself in pretty damned good shape. He scampered up that creaky old ladder like a kid on a playground climbing on the monkey bars.
Tiger watched as he reached the top and pushed gently on the manhole cover. It didn’t move at first, and he had to step up and put a shoulder to it. A good push broke the rusty, crusty seal of the years of sediment. He gingerly slid it over and raised his mask, cautiously craning his neck for an above-grade peek.
The coast was clear, and Dee crawled out into the chilly, spring southern night. Now that he was off the rickety ladder, Tiger felt it safe enough to put his weight on the thing and began climbing.
Yeah, things were looking up! He could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. And it was about damned time!
As he started up, something out of the corner of his left eye distracted him, and he turned. At first, it was nothing more than a dark shadow moving in the water, long and thick and moving fast …. right at him!
What the fu—? Puzzled, he reached and pressed the button on the spotlight mounted on the side of the mask at his temple. The harsh white light of the True-Brite diodes pierced the dark waters like a knife cutting through rancid meat, going all the way to the bone with no resistance at all. And what it illuminated caused Tiger’s eyes to bulge in shock and fear.
The American Alligator had never been indigenous to the Tennessee River Valley region of North Alabama until the 2070s or ’80s. Global warming and climate change had allowed these cold-blooded reptiles to expand their range increasingly northward. Now, they were a common sight in rivers and ponds as far up as what once had been Southern Tennessee.
This one was a big one, maybe fourteen, fifteen feet. Tiger didn’t know … didn’t care! Broad, thick and dark, it looked like a nuclear sub coming down the pipe toward him. He couldn’t see it, with the beast coming at him straight on, but he knew its powerful tail was propelling it through the water, its four legs tucked in against the body to reduce resistance. It was an underwater killing machine, and it had supper in its sights.
He scrambled for the ladder, knowing he wasn’t going to make it. Still, he had to try! If the gator got him down inside the pipe, there was nowhere to go. It would death roll and drown him before Dee would even miss him.
He made it entirely out of the water before the gator’s jaws burst through the surface, a horrible “V” of jagged teeth coming at him with lightning speed. Instinctively, Tiger pulled up on the rung just above his head with his hands, pulling his legs up into the fetal position just a hair’s breadth before those massive jaws slammed shut on the empty air his limbs had just vacated. It sounded like a gunshot inside the manhole as the two jaws came together with unbelievable force. The reptile’s weight and momentum took it hard into the magnicrete wall and ladder before it fell back into the water. The jolt shook the ladder, causing Tiger to lose his grip and almost fall back into the pipe with the scaly beast. Eyes huge with fear and panic, he was somehow able to hang on with his right hand as his body dangled like bait now, almost taunting the animal. Tiger caught a glimpse of those unfeeling, cold eyes. He knew it was preparing for another lunge at his prey. It was sizing him up, judging the distance. A big bull like this one could jump from a stationary position six or eight feet easy. The first jump had been impulse; this one would he would have his aim. Hanging precariously from one hand now, Tiger struggled frantically to get a foothold again on the slippery ladder and get higher before he ended up stuffed under a log somewhere on the river bottom, time and decay tenderizing his meat for the old boy.
In his mind, he ticked off the microseconds until the gator gathered itself and made the lunge. He had both hands on the ladder now. But it was wobbly. The weight of the gator slamming against it must have loosened the old, rusty bolts securing it to the wall. He hoped it would hold long enough for him to get out. His foot found a rung, slipped off, found it again. Underneath him, he heard a massive displacement of water and knew the bull was coming for him. He turned to see it coming and knew it would get him this time. It would get something! A foot. A leg! Both legs! If it got a good enough bite, it could very well rip
