Crocs, page 8
Maribel didn’t see it happen. She was sprinting toward the dock. The little green boat had been flooded and was bucking like a horse as waves continued to hammer the shore.
With a sound like a gunshot—KER-WHACK!—the mooring ropes snapped. The little boat was slammed against the pilings, then bobbed free into the bay. The girl skidded to a stop at the end of the dock. She hesitated, then jumped into the drifting boat—something no expert captain should ever do.
Maribel landed in water up to her calves. The boat was sinking. A couple of orange life jackets and a wooden oar were already floating away. Jammed beneath a seat was a plastic bailing bucket. She grabbed the bucket and began shoveling water out as fast as she could. When another big wave washed over the side, the girl knew that bailing was useless.
There was only one way to keep the boat afloat. It was risky, but she had no choice. Maribel sloshed her way aft to the little outboard motor. She primed the fuel hose, opened the choke, and gave the starter cord a mighty pull.
Amazingly, the engine started.
Next came the risky part. Most boats had a drainage hole in the rear deck called a scupper. The hole was sealed with a brass plug to keep water from seeping into the hull. If the plug got loose or fell out, the boat would flood.
But the scupper was there for a reason. Maribel had the courage to try what Captain Hannah had taught them to do in an emergency like this. She knelt and felt around blindly. When her fingers found the scupper plug, she yanked it out.
Immediately, water began to boil into the hull. Within a few seconds, the boat would sink.
The race was on.
Maribel plopped down beside the motor. She clanked the engine into gear and twisted the throttle. The little boat tilted dangerously as water sloshed to the back. She twisted the throttle harder and the boat began to gain speed. Slowly, slowly at first, then faster.
The girl glanced down and confirmed that the water was now rushing to escape through the scupper hole. She increased speed and began to steer in wide, smooth circles. This caused the water to drain faster. Soon the boat was skipping across the surface.
When all the hull was drained, Maribel sealed the hole with the brass plug. She slowed to idle speed and recovered the missing life jackets and paddle.
“Hooray for you!” Captain Pony called to her from shore. “Maribel, you are the finest young captain I’ve seen in many a year. You can use my boat anytime you want. I never told a person that before.”
Pleased by the compliment, the girl turned toward the beach and smiled—until she saw that the old fishing guide had been hurt by her fall. The woman was lying on her side, unable to get to her feet.
Luke was kneeling beside her. “She won’t let us call an ambulance,” he hollered. “Sabina went to phone Doc and Hannah for help. The police should arrest that crock-of-manure.”
The sleek cabin cruiser had stopped on its way back to the big concrete house. Maribel could see the driver now. It was the same man who had yelled threats about killing Carlos and feeding the goose to a snake.
The man’s broad face pivoted from Pony, who was lying on the sand, to Maribel. He pumped his fist as if celebrating a victory, then sped away.
He was laughing.
FOURTEEN
A WITCH’S MASK AND HEAVY FOG
On Thursday afternoon they visited Pony in the hospital. She had hurt her head and would be there for a couple of days.
“Would it be okay if the kids stayed at my place over the weekend?” the woman asked Hannah, who had driven them in her SUV. “Doctor says I should be on my feet again after they take more X-rays and such. My chickens and livestock need lookin’ after.”
Hannah agreed they would all help.
On Friday morning, the wind changed. The temperature dropped. By late afternoon, the warm water of Dinkins Bay was covered with a drifting silver mist.
Doc summoned the kids to his lab. “I know you plan on camping tonight,” he said, “but you can’t take a rental boat. Too dangerous. The forecast calls for heavy fog. So why not just stay home? If the fog lifts, you can camp out tomorrow night.”
“But Pony’s counting on us,” Sabina protested. “We’ve already got our tent set up and everything. Who’s going to feed the chickens in the morning and her stupid goose if we’re not there?”
Luke, who seldom complained, reminded the biologist, “The marina’s Halloween party is tomorrow and we have school on Monday. That would only give us one night. And her house is close to here even without a boat.”
The biologist cared about the old fishing guide. That was obvious.
“You win,” he said, smiling. “Throw your bikes and gear in the back of my truck. I’ll drive you to Pony’s place now. If you have any kind of trouble, you can ride your bikes home. Or I can be there in ten minutes.”
* * *
The animals had been fed. Carlos, the goose, had been herded into her pen—after chasing Sabina around the yard and snapping at her backside. Even Maribel had laughed because Sabina was wearing the black hooded robe and witch’s mask she’d bought for Halloween. The mask was horrid—with warts and fangs, and skin like rubbery green cheese.
It was a ridiculous sight to see.
“I hate that goose,” the girl complained. By then she’d stored the mask in her backpack. “I don’t know who is worse—Carlos, or Pony’s skunk-in-the-weeds neighbor. The police should have arrested that mean man.”
“He told them it never happened,” Maribel reminded her sister. “We didn’t have proof.”
“The guy lied,” Luke said. “He tried to sink Pony’s boat on purpose. Next time, we should take video.”
The sun had just set. They sat by a smudge fire on the beach in front of Pony’s house. Nearby was a blue tent shaped like a mushroom. Hannah had helped them set it up yesterday after their visit to the hospital. Doc had loaned Luke what he called a “jungle hammock.” The hammock was strung between two coconut palms beneath a tunnel of bug netting.
The biologist had just pulled away in his truck. The kids liked Doc, but it was nice to finally be alone in this private spot on the bay. The fire popped and crackled. Sparks soared toward a cloud that drifted, shadowlike, across the bay.
“That’s a fog bank coming, I think,” Maribel said. “Just like Doc predicted. We should cook dinner while we can still see without flashlights. The moon won’t be up until late. And we need to store dry clothes and blankets and stuff in the tent because of the fog. It’ll soak everything like rain.”
They had already buried three sweet potatoes in the fire. On the picnic table were vegetables from the garden. Luke sliced yellow squash and a couple of green tomatoes into an iron skillet. Sabina insisted on adding a chili pepper, and chunks of cactus and onions. A container of brown rice, already cooked, had been brought from home.
“Tomorrow morning we’ll have time to catch some fish,” the boy said, placing the skillet on the fire. “Or we can wade around and find a clam bed. I’ve never eaten steamed clams. That might be good. Or oysters. Pony said it’s best to collect oysters at low tide.”
“Just vegetables and rice are enough for me—as long as it’s spicy,” Sabina responded. She swatted a mosquito near her eye. A moment later, she jumped up and sputtered a string of words in Spanish.
Luke grinned. His Spanish was improving.
“Stop swearing,” Maribel warned. “What’s wrong?”
“Ay-ay-ay!” the girl responded. She was walking in circles, still wearing her hooded witch’s robe. “My eye burns like it’s on fire.”
“Because of those little red bird peppers you picked,” Luke told her. “You didn’t wash your hands after cutting them up.” He got to his feet. “Let’s go inside the house. Maybe Pony has some milk in the fridge.”
“Stop laughing, farm boy,” Sabina said. “I’m not thirsty. My eye’s on fire.”
Luke shared what he’d been taught in gardening class: milk was better than water when it came to treating the sting of a chili pepper. “If there’s no milk,” he added, “you need to wash your eye out in the sink. Especially after handling bird peppers. Man, those little stinkers are hot.”
“You and that stupid 4-H club,” the girl responded. “Like you know everything. Get out of my way.”
She trotted across the yard into the house.
Maribel was right about the cloud drifting toward them. It was a wall of fog. The last orange streaks of sunset vanished behind a dripping haze that swept across the beach. The temperature dropped.
From where Luke sat, he could see Pony’s dock and little boat. They disappeared, too, when the wind died. Fog settled around them in the darkness and formed a silver dome over the campfire. It was like being inside a cave.
From the direction of the house, Sabina called, “Where’d everybody go? Are you still there?” She’d been gone for several minutes.
A flashlight stabbed the darkness. Like a Jedi sword, a white beam attempted to hack its way through the mist. The flashlight blinked off. Muttering, the girl stepped into the circle created by the fire. She took a seat between Maribel and Luke.
“I’ve never seen fog this thick,” she said. “A flashlight just makes it worse. I’d hate to be out in a boat on a night like this. Doc was right.”
In her hand was an old hardback book.
“Look what I found. It’s the book Pony told us about.” She flipped through a few pages. “Here’s a drawing of the gold medallion. And a bunch of other stuff made by the Calusa people.”
Maribel frowned. “You didn’t go snooping through her house, did you?”
“Just a few drawers and shelves,” the girl replied. She had opened the book. “We were told to make ourselves at home. I found some other interesting stuff, too.”
“Like what?”
“Wait until Pony gets back,” the girl replied. “I’ll show you then—if Pony gives me permission.”
They scooted their chairs closer to the fire. The skillet bubbled on a bed of coals. Wood smoke was scented by the simmering stew of onions, vegetables, and rice.
Maribel passed the book to Luke. “Here it is,” she said, referring to a strange drawing that filled half a page.
The boy wasn’t sure what a medallion was. To him the object looked more like a small wood carving. It was shaped sort of like the head of an alligator.
“Or a crocodile,” Sabina suggested. “Don’t those look like fangs?”
“More like teardrops,” Maribel said. “Those little square holes could be eyes. Isn’t there a saying about crocodile tears?”
Luke had never heard of that before. Above what might be a crocodile’s eyes were circles within a circle. At first he thought of a target at a gun range. Then he had another idea. “When the moon is full, I’ve seen circles around it sort of like that.” He glanced up at a smear of gray that might have been the moon. Or was it reflected light from the fire? “Doc told me the circles were caused by ice crystals way up in the sky.”
There were other drawings and photos in the book—including one of a seashell horn that looked a lot like the one Captain Pony had found. It was large, bone white, with knobs like a crown.
This gave them something to talk about while they ate. The stew and the sweet potatoes, topped with fresh butter, were delicious. For dessert, they skinned another pineapple and roasted it on a stick.
After the dishes were done, wood was added to the fire. The kids kept their voices low. Fog magnified every small sound. In the mangroves, sleepy birds squabbled. The distant strumming of a guitar reached them from the marina. A tinkle of laughter floated across the bay, then vanished in mist.
Sabina and Maribel wondered if it was their mother having fun. Suddenly the girls felt lonely. The marina was so close, yet their home seemed as distant as the invisible stars above.
They stayed up late. Maribel phoned Hannah with a final check-in. Luke was the last to go to bed. He climbed into the jungle hammock and zipped the netting closed. His hearing, which was always good, became radar-like in the midnight silence. Water dripped. Slow waves washed the beach as if the bay were breathing.
The boy drifted off to sleep. Hours later, he was jolted awake by the clatter of a small boat starting. Eyes open, ears alert, he tracked the boat to an area near Bonefield Key.
The engine went off. Several minutes passed. The noises Pony had warned them about began. He heard what might have been the cries of a baby animal. Then grunts and groans, and the faint howling of a dog.
To the boy, the noises sounded fake, as if played through a speaker.
Next came the screech of a shovel striking seashells. It went on for a while. Not loud. But loud enough to alert Carlos. The goose responded with angry honks and whistles.
Luke pulled his pants on and grabbed his backpack. He swung out of the hammock and laced his boots. Overhead, the moon broke through a hole in the fog. The sky was on fire with blue light.
Sabina and Maribel were standing outside their tent, fully dressed. Each girl had a blanket around her shoulders. The noises had awoken them, too.
“I bet it’s that skunk-in-the-weeds neighbor,” Sabina whispered. “Could be he’s at the Bone Tunnel digging up Periwinkle’s grave—and I know why. He’s looking for the gold medallion. We’ve got to stop him.”
“Bonefield Key,” Maribel corrected in a whisper. “We can’t. It’s five thirty in the morning. Too early to call Doc or Hannah. Besides, we don’t have a boat.”
“Yes, we do,” her sister argued. “Pony said you could use her boat anytime. We all heard her. This time we’ll take the video camera and get evidence. Unless you’re scared.”
“I’m just trying to follow the rules,” Maribel replied. She turned to Luke for his opinion.
“Nothing to be scared of,” Luke said. “Those animal noises are bogus, I’m pretty sure. In Ohio, hunters use these little electronic gadgets called game callers. Like amplifiers in a waterproof can. The hunters operate the sounds from their phones—all kinds of animal calls. I think the guy’s just trying to upset Pony. He doesn’t know she’s not here.”
Before they could discuss it, the goose came charging through the fog. Carlos had escaped from her pen. Honking, the angry bird flapped off in the direction of Bonefield Key. She disappeared into the fog.
“Oh no!” Sabina gasped. “The man will kill Carlos if she bites him again. We’ve got no choice now. We’ve got to follow her.”
For Maribel, it was not an easy decision. But when the goose’s distant honks became a series of panicked squawks, she panicked, too. “Okay. Everyone get your life jackets on. Grab your backpacks, too—and make sure you have a flashlight. Luke, do you have the first-aid kit?
Luke shouldered his bag. “A whole survival kit. I’ll get the boat ready.”
FIFTEEN
CROCODILE POACHERS ESCAPE
The motor on Pony’s boat was too loud, so they used the oars to row in what they hoped was the direction of Bonefield Key. Fog swirled. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. Behind them, the light of their campfire disappeared after only a few strokes.
Maribel had a terrible feeling in her stomach. It was like being a thousand feet up in the sky, floating through a cloud in an airplane. She gave up gave up and let the boat drift.
“I have no idea where we are,” she whispered. “I’m not even sure how to get back to our camp. This is dangerous.”
The echoing growl of a crocodile startled them all. It seemed to come from the left, not far away. The goose added a few pathetic squawks.
“Over there,” Luke said. He had his hands cupped to his eyes. “I see lights. You don’t hear voices?”
Sabina was bundled up in her witch’s cloak. She pushed the hood aside. It was irritating that the boy could see and hear what she couldn’t. “I think I do,” she lied. “Which way? I’m worried about that stupid goose.”
The boy pointed.
Maribel turned the boat slightly and resumed rowing quietly. She was careful not to bang the oars or let them slap the water.
Through the fog, a circle of dark poles appeared. They might have been an ancient temple. Maribel held her breath until she remembered that an old shack had once been here.
Bones Gate, the locals had named the circle of dangerous pilings.
A black ledge emerged. It was a mangrove shoreline. After a few cautious strokes, Maribel allowed the boat to glide in silence. Tidal current pushed them toward an object that loomed ahead. It was tall, curved like the neck of a dinosaur.
“A dead tree,” Luke whispered. He got up, his stance wide, ready for a jolt. Their little boat crunched onto shallow oyster shells. He got an arm around the tree. The boat swung sideways into an opening.
“Now do you see the light?” he asked, barely moving his lips.
Yes, they did. An underwater spotlight illuminated a circle of water that boiled with fog. It took a moment before Maribel recognized where they were. It was same little pond where they had seen the crocodile days before. The oranges and the shell mound they had found were on the opposite side of this tiny island.
A strangely shaped boat appeared from the mist. It was flat and long. On the console glowed the screen of an electronic GPS chart. The silhouette of a man stood on the stern. He steered by using a long pole. He was huge, broad-shouldered—probably Pony’s neighbor. Another shadow person controlled the bright underwater spotlight. The light created a circle of green that probed ahead of the strange boat.
The neighbor’s gruff voice demanded, “Where’d the freakin’ thing go? Turn the game caller on again. Volume loud this time.”
“Don’t rush me,” the other man said. “I can only do one thing at a time, Leon.”
Leon. That had to be the name of Pony’s new neighbor.
Luke had been right about the bogus noises. There was a sudden electronic whuff of a crocodile, then a rumbling growl. Next came the tweeting gunk-gulp-purr cries of baby crocs.
