"Get them." Before Marini could say more, Abe launched himself into the Venetian waters.
As ever, he relished those first few seconds of immersion. He breathed in deep, aware of the tang of pollution in the water but enjoying the feeling of his gills opening and closing. This was really breathing. The water was murky and filled with muck, but no more so than the air up there. This muck was more visible, that was all. He kicked out and started swimming.
He could hear the sounds of the alligator attack. The human screams were muffled but louder than they had been above water. There were more than one. He could hear the frantic kicking and slapping at the water's surface as people tried to swim away and the calmer, more contented thump, thump of the alligator's great tail. Abe could also sense the grind of its jaws and the crunch of bones, and that was not good news. Lets hope this one isn't an ambassadors niece, he thought, but immediately berated himself. He'd been claiming for years that Hellboy's dry humor was rubbing off on him.
Abe struck out for the alligator. He kicked with his feet, pushed with his hands, slid through the water. Instinct steered him when sight could not; there was only a vague glow of daylight above him, and below and to the side the water was cloudy with oil and filth. He could barely see his hands when they swept out in front of him.
Instinct also judged his distance, and when he thought he was close to the tumult — the sounds were louder, the vibrations of violence stronger in the water — he surfaced.
He looked ahead first. The alligator was still propped on the side of the barge — good for him, bad for the tourists. The monster's small front legs were hooked over the gunwale, its weight tipping the vessel and making its remaining occupants slide toward its thrashing jaws. Blood smeared the deck. A few rags hung from the lizard's fist-sized teeth, the only remnants of the woman Abe had heard screaming from the shore. He turned in the water. Detective Marini was already jumping into the launch with his two staring officers, all three carrying something big and gray and nasty-looking.
Good. Abe would only have to keep this thing occupied for a couple of minutes, at most.
He ducked under and swam deep, passing beneath the alligator's swaying tail and hindquarters and pausing underneath the barge for a few seconds to check the situation. To his left Abe could see the dangling legs of the tourists who had flung themselves into the water. They hung there as if embedded in the lagoons pale gray ceiling, some of them swimming away, many more simply doing their best to tread water. One or two were in trouble, but others seemed to be helping them for now. Abe's main concern was to his right: the staggering bulk of the alligator.
Its stomach was as wide as most creatures of this sort were long. Its rear legs were as long as a man was tall and tipped with claws that could rip Abe to shreds. Its hide was warty and thick, and Abe had no idea just what he could do to draw its attention.
Something scratched his foot. Abe looked down, and for once he gave thanks for humans' disregard for their environment. An old bicycle, wheelless and rusted, protruded from the lagoon bed beneath him. Death by bike, he thought, and the words were in his old red friend's voice. Abe could already imagine the conversation they would have over this one.
He could hear the buzz of the police launch approaching now. The alligator, consumed by its feeding frenzy, appeared not to have heard, and Abe wanted to keep it that way. He grabbed the bike, kicked away from the lagoon bed, and gave thanks when it plopped from the silt. No time to think. He turned and kicked out for the lizard, metal frame held out in front of him, rusted ragged and sharp, and a second before he struck the beast, Abe thought, Not enough momentum, won't even scratch it.