Shit, shit, shit!
I paddle urgently over to the place where the two went down and brandish the heavy oar over my shoulder like a baseball bat, ready to strike.
It must have dragged him into deeper waters, because I can’t see any sign of either of them. I turn my head frantically in every direction, hoping to catch a glimpse, but there is no movement in the water, no thrashing, no air bubbles . . .
No air bubbles.
My heart falls into my stomach. How long has he been under? How long did it take me to get over here? Two minutes? Three minutes?
Damn it, show yourself! I will him to come back up . . . alive.
The longer my eyes glide over the surface of the water, the more I realize the man is dead.
Why? Why would he do that? Why would he die for me?
Miguel’s dogs’ noisy approach cutting through the silence of the late night hour ignites my adrenaline—I have to run!
I know I have to run. I want to run! But I hold myself—force myself—to keep still and rock solid.
Wait just a few more seconds.
Still nothing.
I lower my eyes, distraught and despairing, waiting for his headless or armless body to come floating to the surface like they do in movies.
HOLY FUCK! The two bust up the through the sheet of nearly black water so close they slam into the side of the weathered wooden rowboat I’m standing in.
The blow throws me back, and I fall hard to my ass in the bottom of the old boat. The entire thing rocks, and I’m terrified it’s going to capsize in their wake.
I scramble up to my knees and peer over the edge. The two of them are embroiled in a death match.
Water sprays as the gator thrashes and throws the weight of his body against the man, who gets knocked to the gator’s side. It opens its massive mouth, and a primordial, growling hiss that sends chills coursing over my flesh rolls through its lungs—a warning and a promise.
The man swims backward, as if to give the gator space. Space and room to swim away, maybe?
It doesn’t work—the gator cuts through the water with a snakelike slither—Jesus, it’s fast! His mammoth jaws open wide as he charges.
The guy cocks his fist back, surges his body to the left and drives the punch to the side of the gator’s eye.
It pulls away from him and twists its tail ferociously, shoving the guy backwards. That’s when I reach out and jab the creature in the back with the end of the oar.
The guy looks up from the gator for just a second, an expression of shocked disbelief painted on his face.
I hit the gator again before it slides away from me and back towards the guy.
Was that for nothing!? I was trying to help him, and all I did was succeed in making the thing madder!
That’s when the guy smiles over at me. Literally!! Like he’s not fighting a thirteen foot alligator in deep muddy water. It’s almost like . . . he’s flirting!
THEN HE WINKS! As he slips back down under the mud, he lets the water swallow him whole.
My heart is palpitating as the animal slides over the spot where the man was and should be.
I can’t breathe. He’s going to die. He’s going to die! Why the FUCK was he smiling and winking before he went to go die!?
Panicked, I row closer. Maybe if I can get right on top of it, I can hit it harder. Or maybe it’ll take a bite of this decrepit hundred-year-old rowboat then eat me.
But I have to try.
They both spring up at the same time, but this time the guy has his right hand in the crease at the bottom of the alligator’s jaw. He holds it up and away from him as his left hand reaches over and clamps over the top of the gator’s snout to actually hold its mouth closed! If that isn’t enough, he leaps onto the thing’s back and deftly wraps the black bandana that had been on his neck around the alligator’s muzzle, then just holds the head back and floats there calmly—like it’s a fucking magic trick.
“You okay now?” he says to the creature. “I’m going to let you go now, nice and easy, but you’ve got to stop being an asshole.”
I feel my jaw drop and eyes widen at the scene in front of me.
He pushes the creature, which looks like a freaking dinosaur, gently out of his way before swimming over to me and carefully climbing over the side onto the boat.
“Are you alright?” he asks me. Like he was worried about me while tackling a man-eating reptile.
Why would he even care?
“Farrington?” he presses when I don’t respond the first time.
“Why did you push me out of the way? Why? Why would you put yourself at death’s door to keep me alive?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, all serious. Then, before I can answer, he smiles cockily and asks, “Why did you come back to help me?”
I don’t know what to say.
Waiting impatiently, he prods, “Well?”
“I don’t know . . . and, oh my God . . . you were flirting with me!”