Swamp Monster Massacre Read Online Free PDF Page B

direction.  
    The pilot adjusted his cap and gingerly put it back on his head. He looked left and right and sucked in hard through his teeth a few times. Finally, he said, “Man’s right. I count at least a dozen nests just around us. No telling how many more are in spots I can’t see.”
    Rooster snapped his fingers. “Okay, now that you all got a second opinion from the good pilot, I say you get your asses moving.”
    And move their asses did.  
    The girls patched up the other lady, then helped get her husband to his feet and gave him some Tylenol. The two-handed Jersey Shore was fine, except for the limp, and the little guy looked like he had just come out of the dentist and forgotten to pay the doc for his dentures.  
    The swarthy pilot noisily lumbered all throughout the demolished boat, ransacking every nook and cranny for supplies and things to carry them in. His head disappeared below the stern line and he got real quiet. Rooster was about to check on him, make sure he wasn’t getting any funny ideas, when the blonde girl whose hair had been chopped off on the right side of her head asked him if he needed any medical attention. Her sister was luckier, the blades having given her a more even cut that made her look like a punk rocker.  
    “Nothing that kit can help me with,” he said, feeling the burn of his ribs.  
    She gave a slight grin, casting her gaze downward, and walked away.  
    When they were done with everyone else, the girls went to the other guido, who was the worst for wear of the bunch. From the wet way he was breathing, it sounded like he had some internal bleeding. The rest went to the boat and put what supplies they could find into an old net and some shopping bags.  
    “How much water we got?” Rooster asked.  
    “Not a lot,” the middle-aged guy said. He had his arm around his wife, whether to hold himself up or console her was anyone’s guess. “There’s six bottles of water, two bottles of Gatorade and three sodas.”
    We’re fucked , Rooster thought. Heat like this, dehydration was going to be on them quicker than a fart through an asshole.  
    The pilot walked over to him. He had an old gunny sack over one shoulder and was holding a black plastic case. He said, “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me send up some flares.”
    Rooster shook his head. “Can’t let that happen…yet. Why don’t you hand them over before temptation gets the better of you?”
    He held out his hand. The pilot thought long and hard about it, but finally slumped his shoulders and gave him the case. Rooster was glad he had come to him and asked, rather than sending one off and forcing him to put a few of these new bullets in his head.  
    The pilot was about to walk back to the group, paused, and said low enough for no one else to hear, “You see any sign of that monkey we run over when we came to ground?”
    Rooster’s first instinct was to laugh, but the man was dead serious. That head injury must have really scrambled his brains.  
    “What the hell are you talking about, some monkey ? There’s ain’t no monkeys in the Glades.”
    “That’s what I thought, but I saw it clear as day and even felt the boat thump it when we went over it.” He looked toward the water and pointed. “In fact, I think it was standing right there.”
    Rooster patted his back with enough force to send him back to the others.  
    “Don’t you go worrying about no monkeys. We got bigger problems, Mac. Why don’t you help the girls get that kid on his feet?”
    Fucking monkeys. Wait until thirst started settling in. The rest of them would be seeing flying giraffes and talking hippos before this day was done.  
    He watched everyone work together in silence, occasionally stealing glances his way. When he yawned, a family of mosquitoes got sucked in by the backdraft and lodged in his throat. His lungs went into instant convulsions and he coughed to beat the band. Stooped over, he hacked as hard as he could to