End of another day in paradise. The atmospheric conditions were Serge’s favorite. Cirrus clouds refracted the setting sun into chromatic brilliance, while a distant storm front sent flaming shafts across some of the most wide-open ranch and wetlands in all of central Florida. Nearer to his vantage, waning light peeked through palms and danced off a tiny nest of silver mobile homes.
Serge and Coleman had binoculars. Serge scanned the horizon. Coleman uncapped an eyepiece on his nonfunctioning pair and swigged from the hidden flask inside. Serge panned to the south. “Absolutely beautiful. I can never get enough of the lake.”
“Lake?” said Coleman. “Thought that was the ocean.” “Coleman, we’re in the middle of the state.” “Are you sure? I can’t see the other side.”
“Because it’s Lake Okeechobee. Big Water in the Native-American tongue.”
“What’s that smell?”
“Baked muck. Never seen the lake level so low.” Binoculars panned the eastern shore. “Down at least eight feet from the drought, killing the local sportsmen economy. Probably finding all kinds of bodies and weapons and stolen cars at receded banks. On the bright side, it’s the perfect opportunity to add bodies.” Serge pulled out a pen and pad. “Note to self: …”
Coleman looked over a railing, got dizzy and stumbled back. “How high up are we?”
“Five-story viewing platform. I’m helpless to resist viewing platforms, and my life record is still intact: never passed one without stopping and climbing to the top, or at least being told to get off the fence if the gate is locked.”
“What’s that giant grass wall in front of the shore?”
“Massive berm. Runs all the way around the lake. That’s why we have to be up here to see the water.”
Coleman chugged his binoculars. “What’s the berm for?”
“To prevent a repeat of the ‘28 hurricane, which literally pushed the lake onto the surrounding countryside, killing hundreds.”
Coleman walked across the platform and looked over the opposite railing at a flat tar roof. “I’ve never seen a viewing platform on top of a motel before.”
“It’s the Pier 2 Resort.” Serge jotted in the notebook. “That’s why they’re getting extra-high marks in my report. They didn’t have to, but the owners spared no expense for the enjoyment of their paying guests.”
“So this is our hotel tonight?”
“No, we snuck up here.” Serge slipped his notepad in a pocket. “Let’s go to the bar.”
They climbed down and started across the parking lot. Coleman poked Serge. “The hotel’s back there. Where are you going?”
“To the bar.”
Serge headed away from civilization and toward the lake. Just outside the berm, the lake was surrounded by a man-made access waterway, which shallowed into a dense swamp that stretched the last couple hundred yards to shore. Serge reached the edge of land and stopped at a sign: NO SWIMMING, BEWARE OF ALLIGATORS.
Coleman caught up. “That’s the bar?”
“One of the finest in all of Florida.”
They strolled a lengthy boardwalk. Ahead: a small building on stilts in the middle of the swamp. Serge circled its wraparound porch until they reached another boardwalk that extended from the pub’s screened-in back deck, farther toward the lake.
“Serge, we just passed the bar.”
“Exactly. I’m checking all escape routes. Then we enter from the rear. They won’t expect that.”
“Who won’t?”
But Serge just kept walking. Even though the planks were elevated a good six feet, the surrounding reeds and cattails reached above their heads and, with the growing darkness, came alive in a racket of nightlife.
Coleman clutched Serge’s sleeve with both hands. “What’s all that eerie noise?”
“Bullfrogs and insects.”
“What?”
“Bullfrogs and insects!”
“It’s freakin’ loud!”
“That’s the thing about inland Florida. The coasts deceive us into thinking we humans are running things, but out here you realize nature’s the true boss and can swallow you in a blink.”
“Serge, I’m scared.”
“We’re perfectly safe up here, just stay on the boardwalk. Whatever else you do, keep telling yourself: Never get off the boardwalk.”
Serge eventually came to the end of the pier. The water’s surface was, as they say, like glass, reflecting the last twilight, perfect for picking out ominous, drifting bumps.
“There’s an alligator,” said Serge. “And another. And another. Man, they’re everywhere! Coleman, let’s see how many we can count. Five, ten, fifteen … Coleman?…”
Serge turned around. Empty boardwalk.
“Coleman!” His eyes shot left and right. Off to the side, a cluster of nearby reeds shook wildly. Serge ran over. “Coleman! What are you doing down there?”
“I found this big dope plant!” More shaking vegetation. “I can’t get it loose. Come help me.”
“Coleman, it’s just a swamp reed.”
“Are you sure ?”
“I’m sure you’re an idiot. Give me your hand!”
Serge reeled him up just as unseen reptilian jaws snapped below his feet.
Coleman rubbed scratched-up palms on his pants. “Now can we go to the bar for that meeting of yours?”
“Sure, he’s here.”
“You just saw him arrive?”
“No, he’s been here the whole time.”
“Then why weren’t we in the bar?”
