Pierce gave him a chin lift in greeting. “Hey, Mo.”
“Hey, Pierce. Got everything you asked for.” Mo dropped the tailgate and lifted the cover on the truck bed. “Flatboats are already in the water. Twenty-footers, gassed up and ready.” He jerked a thumb behind him where two low shapes rested at the edge of the gravel. “I added the special compartments you wanted, too.” He thrust a box at Pierce who in turn passed it to Brian. “These are the good automatic life vests that inflate when you hit the water. Easier to move in. Almost like wearing a pair of suspenders. Got a regular one for the puppy, though.”
“Good deal. And the sampling devices?”
Mo flipped open a long case and pulled out two very odd-looking rifles. “Modified a couple of the taggers marine biologists use to get biopsies from whales and sharks. Shoot your beasties and then pull the line back. Tissue sample’ll be in the dart. I stuck plenty of extra darts in the case.”
Marcus examined one of the taggers. “Will these penetrate alligator hide? I imagine it’s way tougher than whale skin.”
“Uh huh, and I thought of that,” Mo said with a touch of pride. “I worked up sharper darts, then tested it on the gator who hangs out in the canal behind my house.” He chuckled. “He didn’t like it none, but I got a sample.”
Pierce nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent work as always, Mo.”
While Rosario adjusted the doggy life vest for Marla, the rest of us loaded the boats. In addition to gear and food, each boat had a satellite GPS, a cooler of brain packets labeled “protein gel,” and a gator tagger and darts—stowed in a cleverly hidden compartment of Mo’s design. And, of course, weapons: a 12-gauge shotgun and two Remington Model 700 .308 bolt-action rifles per boat, as well as a number of handguns concealed beneath clothing. Even I had a sweet little Glock .380 in an ankle holster, both on loan from Marcus.
“I’m sure I don’t need to warn everyone to be on their toes,” Pierce said once we were ready. “But I’m going to anyway. Not only are we looking for a body and alligators who might be more aggressive than usual, but we also need to keep an eye out for search and rescue teams, and Wildlife and Fisheries agents. Our radios are tuned to the Sheriff’s Office frequencies, and with luck that’ll give us an idea where they are. We have over an hour until civil twilight, so first we’re going to where Angel finished off shambler-Judd, locate and sample as many alligators as possible, then head to the accident site for first light. Yes, Angel?”
I lowered my hand. “Gator season has been over for months, and these boats don’t exactly have a lot of storage space. How are we supposed to hide a zombie-gator if we find one?”
“We won’t,” Marcus put in before Pierce could reply. “Hide one, that is. Since we’re not sure if infected alligators appear any different than uninfected ones, Dr. Nikas suggested we take tissue samples from as many alligators as we can. But if we have clear indication an alligator is infected, we’ll dispatch it and remove the brain.”
“Probably safest,” I agreed with a sigh. I felt oddly sorry for the poor zombie-gator, but it helped knowing Dr. Nikas was on board with the plan.
“Let’s get moving,” Marcus said. “Angel, Rosario, and Marla will be with me. Rachel, Brian, and Pierce will take the other boat.”
I clipped on the life vest and climbed into the indicated boat, masking a smile at the brief look of annoyance on Pierce’s face. He’d probably wanted the dog in his boat, but he could hardly override Marcus without raising questions. Ha! Suck it!
Marcus moved to the rear and started the motor, shattering the velvety peace. Rosario and an eager Marla took the front, while I settled in the middle.
Mo untied the lines then gave us a cheery wave and a “Happy hunting!” I returned his wave with a chipper one of my own, and then we were off, with Pierce and the others a short distance behind.
Though the boats had spotlights, Marcus kept our pace slow—a decision I heartily approved of. Any one of the numerous submerged obstacles in the marsh could end this mission before it even began. Since it was too dark to see much beyond the spotlit area, I sat back and watched the sky progress to deep indigo. The last time I’d seen it that color was after I spent a hellish night in this very swamp. I crossed my fingers that today’s mission would turn out a whole lot better.
Once the waterway widened a bit, Pierce’s boat pulled alongside us. The indigo sky shifted to a dark purple, with a handful of stars standing their ground against the approaching dawn. The trees remained little more than black shadows, but one in particular drew my attention.
“I think that’s the bald eagle nest,” I said, pointing. “It’s one of the landmarks I used to find my way out of the swamp. We should be getting close to where I finished off Judd.”
Pierce nodded sharply. “Let’s switch to the trolling motors. Rachel and Angel, get the taggers out and ready.”
But twenty minutes of slow patrols produced exactly zero hyper-aggressive alligators. Twice I caught sight of eyes shining red in the spotlights, but we couldn’t get close enough for the tagger to be effective. And though Marla seemed to be having the time of her life sniffing the breeze and watching wildlife, she gave no indication she detected shambler-scent. I thought for sure Pierce would be frustrated by our lack of progress, but his face remained impassive as he scanned the water.
“So much for hyper-aggressive gators,” I grumbled.
“Maybe they’re shy hyper-aggressive gators,” Rosario said.
Pierce flipped a cooler open. “Well, we need samples from any gators we can find, so let’s chum the waters.” He hauled out a bag of bloody beef lung chunks and tossed several overboard.
The floating bait lured two alligators close enough to be darted, but no others found the lungs so enticing as to risk getting jabbed.
“Time to start working our way east,” Marcus said after a glance at his watch. “We’ll see if we can lure any others along the way.”
Lavender and orange painted the heavens, and apparently lulled the alligators into a blissfully trusting mood. By the time we crossed Bayou Cher and the Tribe property line—marked with prominent PRIVATE PROPERTY NO TRESPASSING signs—I’d managed to get samples from seven alligators, and Rachel had edged ahead with eight.
Tree frogs chirruped and a bullfrog boomed in the distance, while birds hidden in the cypress and scrub sang their hearts out to the impending dawn.
Yet still no sign of anything that might be a zombie-gator.
As I reached for my water bottle, movement from the other boat caught my eye. Rachel was lowering a 35mm camera, soft smile on her face as she gazed at the brilliant pre-dawn display. The smile vanished when she saw me watching.