Page 58 of Fire on the Moon

“Under five miles, I think.” He didn’t say that he was worried about the depths of the channel. There hadn’t been much rain lately, and if the water level had dropped too much, they were in trouble. Instead of voicing his concerns, he said, “I’ll cast off.”

As he strode to the back deck, he registered that Francesca was right. He was almost recovered from getting shot—thanks to recuperative powers of the werewolf constitution.

Outside, he found where she’d tied the lines to the branches above the boat.

When he’d freed the Lady Slipper from the unconventional mooring, he came back inside and started the engine. The gas gauge was pretty low, but he thought they had enough fuel to make it.

Francesca sat on the banquette near the pilot’s chair, watching him move to the middle of the channel. He kept the speed low as he headed toward the other side of the swamp.

He had decided they were going to be okay when the boat struck a hidden obstruction below the surface and began making grinding noises as it struggled to move forward

“What happened?” Francesca asked, alarm in her voice.

“We’re scraping the bottom,” he answered as he backed up a little.

“The river’s not deep enough for this boat?”

”Apparently.” Changing course, he tried to steer toward the opposite bank, with little effect. The craft felt like it was trying to plow through liquid mud rather than water, and he knew he was going to damage the engine if he kept trying to batter his way through.

Instead, he reversed, easing away from the channel and heading toward the side again. But now the water was too low to maneuver.

Francesca gave him a worried look. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to have to take the dinghy the rest of the way.”

He looked back toward the cabins. “We’d better get what we need off the boat.”

“How much can we carry?”

He laughed. “Only the essentials, like my laptop.”

He brought the computer plus his equipment bag and gun then flooded the suitcase with their clothing and tossed it over the side. Next he set about getting the dinghy into the water. It was made of heavy-duty rubber, but detaching it from the Lady Slipper was hell on his arm. He positioned it off the end of the bigger boat before lowering the outboard into the water. At least he knew the craft would float, but he silently prayed the engine would start when he pulled the cord.

After stowing the laptop and equipment case inside a couple of large black garbage bags, he helped Francesca into the small craft. When she was settled in the bow, he lowered himself to the seat in the stern.

“Your arm’s bleeding,” Francesca said, as she gave him a quick inspection. We should have brought more bandages.”

“We can do that later,” he said, anxious to get to their destination.

To his relief, the small motor started, and they set off again, staying close to the right-hand bank. They were making good progress until he saw a lazy looking alligator sunning on a mud bank. He hoped it would stay there, but it raised its head, then slithered into the water and started toward them. Shit. What if the damn thing chomped the side of the rubber boat? They’d be in the water with nothing between them and the gator’s jaws.

Francesca gasped.

He considered using his gun, but the sound of a shot would be like an alarm bell in the peaceful wildlife preserve.

His only option was to cut the engine, then reach for one of the oars lying on the boat’s floor.

“What are we going to do?” Francesca gasped as the scaly body headed straight for the dinghy.

“Hang on tight.”

She clenched her teeth and clutched the handles on the boat’s sides as Zane stood and raised the oar. He slapped it in the water hoping that would warn the beast away, but it kept coming, probably thinking it had found an easy meal. When the creature drew close enough, Zane leaned over and whacked it on the top of its head as hard as he could with the sharp edge of the paddle. As the beast dove, the craft tipped dangerously.

Zane fell back onto the seat, scrambling not to fall out of the boat. Francesca reached to grab him, and they swayed together in the rocking craft.

Praying the alligator wasn’t going to take another shot at them, Zane scanned the water. When he saw nothing but ripples, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Starting the outboard again, he continued on course, this time keeping to the center of the waterway.

---