Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“It’s fixin’ to be a good day,” Bubba says. “Today’s I’m gonna ask my darlin’ to be my wife.” He gestures at the hut that serves as the office of Swamp Sparkle Safari. “Just don’t tell her when she gives you your paperwork.”
At that moment, a woman comes out of the hut, holding a piece of paper. She’s wearing a dress made out of the same camo material as Bubba’s outfit, and her face is hidden by a beekeeper mask. To deter mosquitos, maybe?
“G’day, mate,” she says with an Australian accent. “Alligator Dottie is my name. Giving tours that blow your mind is my game.” She thrusts the paper into my hands. “But first, sign the waiver.”
According to the paper, Swamp Sparkle Safari LLC is not responsible for gators eating any parts of the signee, or the signee having an allergic reaction to ticks or mosquito bites, or the signee getting rat lungworm after eating a raw apple snail.
Hmm. “Was that last one based on something that happened?” I ask Dottie as I sign.
She nods. “And I told her, deep fry the critter, but she didn’t listen, and then later died of eosinophilic meningitis.”
“Right. Okay. Raw apple snails are off the menu.”
“It seems like you’re ready,” Dottie says. “Now go ahead, jump into my boat.”
“Hold up a minute,” Bubba drawls. “I’ve had a change of heart.” He looks at me, then at Dottie, and then at me again. “I’ll take him, and you take the other client.”
“Why?” Dottie asks. “You don’t trust me with this spunk?”
Is that an Australian compliment?
“I trust ya but…” I can see him thinking, hard. “It’s just that the other client sounded fancy pants. She might feel more comfortable getting a ride from a lady.”
“All right.” Dottie takes the paper from me. “Have a ripper of a time.”
Chapter 19
Kendall
“Hey, mate, check that out.” Dottie gestures in the direction of a nearby cypress tree.
Whoa. A horny deer—in multiple senses of that word—is mounting a doe, and they are going at it. Hard. There are sound effects and everything, particularly from the male, with the noise resembling some horrid combination of belching, groaning, snoring, growling, and snorting.
Is that how the seven dwarves got their names? Snow White saw some deer making a beast with two backs and horns?
“It’s rare to see the rut here in the swamp,” Dottie says. “You’re lucky.”
Yeah, for some unknown reason, I don’t actually feel all that lucky. In fact, I could’ve gone my whole life without ever witnessing how Bambis are made—or hearing the word “rut” used in a sentence.
“I hope a gator doesn’t eat them,” I say.
We saw some disturbingly large members of that species earlier, including one that was at least ten feet long.
“No worries, mate. Gators only chow down on fawns or the ones that are a bit crook.”
“Ah.” I figure someone who goes by “Alligator Dottie” would know such things. I swat at my millionth mosquito in the last hour. “How far are we from the secret island?”
“Oh, no worries, mate. You’ve got many more hours of the tour to enjoy.”
Great. I’m going to arrive at our destination as an exsanguinated husk.
* * *
“Thoughts?” Dottie asks as we finally pull up to a small pier on the secret island.
“If I don’t see another gator for the rest of my life, I think I’ll be perfectly happy,” I say, heroically fighting the urge to scratch at my mosquito bites.
Dottie chuckles and tells me the real treat starts when it gets dark because there will be frogs singing, fireflies lighting up the place, and—the highlight of it all—the swamp around us glowing with bioluminescence.
“Yeah. That sounds really cool,” I say.
I’m hoping this experience will somehow inspire my designs.
“She’ll be right,” she says, which at this point, I recognize as Australian for, “It will be.”
“Sugah Roo!” a weird-looking dude yells as he comes out of the cabin farthest from us.
“Bubba!” Dottie shouts giddily.
She flies into his arms, and he lifts her beekeeper-net-like veil and gives her a kiss that reminds me of the deer in rut.
When they eventually stop the PDA, Dottie introduces Bubba as her boyfriend—as though I couldn’t have guessed that part.
“Your cabin’s waitin’ for ya.” Bubba gestures at the cabin that’s nearer the water. “Why don’t you go check it out while Dottie and I go on a pleasure ride?"
“Sure.” Pleasure ride? Please, for the love of my libido, spare me the details.
Dottie thrusts a walkie-talkie into my hands, instructs me to call if I need anything, and then they sprint toward the pier like two horny teens. And I’m not talking the deer variety.
Hopping into the boat I just rode in, they torpedo away.
“What the fuck?” says a familiar voice from the doorway of the more inland cabin.
No.
Can’t be.
This has to be a swamp-induced hallucination, like when people see fairies in this kind of environment, or—given that we’re in Florida—the Skunk Ape.