Alligator Sam's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Sam ran toward the splashing with the stakes under one arm. The vest caught on a low branch and yanked him back. He tore free and kept moving. Ten steps later the vest snagged again, this time on a clump of reeds. The buckles caught. The pocket flap hooked a root. He lost three seconds ripping loose. Somewhere ahead, a person was sinking, and every second was air. He stopped at the next mire patch. Duckweed shivered on the water. The splashing had gone quiet. Quiet was worse than loud. Sam unbuckled the vest and let it drop in the mud. It was built for a human rescue worker with narrow shoulders. On him it was armor that fought back. Dale came up the marked line at a run, boots slapping. He carried something folded over his arm, tan canvas, bright patches sewn all over it. "Valerie sent this too," he said, breathing hard. "Said the vest wouldn't fit a gator. She dug this out of her clinic closet." He shook it open. It was an apron, long, with a strap for the neck and ties for the back. Pockets ran across the front in red, blue, yellow, green, each one patched and stitched by hand. Sam took it. Light. No buckles to catch. He looped the strap over his head and Dale tied the back around his ribs. The pockets sat flat against his belly. Sam pulled the rope from his overalls and coiled it into the big front pocket. The knife went in the side pocket. A handful of red stakes fit in the back. Nothing hung loose. "Go," Dale said. "I'll bring the vest to the road." Sam went. He slid between two cattail stands where the vest would have caught him. The apron dragged nothing. He heard a weak splash off to the right and cut through the reeds toward it. A man was in the mud up to his chest, mouth just above the water, eyes closed. Sam pulled the rope from the front pocket in one motion. He looped it under the man's arms and braced against a cypress root. He pulled. The mud let go with a slow suck. Sam dragged him onto the bank and rolled him on his side. The man coughed brown water and breathed. Sam pressed a stake into the man's hand and pointed at the red line. "Follow it. Dale's at the road." The man nodded and started crawling toward the first stake. Sam stood up in the apron and listened. Two more people. Somewhere north, a reed moved the wrong way. He turned toward it and ran, and this time nothing snagged.