Swamp Monster Massacre Read Free Page B

outside the Bank of America in Tampa eight years ago. Eight years in the swamp with no one to watch over its upkeep meant the old safe house was likely in dire shape. Seeing as there were no other options, he had to force himself to remember how to get there. Any thoughts by his hostages of trying to take over the boat and scatter his thoughts had to be put to bed, pronto.  
    Rooster reached into the bag and slipped his index finger into a trigger guard.  
     
    Angelo saw the man take his eyes off them so he could look inside his bag of tricks. Angelo grabbed Dominic by the collar and hollered, “Now!”
    They both leaped to the raised pilot’s chair, but the rocking of the airboat sent Angelo sprawling over an empty seat and onto his head.  
    Dominic was faster and slightly nimbler, but his foot got caught under the comatose pilot’s meaty arm, dropping him to his knees. His head caromed off the metal edge of the pilot’s chair, and he just missed getting his hair sucked into the fan cage.  
    “Dominic!”
    Angelo was back on his feet, and the heavy bag fell off the man’s lap. He had another old gun in his hand, but he was having trouble getting a grip. His leg bent and eased off the accelerator. The boat slowed some and vaulted over a small island just big enough to be home to a patch of cattail.  
    He felt someone stumble into him and saw it was the older guy. The girls were also on their feet, but hanging back.  
    Time to end this shit.  
    Angelo and the older dude charged the guy in the pilot’s chair. Angelo took him high in the chest while the other guy went low, around his thighs. He felt the air whoosh out of the man’s lungs and cocked a fist back to land the haymaker of all haymakers on his cleft chin. Angelo’s fist connected with granite and the pain in his hand made his head spin. He looked down to see all four fingers pointing in directions no finger should point in. Each had to have been broken in more than one place.  
    “My friggin’ hand!” he howled in pain.  
     
    Jesus, what a clusterfuck! Rooster almost laughed at Jersey Shore’s face when he saw his broken hand. Between that and the other kid who’d knocked himself out cold, this was turning into the funniest mutiny of all time. Jack-assery was in full swing with these idiots. Rooster reared back and punched the kid square between the eyes to put him out of his misery. At least the kid wouldn’t feel the pain in his hand anymore.  
    Now he had to deal with the other guy, who had locked his arms around Rooster’s thighs and was trying to wrestle him off the chair. As much as he didn’t want to, Rooster had to take his hand off the rudder stick and his foot off the accelerator. He brought a knee up into the man’s gut and clapped him on the side of his head. The man’s grip instantly broke and he fell to the floor, deafened and winded.  
    “You people are crazy!” Rooster cried. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”
    He stared down at the girls, who returned his glare without so much as a flick of an eyelid. The little guy behind them looked away, clutching his man-bag to his puny chest.  
    Rooster continued, “For crying out loud, sit your asses down before I really get mad!”
    He scooped up the gun bag and settled back into the pilot’s chair, easing the accelerator down. This time, he had a tight grip on the pistol and aimed it at the girls.  
    Please just sit down and be good little blondies , he thought.  
    It took a few seconds, but he had the airboat back in stride and headed for the island of cypress trees that was his first big marker. In this area of the Everglades marsh, there were a ton of little raised islands with cypress trees, but this particular one was special.  
    The one he was looking for had his all-time favorite number of trees. Thirteen, all nice and bunched up together. His chest heaving from the adrenaline rush that was still coursing through his system, he spied an island and counted