Croaked Read Online Free

you.” I tried to sound casual. “Man, I think you got every frog in the world here.”
    The rifle didn’t lower. “I like frogs; y’all got a problem with that?”
    “Who is this?” Tanna demanded.
    “Tanna, this-here’s Mr. Felix Vantassel.” I exaggerated my already considerable Southern accent, hoping he’d consider me just another good ol’ boy. “Back when Salamander Lake was where it was supposed to be, he ran the hatchery. Only he didn’t hatch fish, he hatched frogs. ‘The southeast’s only commercial supplier of gourmet frog legs,’ right?” That was the odd phrase I’d noticed on the sign in the faded old photo.
    “Woulda cornered the market. Woulda created the market,” he said, and shook his head. “Didn’t work out, though. Now I just take care of the frogs. And that’s all right with me.”
    Tanna, still a beat behind, said, “Then where’s Kelso Mitchell?”
    “Had to kill him,” Vantassel said. “He wanted to take us back once the tornado finished up. But I like it just fine here. Got my boat, got food and water. Got my frogs. Don’t need nothin’ else. So I cut his throat. Didn’t want him bringin’ no strangers back to bother me.”
    The boat drifted slightly, and the moon shone full on Vantassel’s face: triangular, with eyes that bulged over wide, thin lips. His hair frizzed away from his head, making him look like a dandelion in the moonlight.
    “You’ve got all the frogs, Mr. Vantassel,” Tanna said. “The gate that brought you here is still open. The frogs are pouring in, and the world’s ecosystem is about to collapse from it.”
    “The world’s what?”
    “The natural order,” Tanna rephrased. “Frogs eat the bugs, fish eat the frogs. Without them, you’ve got too many bugs, not enough fish.”
    “Don’t give me that. They breed, they leave. They go back if they want. Mitchell left the gate open so we could get back if we wanted, too.”
    “But the gate’s not working right, they’re coming back messed up.” Tanna used her best therapist voice. “Mr. Vantassel, do you know how long you’ve been here?”
    “Three months. Long enough to realize I don’t want company.”
    Tanna took a deep breath. “Mr. Vantassel, you’ve been here over a hundred years.”
    He laughed. “That’s crazy talk.”
    “Is it? You’ve had a full moon every night for those three months, haven’t you? It never rains, it doesn’t get any hotter or colder. Doesn’t that seem a little strange? And really--” She waved her hands to encompass the whole lake. “--even you have to admit, this many frogs in one place is just plain unnatural.”
    Vantassel frowned, and Tanna pressed on. “I know what Mitchell did: he made a bubble in time, that’s outside of real time. You have to come back with us so I can take it down.”
    Vantassel’s head snapped up. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he said with certainty. “And since you’re another smart-ass like Mitchell, neither are you.”
    As a multi-generational redneck, I have an innate instinct for the moment another Southern male is finished talking and ready to shoot. I shoved Tanna one way and I jumped the other just as Vantassel fired, the ball making a big SPLAT in the mud between us. The recoil spun his boat slowly in place, as smoke from the blast twirled into the clear sky.
    “Dang!” Vantassel shouted. The frogs croaked in sympathetic outrage.
    “Stay down!” I ordered Tanna, and ran at Vantassel, betting that his rifle was a single-shot affair that would take time to reload. I splashed into the shallows and tipped the boat over; Vantassel came up swinging. I ducked and body-blocked him into the mud, surprised by his wiry strength.
    Finally, though, I got him in a chokehold and twisted one arm behind his back. He couldn’t get any leverage, and struggled mightily in the knee-deep water. I glanced back at Tanna. “So now what do I do with him?”
    She stared at me as if I’d suddenly turned into Elvis. Then