Swamp Bones Read Online Free Page A

at anything that moves?”
    “We get an annual circus of boozed-out idiocy.” Pierce agreed with the sheriff.
    “If the yahoos aren’t allowed to hunt in the park proper, which is python central, of course the snake count’s gonna be skimpy.” Yellen barked the criticism to Lundberg. His tone said the argument predated my arrival by a very long time.
    Lundberg responded with vehemence. “What certain people fail to understand is how well camouflaged these creatures are. You release an enormous tagged snake and it vanishes in seconds. I’m an expert and I’ve stood one meter from a fifteen-foot male, tracking his radio transmitters, and failed to spot him.”
    I definitely did not want this man’s job.
    Lundberg steamed ahead, face now the color of uncooked beef. “Burmese pythons areambush hunters. They can lie in wait underwater, hide under bushes, drop from trees. They strike suddenly, ingest their catch quickly, then conceal themselves to digest for a month. Even herpetologists have a hard time locating them. Forget the inexperienced.” At last, Lundberg made eye contact with Yellen. “Most captures are made because a snake is crossing a road. And there are far more roads
outside
than inside the park. And less protected wildlife to shoot by mistake.”
    Mental note. Don’t wade. Don’t linger under trees. Don’t walk through tall brush. Don’t leave the boat sounded good, but I doubted that was an option.
    “Almost there.”
    I turned. The driver was pointing to a stand of trees about a mile away. One of several similar stands marching the horizon.
    “Are we still in the Everglades?” I asked.
    “This stretch isn’t part of the national park,” Lundberg said. “It’s one of four state-run wildlife management areas where the hunt is allowed.”
    Our airboat drew up and stopped beside a more battered model with indeterminate wording painted on the stern in faded script. We all scrambled over the bow and jumped to dry ground.
    The transition from marsh to shrub to forest was abrupt. Within feet of the water’s edge, we crossed a thick ring of scrub vegetation and single-filed down a narrow path through a canopy forest.
    “Watch for sinkholes.” Lundberg pointed out a steep-sided conical depression containing an emerald pool. “They’re everywhere.”
    The temperature dropped in proportion to the rise in humidity. Looking up, I could see only slivers of sky through the intertwined foliage overhead. So much for avoiding trees. But snakes were now the lesser of my problems. Swarms of mosquitoes were draining me of copious quantities of blood. The bloodsuckers loved me.
    Five or six minutes in, we reached a small clearing. At its center was a bearded giant in Australian bush gear standing over a dead gator. Together, we crossed to him.
    The gator wasn’t huge, but it was big enough, maybe eight feet from snout to tail tip. Its mouth was half open. The reptile’s teeth grasped what appeared to be a portion of human pelvis encased in flesh that had rotted to the color and consistency of congealed oatmeal. The onlyindication the flesh had once been human was an obvious, if mottled and dented, belly button.
    Yellen addressed the giant. “Howdy, Jordan.”
    Jordan nodded. Looked each of us over. Then said, “Didn’t touch nothin’ once I brought her down and saw what she had.”
    “You did right calling us.” Yellen didn’t move closer. “This lady’s a doctor specializes in bones.”
    “Tempe Brennan.” I stepped forward and held out a hand.
    Jordan wiped a giant paw on his khakis and thrust it toward me. “My name’s Dusty Jordan.” My hand disappeared in a leathery grip.
    “What happened here?” I asked.
    Jordan looked at me like I’d asked the meaning of “soup.” “I was huntin’ python. Saw this gal dragging somethin’ didn’t look right.”
    “She’s quite dead?”
    “She won’t hurt you,” he answered, obviously missing my Monty Python reference.
    I squatted and leaned