MY FATE FOR YOURS

Chapter 7- EAMON

Eamon

 “It’s called steppin’ stones, E.” Traive’s grin is almost as wide as mine. “Look at the pretty colors attached with rope. It’s practically for little kids.”

I look again at the assortment of boogie boards, inner tubes, and wake boards strung across the river. This would be tricky but not a big deal except a kid named Tim got bit by a gator near here last year and lost his leg. We keep scanning the shoreline, but the damn things are crafty.

Nelson’s on the far side of the river in his small, metal boat. Even that thing’s a risk in this mess, but he’s got a gun on the seat, and a hold of the opposite shore.

I’m standing in shorts and bare feet getting ready to beat Traive across this thing, which I will because I’m faster. He’s invited a small crew with him, like always. Band mates of his. Or… the band he’s in now until he gets hammered a few too many times and misses too many shows for them to keep him on.

“Chicken?” Traive slaps me on the back. “Want me to show you how it’s done?”

“Fuck off.” I gauge how fast the water is flowing, how far I have to go, and how carefully I need to keep my balance.

This is fucking insane. Even I know it. But God the rush is already coursing through me, drowning out everything else. Whatever the hell I’m doing with Rachel, Tobin being totally MIA, Jerry wanting me to take over part of Stine’s welding. Even Traive’s stupid-ass harassing and the yells from his friends fade into the background as anticipation of the rush takes over.

Traive opens his mouth to say something else, and I jump onto the first board, which immediately flips only I push off just fast enough to land on my stomach on the inner tube it’s tied to. The tube half sinks into the water because it’s made for a five year old instead of a man, but the point is that I need to get across. I shove off the inner tube just as Nelson screams the exact words I don’t want to hear.

“Gator!”

Now the stakes are high enough to mean something because I’ve fallen, jumped, flipped, spun, run, into rivers more times than I can count. But this is better. Adrenaline hits me in the exact kind of burst I need. Crave. I launch on to a wakeboard, and then another surfboard, a little wider than the last. The current keeps shaking the boards and forcing them into jigging patterns against the yellow rope.

“Faster you pussy!” Traive yells in his drunk voice. I take the time to flip him off before skittering over the air mattress that’s been twisted in the current.

Nelson has his gun aimed somewhere near my feet, but there’s no time to check for gator teeth. A small canoe is next, and I fly over that before hitting the last inner tube and launching myself at the shore.

“Holy fuck!” Nelson screams as he fires round after round into the river. He’s standing now, probably the palest and most out of shape of all the boys I hang with, but not a bad guy. More Tobin’s age than mine and can drink every one of us under the table on account of his size.

“Hells yeah!” Nelson yells and he points.

I turn back to see the biggest gator I’ve ever seen roll belly-side up and hit the side of Nelson’s boat.

“That fucker was about two inches from your heel man, and about three feet from my boat.” He spins to face me before looking back at the carcass.

I laugh a little as I slide into Nelson’s boat, which is about the same length as the massive alligator banging against its side in the current. The adrenaline’s already leaving my system even though I’m staring at this huge-ass gator, knowing it could’ve taken my leg.