Snapper

By Wolfgang Cooper

SNAPPER is a story that mirrors the raucous vitality of masterpieces such as Jaws and Tremors. SNAPPER mixes suspense, horror, humor and bayou country hi-jinks to conjure up a tale that just might be true, as a Giant Alligator Snapping Turtle, whose natural habitat is being destroyed by an evil oil drilling company, goes on a rampage in the small Louisiana river town of Scottsville.

The 15 foot, 3 ton Snapper, eats and destroys anything in its path. After several locals have mysteriously disappeared, Herpetologists Matt Peterson and Professor Jonathan Moorehead, along with Mooreheads beautiful daughter, Jennifer, suspect that something strange is going on and set out to investigate.

Caspar Lloyd, whose oil company is illegally polluting the bayou, doesnt want them snooping around and attempts to curtail their investigation by various forms of subterfuge. Sheriff Roy Hawkins, the Scottsville Constable, doesnt believe the story about the Giant Snapping Turtle and warns Matt and the Professor to leave the investigations to the police.

But with the assistance of the cantankerous hermit, Sam Wade, our heroes journey out into the unexplored regions of the bayou, where no man has ever set foot. It is in this foreboding domain of the swamp that they must contend with the monstrous terrapin himself, along with Caspar Lloyd and his red-neck henchmen who are attempting to cover up the illegal oil drilling operation.

ALLIGATOR SNAPPING TURTLE

Historical background

(Macrochelys Temmincki)

The Alligator Snapping Turtle is the largest fresh-water turtle found in the United States. It lives in the rivers that flow into the Gulf of Mexico, from Texas to Western Florida. Its center of abundance is in the lower Mississippi Valley, where it ranges north as far as central Illinois. It attains a weight of 250 pounds, although larger specimens have been reported, including a veritable giant of 403 pounds.

This reptile is the undisputed monarch of all it surveys and is as savage as it looks. The bite of the Alligator Snapper is legendary. Folklore has it that even if the turtle is decapitated, the head will live until sundown. Backwoodsmen in the Southeast claim that the animal can bite a broomstick in two and will hold on to a victim until the sky thunders. According to Uley Bass, a veteran Florida turtle hunter, there is some truth to this claim.

Late one night sixteen years ago, my son and I pulled an old 75 pound Alligator Snapper out of the swamp. Like a fool I put the Snapper right behind me in the boat. After a time we got stuck in some reeds, so I reached back for a paddle and SLAM, something hit my hand so fast I didnt know what had happened. Then all of a sudden there was blood everywhere, and my son was shouting, Dad, two of your fingers just dropped into the bottom of the boat.

Alligator Snappers do not have discriminating appetites. Anything that wanders by is fair game. Dissected stomachs have contained baby alligators, raccoons, snakes, acorns, shoes, and even other turtles. It is primarily nocturnal and aptly named. One large Snapper, after being hauled on board by some trappers, bit a sizeable chunk out of their wooden canoe, according to a 1950 account.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 28, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462828197

Wolfgang Cooper

· A graduate of Ohio University, Wolfgang Cooper has over 20 years experience in the television, radio and video production industry. Having worked as a writer, producer, and a sports and news anchor, he is currently Vice-President of Marketing for a post-production firm which specializes in high-end graphics and videotape editing. · Siegfried Knappe, after his release from the Soviet Union, made his way to West Germany, and then to the United States. Settling with his family in Xenia, Ohio, he worked for 23 years in the international division of National Cash Register. He retired in 1983 at the age of 66.

Book preview

1     

Late June, 1987. A dark murky night on the Louisiana, Bayou. Two old fishing buddies, Red Craddock and Bud Johnson, move along at a snails pace through the foreboding swamp. The outboard motor on their small boat is barely audible. It is black as the ace of spades, and the bayou is alive with the sounds of the night. The murky water glistens from the reflection of the full moon.

The old poachers have had a slow night, capturing only two small gators. Red, who is in the front of the boat, spots something moving up ahead. He squints through the mist to get a better look.

Hey, Bud, cool the engine for a minute.

What do ya’ see? asks Bud.

Hell, I don’t know. Whatever it is, I don’t want to scare it off. Just cut the engine, orders Red.

Bud is already growing nervous and impatient with this little adventure.

Shit, Red, hasn’t our luck been bad enough tonight? Let’s get outta here and go back to Callie’s and get us some beers.

Red whirls around and glares at his long-time companion.

You ass, you wanna go back to Callie’s? Look what we got to show for tonight’s work.

Red jabs a stubby finger at the two small gators lying in the back of the boat. Each one is only about four feet long. This won’t get them much on the alligator shoe market.

The poachin’ has been terrible lately. I ain’t goin’ home with two tiny gators, says Red.

Red turns around to the front of the boat and switches on a powerful searchlight. He scans the water until he finds a protruding log, a favorite hang-out for large alligators.

Red and Bud both have a look of apprehension painted on their faces as they silently row closer to the log.

What do ya’ think it is, Red? asks Bud, sounding feeble.

Dawg, Bud, I don’t know. Just shut up and row.

If it’s a gator, we’ve got his ass right in our sights, says Bud, with a toothless grin.

I reckon we do, Bud. I reckon we do, replies Red, rolling his eyes to the heavens, wondering why the imbecile in the boat is one of his best friends.

Red stares ahead intently into the murky darkness. SUDDENLY … a loud chomping noise and then a quick splash in the water. Red whirls around to find… .

THE BACK END OF THE BOAT, totally torn away. Red can’t believe what he is seeing. It all happened so fast. Bud is nowhere to be found. Red is beginning to panic. The water is gushing into the wounded vessel.

JESUS, JESUS, JESUS! For the love of Dixie, what the hell is goin’ on here?

Red starts to bail water but realizes his efforts are fruitless.

God damn-it, Bud, where are you? What did this to my boat? wails Red.

Red sits down in the middle of the wounded vessel and covers his face with his hands, weeping. Water is gushing in all around him.

Oh man, I just can’t believe this is happening.

An outline of something huge emerges behind Red. He turns around to face his maker. The clock for Red Craddock has struck twelve.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! screams Red, into the black of night.

The boat is swiftly being torn apart by something as big as a mountain. Red’s horrified screams end only after he is sucked beneath the muddy water.

2     

A Chevy Blazer snakes its way down a winding road through the lush Louisiana countryside, strains of Born On The Bayou by Creedence Clearwater booming from the open windows. Inside the truck, Matt Peterson, a ruggedly handsome, 26 year old, pounds the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Matt is an Herpetologist (one who studies reptiles), now working in California. He is returning to Louisiana to do some fishing and to visit his old college professor.

The truck moves quickly down the deserted highway, past a sign that reads in big letters, WELCOME TO SCOTTSVILLE.

As Matt notices the sign, his face breaks into a wide grin. He is happy to be back home again.

The rustic confines of the Scottsville Sheriff’s Office. Jennifer Moorehead is busy filing reports from the previous evening. She has just graduated from college and has been working at the Sheriff’s office as a clerk for about three weeks. Jennifer is 22 years old, with glistening blonde hair, and a down-home freshness that only adds to her beauty.

She turns around from the file cabinet to find Sheriff Roy

Hawkins standing next to her. Hawkins is a tall, robust main in his early fifties.

So what do ya’ think, Jennifer? Is that criminal justice degree from LSU gonna help you any?

Someday, maybe, if you ever let me do something more important than file reports for Luther and Moss, replies Jennifer with a smile.

Hawkins lets out a short chuckle, then puts his hand on Jennifer’s shoulder.

Listen, honey, you’ve been like a daughter to me ever since your momma died. And your father has been like a second brother, says Hawkins in a fatherly tone.

I know, I know. But what’s that got to do with the price of potatoes?

It has to do with me not sendin’ you out into the field until you’re damn good and ready.

Jennifer gives Hawkins a sarcastic look.

Well, that should be real soon. I didn’t go to four years of college for nothing.

Hawkins moves away from Jennifer and walks toward the center of the room.

Speaking of the old college days, I understand Matt Peterson is coming back for a visit.

That’s right. He’s going to be staying with us out at my father’s place.

Hawkins is like an old hound dog. Like any veteran lawman, he sometimes has a sixth sense about things. He can tell that Jennifer really perked up at the mention of Matt’s name.

If my memory serves me right, you always did have a crush on that boy.

Jennifer just smiles and starts to leaf through a folder she is holding.

Come on, girl. Don’t hold out on me, says Hawkins, sounding playful.

Jennifer shrugs her shoulders. A sly smile tugs at her lips.

I guess so. But he was always older. I don’t think he ever really noticed me.

I can assure you he’ll notice you now.

Jennifer blushes. She walks up to the Sheriff and gives him a peck on the cheek. They give each other an affectionate look. Just as