Endangered Species: Southern Waters Adventure Series, #1

By Nate Littlefield

The illegal animal trade can be a lucrative business, attracting all sorts of unscrupulous people. Capturing rare animals for monetary gain is an unconscionable act, resulting in appalling ecological losses. Sometimes, it can even lead to human tragedy.

 

When a team of underwater videographers charter Alex Nolen's yacht, the SeaStar, to film a documentary about alligator gars, their journey takes them from the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico to Florida's long and winding Escambia River. The area, often referred to as the Emerald Coast, is a showcase of natural wonder, offering the research expedition an ideal location for their documentary. A chance encounter with poachers, however, changes everything.

 

Alex Nolen's peaceful, nomadic life is about to come crashing down around him. The poachers, driven by greed in their hunt for an exceedingly rare turtle, will let nothing stand in their way. This includes Alex, his friends, and the beautiful marine researcher he has just met.

 

Poachers, however, may not be the only danger. Something lurks beneath the murky waters of the river that could pose an even greater threat. Could this be Alex Nolen's last dive?

Endangered Species is the first book in the Southern Waters Adventure Series, a fun adventure/suspense series that all readers in the family can enjoy. It is a full-length novel of 85,000+ words. Download a copy and start your adventure today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nate Littlefield
• Release date: Sep 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223346128

Nate Littlefield

Nate Littlefield draws on his lifelong passion for the marine environment, combining the craft of storytelling, to create the Southern Waters Adventure Series. An avid scuba diver, he enjoys most any activity that is on, under, or around the water. Nate spent his youth alternating between his native state of Florida and visiting relatives in Wisconsin, USA. The dual perspective of the warm salty waters and white sandy beaches of the Gulf of Mexico, and the beautiful freshwater lakes and rivers of Wisconsin and Florida, nurtured his love for the underwater world. Nate works to share this love with others through his writing. Creative writing has been a keen interest for Nate since his early school years. When not reading adventure books, he often occupied himself by making up and writing stories, mostly about sea monsters.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

March 1976, Monday morning, Somewhere along the Escambia River, Florida

AT TWENTY-TWO YEARS of age, Rex Fisher was living his dream. Married to his high school sweetheart at twenty and becoming the proud co-owner of the newest scuba shop on the Gulf Coast a year later, Rex Fisher was doing exactly what he wanted. Thanks to the intelligent business sense of his young wife, Rose, and his unwavering focus on pursuing his dream, R and R Divers was fast becoming one of the most successful scuba operations in the area. Successful enough that he could now take an occasional day off to go fishing with his brother, Raymond. The cooler months meant fewer customers at the dive shop, and his wife had urged him to spend some time relaxing. Rex was looking forward to a day of leisure.

Hey Fish, Raymond said, take a look at this. Though they shared the same surname, Rex’s nickname of Fish was so well established that even his brother used it. Raymond was at the helm of their 1941 Chris-Craft enclosed dinette cruiser, which they had named Raquel, after the movie actress. As teenagers, the brothers restored the vintage boat together as a shared project. While they typically took turns using it, once in a while, they could work it into their schedules to enjoy it together. Today, they scheduled their fishing trip on the Escambia River.

Rex peered over his brother’s shoulder at the river ahead. This section of the river narrowed, and the trees grew thick and close. Raymond pointed ahead to an opening in the trees where the river branched out into a small, almost unnoticed tributary northeast of the main body of water.

I’ve been up this river dozens of times. Ray said, I don’t remember seeing this. Want to check it out?

Sure, Rex said. The fishing can’t be any worse than out here. Maybe something in there will actually bite.

Raymond Fisher steered the twenty-six-foot mahogany hull through the narrow break. Branches laden with vines and Spanish moss hung so low that they almost obscured the opening. Moss and leaves parted on either side of the bow as the boat slid through what seemed to the brothers like a tunnel of tree branches. The boat plunged into shadow; the overhead covering was so thick it almost obscured the sunlight. A moist chill clung within the canopy of trees. Black Water by The Doobie Brothers came through the speaker of a transistor radio hanging in the cabin, providing an atmosphere of mood music that Rex found appropriate.

After a few minutes of gliding through the tunnel, Rex was about to suggest to his brother that he attempt to back out of the narrow corridor when they broke out of the trees and into a spacious clearing. The large, lake-like area was perhaps five hundred feet or more in diameter, ringed by a thick, overgrown mass of greenery. Thin wisps of fog hung just above the cool, still water.

Raymond idled the motor, and the brothers gazed around at the clearing. Unobstructed now, the sun reflected off the still, dark waters of the lake. An osprey, startled by the sudden appearance of the boat, lifted from its perch on the branch of an oak that hung out over the water, flying southward with graceful sweeps of its wings.

Would you look at this? Ray slapped his brother on the back.

It’s like our own personal fishing spot, Rex smiled. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were the only ones who’ve seen this place in a long, long time.

They wasted no time in breaking out their gear and dropping their lines into the water. Each of the brothers sat on a stool in the stern, Rex on the port side and Raymond on starboard. This was the time both of them had most enjoyed since childhood, sitting together in companionable silence, each with his own meditations. Like most siblings, they had occasional disagreements and sometimes outright arguments, but never to the point of disrupting the peacefulness of fishing. A cooler sat between them, filled with cans of Mountain Dew and, for later in the day, beer. Rose had made ham sandwiches for them both. The two brothers settled in for a comfortable morning.

Before long, as he played out his line, Rex noticed a ripple in the water, widening out and moving toward the boat. As he watched, the ripple became a small wave, picking up speed. It passed the spot where his fishing line entered the water and continued on toward the cruiser.

There’s definitely something in here, Rex said to his brother, keeping his eyes on the wave as it approached. He stood, peering over the side of the boat. The water was dark and tannic, but he was certain that he saw a long, cylindrical gray body glide underneath the boat.

Uh-huh, Raymond responded, his eyes half-closed. He tugged his Miami Dolphins ball cap lower and stretched his legs out in front of him. Bet I hook it before you do.

As if in response, Raymond’s line went taut, almost pulling the rod out of his hands. Eyes widening in surprise, he bolted upright, gripping the rod with both hands.

Whatever it is, he must like what you’re using for bait, Rex said. He ignored mine and went right after yours.

The line stretched for just a moment, then gave a hard tug and went slack. Raymond looked back at his brother in confusion. The line reeled in with no resistance. There was nothing at the end.

He bit it clear through. Got the hook and all. What do you think it was?

I don’t know. I only caught a glimpse, but it was big. And long.

Gator, you think?

No, I’m pretty sure it was a fish. The back had some odd-looking scales on it.

Rex settled again on the stool, turning his attention back to his own fishing rod. He moved the line back and forth, trying to entice the large fish to bite once again. His brother stood and went over to his tackle box, bending to select another hook to tie to the line. A sudden splash on the starboard side of the boat followed a solid bump on the hull. The two brothers looked at each other, startled, as another, more forceful thud rocked the Chris-Craft in the water. Raymond lost his balance, falling backward. The fishing rod left his hands, and he grabbed for something to stop his fall. He watched as it sailed over the starboard gunwale and down into the dark waters of the lake.

No! Raymond said, struggling to his feet and staring at the spot where the rod had disappeared. Rex reeled in his line and joined his brother. You’ve got to go get it, man. Raymond looked at his brother with pleading eyes.

What? With that monster down there?

It’s just a fish, Raymond said. It’s not like it’s going to eat you.

Raymond, like the rest of the Fisher family, did not dive. Rex had been the only one bitten by the scuba bug. He was the only one in the family who rushed to sit in front of the television set when The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau was scheduled to air. The first thing that Rex had purchased with his first paycheck from his first summer job was his own snorkel gear. After that, he began saving for scuba lessons and equipment. To the rest of the family, it was a phase they were certain he would grow out of. He never did.

Come on, Fish, Raymond asked again. That was my good Penn Levelmatic reel. I don’t want to lose it.

Okay, okay. But I can’t make any promises. The water is pretty murky, and I don’t know how deep it is. Rex had to admit that whatever the large fish was, it intrigued him and he wanted a closer look. Walking into the cabin, he began assembling his scuba gear. Though he had not planned diving as part of their itinerary, he always came prepared when on the water. He pulled on his black two-piece neoprene wetsuit, pants part first, followed by the jacket with an R and R Divers logo on the front, before zipping up the front zipper. He added a wide nylon belt with lead weights. Next, he selected a steel eighty cubic foot air cylinder, setting it into his tank harness. He always kept two tanks aboard the cruiser. He attached a J-type valve to the cylinder, which allowed for a safety reserve of 300 psi of air to remain in the tank and finished by adding a two-stage, single-hose regulator. Taking a test breath to verify everything was in working order, he brought the gear out of the cabin, along with a handheld underwater lantern.

Standing in the stern, he placed his right foot on the transom, preparing to strap his sheathed dive knife to his calf. It was a new SEATEC K-100 model with a hard resin handle and stainless steel blade. Rose had just bought it for him last month, as a gift marking not only their second wedding anniversary, but also the one-year anniversary of their dive shop. She had engraved the blade with a small, flowery script; For my Fish, from your Mermaid-Rose.

Another sturdy thump on the side of the boat signaled the return of the mystery fish. Did it somehow see the cruiser as a rival to its hunting grounds? Rex hesitated a moment, waiting for another strike. When it was not forthcoming, he bent and again wrapped the strap of the sheath around his leg.

The second thump came just as if the beast had timed it. Rex lost his grip on the knife, watching as it tumbled out of his hands, turning end over end to sink into the water behind the boat. Rex watched it plop into the water with stunned amazement. His expression mirrored that of his brother just moments before.

I can’t believe this, he said. That stupid fish must be some kind of kleptomaniac. Rose gave me that knife for our anniversary. She had it engraved.

I’m sorry, man, Raymond said. He wasn’t the kind to gloat over his brother’s disappointment. I know how it feels.

That does it. Help me on with my tank. I’m going to go get our stuff back and see what this thing is.

He donned a pair of black Dacor Turbo fins, and Raymond lifted the tank and harness for his brother. Rex backed into the arm straps, tightening the buckle around his waist. He put the mouthpiece of the regulator between his teeth, secured the flat oval mask to his face, and rolled backward off the port gunwale of the boat.

Once in the water, Rex descended below the submerged hull of the boat. Water seeped into his wetsuit, chilling him before his body temperature began heating it, creating a thin layer of warmth underneath the fabric. Rays of sunlight filtered down from above, scattering several feet below the surface amid the organic matter hanging suspended in the water. Rex finned around in a circle, looking out into the murk. He could see no sign of movement.

After a moment, he switched on his dive light and angled himself downward, dropping deeper into the lake below the boat. The light created a small oval of illumination in an otherwise tea-like brown gloom. He moved the light around, searching for the bottom. The lake was much deeper than he thought. He knew his dive knife would have gone straight down. His brother’s rod and reel may have drifted, but it would still be near the line of where it entered the water. He glanced upward to be sure he was still underneath the boat. He could just make out the silhouette above.

Rex descended further, sweeping the light back and forth. He saw a tangled mass of decaying tree limbs and leaf waste littering the bottom of the lake. As he peered down, the beam of light illuminated a thick, round, scaled form that slid underneath him just a few feet away. Rex jerked in surprise, lifting his fins out of the way as the enormous form swam through the small shaft of light. His first thought was that it may be some enormous snake, but he knew the dimensions were wrong. The body was much too thick.

Something bumped into his left side and slid around his back, just below his air cylinder. It seemed to coil around him, moving up his right side. He could feel his wetsuit, both the jacket and the pants, pulling along with the movement. He shifted the beam of his dive light just in time to see a long, paddle-like snout as long as his arm, filled with two rows of sharp, white teeth. A round, golden eye with a small black pupil stared at him as it went by, followed by a body thicker around than his own torso. Scales that looked like medieval armor covered the body. Recognition dawned on Rex, and a new chill swept over him. He played his light out into the water where the fish had disappeared, but saw nothing.

Rex Fisher was an experienced diver, not given to panic. When others might feel fear, he often felt curiosity. Yet, he also had a healthy respect for the water and the creatures that lived there. He was feeling that respect now, and it far outweighed his curiosity. Without hesitation, he pumped his legs, driving himself back toward the surface. Though he had only been down a few minutes, he forced himself to hang in the water at fifteen feet, allowing any build-up of nitrogen in his body to dissipate, just to be safe. He looked all around him during the safety stop, but saw no further sign of the large fish.

Once back aboard the cruiser, Rex pulled his face mask down below his chin and struggled out of the tank harness. Sorry, man, he told his brother. I’ll have to buy you a new rod and reel.

Raymond just stood, pointing to his brother’s wetsuit. What happened? Looks like someone took a cheese grater to you.

Rex looked down to see lacerations in several places on the black neoprene material on both sides of his wetsuit jacket. He felt along the back of his legs and buttocks, verifying that the pants too were in the same condition.

It’s a gar, man, Rex said.

A gar?

Yeah, an alligator gar. Biggest one I’ve ever seen. That thing must be longer than I am tall. I knew they could get big, but this one is humongous. It scraped up against me. Rex realized that, if not for the wetsuit, his bare skin would have taken the scraping from the serrated, armor-like scales.

I didn’t think gar were aggressive, Raymond said.

I don’t know if it was being aggressive or just trying to make friends, but with an animal that size, the result is about the same. Sorry bro, but I don’t think I’ll be making another dive down there.

That’s alright. I’m just glad you’re okay.

Rex looked out over the morning sunlight glinting off of the dark, still waters of the lake. The now warming air was burning off the patches of fog. I guess this fishing spot’s taken, he said. We better move on. Sorry about your pole.

I’ll get over it, Raymond said, starting the engine on the Chris-Craft and guiding the boat back toward the tunnel of tree limbs. Sorry about your knife.

Yeah, Rex said. I know Rose is going to be disappointed, but I’m sure she’ll understand.

Chapter one

August 1998, Dusk, Somewhere along the Perdido River, on the Alabama side

HOYT JACKSON EXTENDED a hand, parting the branches of the dense foliage growing along the bank of the Perdido River. He could feel his friend, Kevin Hernandez, bumping into him from behind as they both tried to peer through the small opening in the bushes. Hoyt elbowed Kevin in the chest.

Dude, he whispered. Get back some.

I want to see, too, Kevin said, leaning back as he set the two large plastic coolers he was carrying down on the ground. Is anybody around the place?

Beyond them, set back from the river several yards, was a large warehouse inside the perimeter of a tall, rusting chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Peering through the leaves, Hoyt could see they were near the rear corner of the fence. On the opposite side, in front of the building and just outside the fence, he could make out a gravel parking lot. As the sun gradually lowered over the surrounding treetops, sodium lights began flickering on around the building and in the parking lot, creating small pools of yellowy light amid a sea of overlapping shadows. A small guard shack was visible, set into the fence about midway between the parking lot and where they stood. Next to the guard shack was a gate large enough to drive a vehicle through. The gravel path leading from the parking lot circled around the outside perimeter of the fence, leading through the gate to an overhead door on the side of the warehouse. A smaller walk-in door was just to the right of the overhead door.

I don’t see anyone around, Hoyt said. But there’s a light in the guard shack by the gate. We’re going to have to get closer.

Kevin eyed the overgrowth that lead away from the river with apprehension. They were hoping there would be a trail, but none was visible from where they had pulled their small boat quietly up onto the riverbank. Now, in the growing twilight, the heavily wooded lowland looked foreboding. At eighteen and just out of high school, Kevin Hernandez had an active imagination, fueled by his growing collection of comic books. Hoyt Jackson, a year older than Kevin, and the bolder of the two friends, usually took the lead in their frequent after-dark activities. In most cases, Kevin was happy to follow Hoyt’s lead, but now he was feeling apprehensive.

I don’t know, Kevin said. Maybe we should just forget about it.

What? Hoyt turned to look at him. No way, man. This is going to be profitable. Besides, we went to a lot of trouble to get here. Billy Freeman said that his old man was hired to do some work for these guys, and that the guard makes his rounds every two hours. All we got to do is see where the guard is and wait.

Yeah, Kevin said. I guess. He rolled his eyes at the mention of Billy Freeman and his old man. Billy’s dad was a deadbeat. He would do just about anything for someone willing to pay him enough to buy a bottle of liquor. Kevin didn’t think Billy was going to turn out much differently.

The two picked up their plastic coolers, two each, and slowly made their way through the pine trees and palmettos, trying to move as quietly as possible. A thick carpet of pine needles helped cushion their footsteps. Thorns and sharp branches scratched at their arms and pulled at their clothing. Kevin visibly shuddered, imagining an assortment of spiders and ticks falling down his shirt and crawling up his pants. Mosquitoes took advantage of the opportunity for a free snack, swarming around the bare skin of their arms and heads.

As they approached the guard shack, they could see light from the window streaming through the trees. A small air conditioner occupied the lower half of the window, blocking their view of the interior. It was running and the noise, they knew, would probably cover the sound of their footsteps. They stopped at the tree line, crouching low.

I don’t see the guard, Kevin whispered. It’s hard to tell with the air conditioner in the window.

Go look and make sure, Hoyt ordered.

Me? Kevin looked over at his friend. Why me?

Cause I said so, Hoyt responded, his eyes fixed on the window.

Kevin thought about protesting, but knew it was useless. He moved forward slowly, still crouching. Easing up beside the building, he cautiously peered into the window, straining to see around the metal case of the air conditioner. A blast of warm air from the exhaust hit him full force, causing him to sweat even more than he was already. He shifted, looking around the interior of the small room. Several seconds later, he made his way back to Hoyt.

No one home, he whispered. There’s a desk and chair, a phone, a coffeemaker, some books and magazines. That’s about it. There’s two doors in the shack, one on each side of the fence. The gate’s padlocked.

Hoyt thought for a moment. Okay, he said, the guard must be inside the warehouse doing his rounds. Here’s what we’ll do; you pick the lock on the guard shack door, we get inside and out the other door, around to the corner of the warehouse. When the guard goes back into the shack, we sneak over to the warehouse door and get inside. If he does his rounds every two hours, we’ll have plenty of time. When we’re done, we go out the same way. We wait outside at the corner of the warehouse. When he starts his rounds again, we’ll head out. Easy-peasy. Got it?

I still think we should just leave.

Not without what we came for, Hoyt said, lifting one cooler in his hand. Now go on before he comes back and we have to wait longer.

Kevin sulked for a moment, eyeing his friend. He knew there was no going back once Hoyt had put one of his schemes into action.

Fine, he said, once again heading for the guard shack.

Kevin Hernandez had no clue what he wanted to do with his life. He hated school and had barely graduated. He was rotten at sports. None of the jobs available to him held any actual interest. Girls didn’t seem to find him particularly appealing. He was really only good at two things; reading comic books and picking locks. He discovered his talent at lock picking when his mother began locking him in his room to keep him from his late-night wanderings with Hoyt. She had long since given up trying to keep him under control, but Kevin found that his talent could come in very handy.

Once back in front of the shack, Kevin shot a quick glance at the window to be certain the room was still empty. Satisfied, he set his two coolers on the ground and reached his hand out for the heavy wooden door set into the wall of the small building. On a whim, he twisted the knob, surprised when it turned easily and the door swung open.

Ha, he said, almost aloud. He looked back into the trees, motioning for Hoyt to follow, before gathering his coolers and entering the shack. Once through the shack and out the opposite door, the two friends quickly made their way to the front of the warehouse. Looking around the corner to the parking lot, they saw no one. There was only one car in the lot, a red Ford Mustang, presumably belonging to the guard. The warehouse was at the end of a long gravel and dirt road that stretched northwest, away from the river. The front of the warehouse was bare, except for a large painted sign that read A.K. Acquisitions and Distributions. By appointment only.

Go around to the other side of the warehouse, Hoyt said. See if there’s another door. Kevin did so, returning a few minutes later.

Nope. No door. And no other gate in the fence. The warehouse doesn’t seem to have any windows, either.

Okay, Hoyt said. "Now we wait.

The two swatted at mosquitoes and sweated as the last sliver of sunlight finally faded in the west, rays of light filtering through the trees and disappearing. In the stillness, the sound of crickets became almost deafening. From the banks of the river, they could hear frogs beginning their nightly croaking. One of the sodium lights at the corner of the fence angled downward, creating a small pool of light they both tried to avoid as they peered around the corner.

Just when the aching in their muscles seemed unbearable, they heard the creak of a rusted door hinge cut through the still night air. The walk-in door on the side of the warehouse opened. A man stepped out, glancing around. They were expecting to see the stereotypical security guard; an aging, overweight grandpa type with thick glasses and a wrinkled uniform. Instead, the man was probably in his early thirties, muscular, dressed in jeans and a loud, floral pattern Hawaiian-style shirt. A holstered pistol was around his waist. He moved in an easy, graceful manner.

Oh, man, moaned Kevin under his breath as they ducked their heads back into the shadows. I told you we should have just left.

Shut up, Hoyt hissed. You want him to hear you?

The man closed the door with a loud slam and walked the several yards to the guard shack. He made no effort at stealth.

This doesn’t change anything, Hoyt said. The guy has no idea we’re here. Just stick to the plan. Everything will be fine. In a couple of hours, we’ll be out of here. By tomorrow, we’ll be richer by a couple of hundred dollars each.

I don’t know, man.

Relax. The guy I talked to yesterday said he’d pay us three dollars and fifty cents for each egg we get. We just fill the coolers with as many as we can. It’s going to be easy money, and these people won’t miss the eggs at all. We just have to follow the plan, that’s all. Pretty soon you’ll be able to afford all the comics you want.

Ha! Kevin said, his voice squeaked higher despite his fear. Shows what you know. The ones I want are pretty expensive.

Come on. Hoyt started toward the door. Kevin hesitated a moment, then followed.

As they neared the guard shack, they could see through the window that the guard was sitting at the small wooden desk, feet splayed out in front of him, reading a paperback. Unlike the window on the opposite side of the fence, this one was unobstructed by an air conditioner. All the guard had to do was to step to the window, and there would be no way to miss