Chapter 36

Dirty ocean water shot into the sky as Jasper and Sam slammed into the moat. Twisting in midair, Jasper's body hit the surface first. The air in his lungs belched out in large bubbles as Sam landed on top of him. Slamming into his chest, he pushed him into the silty bottom. Disoriented, Sam flailed his arms to right himself in the opaque water. His elbow connected with Jasper's head, pushing it farther down. A pointed conch shell embedded in the moat floor tore at the delicate skin of his temple. As the rough outer edge of the seashell made contact, a lengthy gash appeared on the side of his head. Blood immediately bloomed from the cut and began to tint the water.

Sam burst through the surface, sputtering and gasping, anxious to breathe again. As he paddled towards the sloped sides of the moat, Sam felt two hands grab his foot and yank him back into the deeper water. He struggled against him. A wild kick connected, allowing him to break free from Jasper's grasp and push him back. Sam's fingers dug into the muddy bottom after a few feet as he reached the shallows. Sam stood up, grateful that the water came just above his knees. Menacingly, Jasper crawled quickly toward him, his red hair slithering out behind him in the water, mimicking his reptile-like movements.

Jasper's motion tickled a thought within Sam, a notion filed away that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He ignored it completely.

Turning in time to see him, Sam tried to kick him in the jaw. In a perfect world, it would land right in the sweet spot, knocking him unconscious, and Jasper would sink to the bottom of the moat. The son of a bitch would drown, and that would be the end of that.

Of course, it didn't happen that way.

Instead, the muck below his feet sucked at them greedily, and Sam began to sink into the sludge. The bottom of the moat held his boots tight, shifting him off balance and sent him reeling backward into the water. Hinging at the knees, he landed flat on his back. The surface of the water slammed against it, making it sing with pain. Sam felt Jasper's weight on top of him as his hands held his shoulders beneath the surface. Salt water flooded the inside of Sam's lungs as panic set in. Sam struggled to gain leverage against Jasper, anxiously pushing his hands against the bottom of the moat, not quite able to bring himself to the surface as Jasper pushed against him. The world began to go fuzzy.

A plane engine roared to life. Jasper snapped his head towards the sound, his eyes suddenly filled with unwarranted confidence that reinforcements had come to his aid. Reinforcements were not necessary at this point, in his mind, but would nevertheless be welcomed.

Sully's plane puttered from behind its mangrove shield on the lighthouse-held island.

Jasper recognized the plane, and his momentary confidence drained quickly. Reinforcements had come and not to his aid. The sound had shifted Jasper's attention from the task at hand. The pressure on Sam's shoulders slacked. Taking advantage, Sam rolled out of his grasp, kicking himself away. Jasper plunged face-first back into the water as Sam slithered out from under him.

Both men stood up. Jasper's suit, once crisp and clean, was now a dirty, gritty brown, torn, soaked, and streaked with blood. The façade of a put-together southern gentleman had been stripped away entirely. His green eyes, which could always reveal his true nature, blazed wildly.

Sam's chest heaved heavily. He had been choked, shot at, slashed, just about drowned, emotionally and almost physically skewered. His body was tired, and he knew he was just about spent.

Bumps emerged silently from the water behind Jasper's right shoulder.

What the fuck, Sam thought, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion while droplets of bloody water fell from them.

The bumps in the water glided towards them, gaining speed.

The visual of Jasper's body slithering towards him flashed into his brain again as Sully's voice, though it was originally said with a roar, whispered in his ear.

Just be careful of the crocodile.

Sam began to scamper backward.

When Sam was 12, he and three other boys in the orphanage had snuck into the common room one night to watch a copy of Jaws one of the visiting priests had taped off HBO. Sam would never admit out loud how much it had scared him. That would be way too pussy. But Sam never set one toe in the water on the outing the sisters had arranged for the kids to the beach that summer. Neither did the three others, each feigning a different stomach ailment.

Though this wasn't a shark, the vivid memories lightninged through his brain as he scrambled up the sides of the moat.

The son of a bitch is running, Jasper questioned to himself. He opened his mouth to yell and scream. To tell him to get back here and fight, that this was far from over, that wherever Samuel Drake ran, wherever that stupid girl ran, he would find them, kill them and rid this earth of the plague that they are.

Sam's name barely had time to leave Jasper's lips before he felt the pain in his ankle as the bones crunched, crumbling with the force of the animal's jaws. His knees buckled as large teeth sank into the flesh of his calf, tearing away as the crocodile pulled at him. Jasper locked panicked eyes with Sam one last time before he was seized around the waist and pulled under. The animal thrashed with its prey in its mouth. Arms and legs flung in the water as the crocodile executed its signature death roll, the water around it becoming black with a mix of silt and blood. The acid in Sam's stomach lurched into his throat as he watched the animal submerge and retreat, taking Jasper's body with him.

Sam hung his head between his legs, his elbows shakily perched on his knees as he spat bile on the ground between them. He had been through a lot in his life, but he had never seen a grown man eaten by a crocodile before.

Swallowing his stomach back in place, Sam finally realized it was over. Jasper Knox was dead. Faith was alive. The treasure was found, and it was over. The thought made the last of his strength betray him, and he sank to his knees, bracing his hands against the ground to keep himself from faceplanting. Under his hand was a sheet of paper that fluttered down from the top of the fort when Faith opened her hand. He moved his fingers to see the writing beneath. Expecting to find pages of lead-inked script from a fountain pen, instead, he found a map of Fort Jefferson made on an ordinary inkjet printer.

I guess Nathan isn't the only master of distraction. The thought made Sam smile.

Sam sat back on his heels and stared at the top of the fort, its flag blowing in the breeze. His smile faded to stoicism when he saw the bruised female figure staring down at him.

It wasn't as entirely over as he had thought.