Dad grinned. “Novaton Police Department? You’re planning to kill them with laughter…is that the plan? Better off saying you’re from the Miami-Dade Sheriff’s Department.”

“What if they don’t buy it?” Carl said. “What if they start shooting?”

“Then we’ll have to shoot back—unless of course they bring Anya on deck.”

“Then what?” Carl asked.

“Then we improvise.”

Lifting his poncho to reveal the Mossberg, Dad spoke to Carl. “Since these are loaded with alternating slugs and double-ought, I suggest we aim the buckshot at the decks and the slugs at the waterline, preferably near the bow. Anywhere but the superstructure. At this range the boat walls will, I hope, stop most of the shot, but the slugs will go through them like paper, and Anya could be in there.”

Carl nodded. “Gotcha. Easy. Those boats is too pan-o-ramic to miss.”

Dad looked at Carl, then Jack.

“Don’t ask, Dad.” Jack gestured ahead. “Let’s go.”

“And look out for that alligator along the way,” Dad said.

Carl shook his head. “I heard Semelee and Luke talkin’ while I was stuck here and they was sayin’ Devil was hurt bad. The way they was talking, I don’t think he’ll be up for chasin’ us.”

“Be on the lookout anyway,” Jack said. “Even if he’s not, there’s still that two-headed snapping turtle.”

“Oh, yeah,” Carl said. His lips tightened. “Dora.”

“Two-headed snapping turtle?” Dad said. “What—?”

“Later, Dad. Just don’t get too close to the water.”

“Haven’t you both forgotten about something else to look out for? What about those flying things that gobbled up Anya’s dog and made such a mess of her place? I don’t want to run into them.”

“A snootful of double-ought buck will clip their wings, don’t you think?” Jack said.

Dad frowned. “If you can hit them. The ones I saw in the movie were moving pretty damn fast.”

On that reassuring note, Jack turned and led them away from the canoe. Heads down against the wind and rain, they sloshed through the oaks, palms, and cypresses, keeping a good ten feet from the water’s edge, heading toward the cenote. Well before they reached it, even through the driving rain, Jack could see the lights flashing up from its depths.

As they arrived at the rim, now only an inch or so above the waterline, Dad leaned close to Jack and spoke in a low voice, barely audible above the storm. “Now isn’t this a helluva thing?” He peered down into the flashing depths. “What on earth is going on down there?”

“Not sure,” Jack told him. “But you want to avoid too much exposure to those lights.”

Dad took a quick step back. “Why? Radioactive?”

Worse, Jack wanted to say, but that would stimulate a lot of questions he didn’t have time to answer. So he settled for, “Could be.”