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Contents ( 66)
  1. Cover
  2. Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. Dedication
  6. Contents
  7. Map of Florida
  8. one
  9. two
  10. three
  11. four
  12. five
  13. six
  14. seven
  15. eight
  16. nine
  17. ten
  18. eleven
  19. twelve
  20. thirteen
  21. fourteen
  22. fifteen
  23. sixteen
  24. seventeen
  25. eighteen
  26. nineteen
  27. twenty
  28. twenty-one
  29. twenty-two
  30. twenty-three
  31. twenty-four
  32. twenty-five
  33. twenty-six
  34. twenty-seven
  35. twenty-eight
  36. twenty-nine
  37. thirty
  38. thirty-one
  39. thirty-two
  40. thirty-three
  41. thirty-four
  42. thirty-five
  43. thirty-six
  44. thirty-seven
  45. thirty-eight
  46. thirty-nine
  47. forty
  48. forty-one
  49. forty-two
  50. forty-three
  51. forty-four
  52. forty-five
  53. forty-six
  54. forty-seven
  55. forty-eight
  56. forty-nine
  57. fifty
  58. fifty-one
  59. Epilogue
  60. Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
  61. Prologue
  62. one
  63. Acknowledgments
  64. About the Author
  65. Back Ads
  66. Back Cover

He slipped out of his cot, grabbed his small duffel bag, and tiptoed out, being careful not to wake the handful of firemen sleeping in the room with him. He tossed his duffel through the opening for the firemen’s pole and then slid down it. His bike was parked with the fire trucks. Unzipping his bag, he took out a pair of hand-me-down Army shorts that one of the pool boys at The Breakers had given him and put them on, along with his sneakers and a clean T-shirt. Then he strapped the duffel on top of his saddlebag, put on his gloves, and made his way out of the firehouse.

Back on A1A, Peyton was ready to head south for Miami, but the sight of the ocean arrested him, as it so often did. The Atlantic was spellbinding tonight, with a soft silver moon-glow shimmering on the water.

Up ahead, he saw a neon sign advertising a roadside attraction his father had marked on the map—not with a circle or arrow but with a heavy X as if he had crossed it out over and over, trying to make it go away. It was the Gatorama. Peyton was traveling a relatively empty stretch of highway, where occasional roadside attractions like this one were the only bridge from one town to the next. Had the sky been cloudy, he wouldn’t have seen the odd shadows ahead that made him stop in the middle of the deserted highway. Even aided by moonlight, he rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly and not imagining the unbelievable sight in front of him.

A parade of alligators was crossing the highway, apparently moving from the beachfront Gatorama to someplace inland. The four in front were each somewhere between four and six feet long, but the one in back was a monster—at least fifteen feet from his snout to the tip of his tail. Every now and then, one of the reptiles would stop and have to be coaxed along by whoever was following behind. Peyton could see the shadow of a person holding what looked like a long staff and gently tapping at a gator’s tail to try to get it moving again. Then he heard a girl’s voice: “C’mon now, Le Roi, just a little farther and you’ll all be free o’ that awful place.”

Making as little noise as possible, Peyton pulled off the road and laid his bike down in the sea oats so it wouldn’t attract attention from anybody traveling this late at night. Then he walked toward the alligators, which had made it across the highway and were now following a narrow, sandy path that wound through scrub pine and sea oats. Hiding behind a tall pine, Peyton watched their movements. Occasionally, one of the gators would snap its tail back and forth, as if it suddenly felt the need to smack the daylights out of something and was flailing about in the darkness, searching for a target.