Lock, Croc and Two Smoking Barrels

They might run. Michael would have run, if he had anywhere to run to. But somehow, he was here, stranded in the Everglades, and he was still alive.

***

Time passed. Michael had no watch to tell exactly when it was, as that was also part of his phone. Thus was the perils of conglomerating all your technology into one piece of easily broken glass. The sun appeared to be directly above him, so it was probably close to lunch time.

Michael looked in his backpack. The contents were there, and they hadn't been damaged in transit. The longer he was missing, the more likely they would send someone to find him. Maybe someone else would find him... if they also got lost in the exact same way he did.

A wet slap came from the dock. Michael stood from the bed and looked out the door. A tricolored heron had been thrown onto the deck, its neck twisted and bloody. Odile looked up at him from the water.

"Here you go." She said. "This is what you wanted, right? Me to get you some food?"

"Oh!" Michael gasped, looking at the dead animal at his feet. This was several steps away from a chicken sandwich with mayonnaise and lettuce. He knelt to offer his hand to Odile, which she accepted. He helped hoist her up out of the water, water scattering down her nude form, leaving lots of little rivulets on her lightly-colored underbody. Michael again tried not to stare. "This is very generous of you, Odile, but I can't eat this. I might get sick from a parasite or something. We humans aren't as robust as you."

Michael was afraid this Creole would take offense to not accepting her cooking, if this counted. Thankfully, she wasn't bothered at all. "If you don't want it, I'll eat it." She reached down and grabbed the poor bird by the barely-attached neck and dragged it inside the hut. She sat in the corner, legs spread, the bird in her lap. She tore the head from the body with her claws and started biting off chunks of the bird's neck like it was a corn dog.

With her sharp teeth, unsuitable for the grinding work assigned to molars, Odile didn't chew the chunks of meat so much as bite them and shred them. A piece too large to swallow might force her to hold the piece in her claws as she tore it with her teeth.

Michael watched this with deep fascination, and only a little disgust. Blood never bothered him... unless it happened to an animal. But this was the law of nature, the circle of life, whatever it was called. Odile had to eat, and she caught that heron fair and square. Odile scraped the bones of its wings of meat, apparently having no aversion to eating the feathers or smaller bones.

She cut the body of the heron open with her claw, cracking the rips open and exposing the guts. She pulled out a few organs she knew she didn't like, and ate the rest like a kid at a pie eating contest. She threw the remains of the bird out the door and into the water.

Odile had a river of blood running from her mouth, down her neck, over her breasts and down to her crotch. She licked blood from her fingers with her tongue, her tongue apparently not long enough to go very far out of her mouth. She rubbed them on her lips and sucked the blood in past her teeth. She sighed and patted her blood-splattered belly. "That was good." She hummed with satisfaction, sucking her claw. "That's why I caught it, because I like it, so I hoped you would've liked it."

Odile stood, a single trickle of blood running down her leg. She looked at Michael, who had been watching her eat. "What happened to your second brain?"

Michael looked down. Again, he was hard as a rock, straining to snap the flimsy metal fly like the buttons on a fat guy's suit. He pulled his T-shirt down over it, chagrined. "Oh, it's nothing. I guess... you're teaching me a lot, so it grows sometimes to... make room."

Did he really just say that? Is this how he is around beautiful women, even inexplicable half-reptilian ones? No wonder he was a virgin.

Despite his doubts, Odile seemed to accept that explanation. She turned around towards the door. "I'm going to swim a bit to wash off."

"Aren't you afraid you're going to attract sharks?" Michael asked.

Odile turned back with a lopsided smile. "They know not to mess with me." And with that, she turned back and dove into the water.

Michael was a little sad that tail always seemed to cover up any chance to check out that ass... but the tail itself was a beautiful appendage itself. It swayed beautifully, like there was music only she could hear and that was how she kept the beat.

Snapping back to reality, Michael just realized what he was thinking. This scaly tail... was attractive to him? The reptile creature that nevertheless looked like a Baywatch model... that was understandable. That was close to what he was used to. But he'd never met a woman and thought, "Wow, check out that tail! If she's wagging it, she gaggin' for it!"

What the hell was wrong with him, he thought? I need to get out of this swamp.

Chapter 3: Croc Like An Egyptian

Mid-afternoon broke, and Odile was back in her overalls. Michael was honestly relieved; he wouldn't have to keep pretending he wasn't staring. Odile was spread out on the small deck before the door, arms under her chin, her mouth wide open as she took deep breaths and let them out. Michael had seen this on Discovery Channel. Not exactly this, of course, but she was trying to regulate her body temperature as a cold-blooded creature by expelling warm air. Of course, whenever Odile did it, her breasts heaved a bit and her cleavage deepened. He felt like he was back in high school, pointing out every time the bustier classmates dropped their pencil. Michael was not out of the woods, or the swamp, yet.

"Are you hot?" He asked. "Why don't you come inside? It's cooler in the shade. Or take a swim."

"I'm still full. I don't want to move." She panted as she continued her heavy breathing exercise. He almost expected her to try to catch a dragonfly with her tongue. Of course, that was ridiculous. She wasn't a frog.

"Oh yeah, you don't want to swim so soon after eating." Michael pointed at her. "You'll get a cramp."

"A what?"

"Never mind." He sighed. "Do you get many other people out here... that you didn't eat?"

Odile thought a moment. "Just... the occasional person in a boat. Once or twice, they have run when I told them to."

"I wanted to run, and you were still going to eat me."

"Most of my recent encounters have gone badly. Some of the city folk I encounter were the striped men with the thunder sticks."

"Are you talking about hunters? People with rifles?"

"There were men in striped clothes. Striped upwards and sideways." Michael assumed she was trying to describe a plaid shirt. "They had these wood sticks that made noise."

"Those are guns. They're weapons made by humans to hunt animals. They fire metal things at very high speed."

"I wonder if that's what happened to my foot..." Odile said, slowing her panting. Michael moved in closer. The underside of Odile's right foot had a circular scar on it. "My skin is very strong. They hit me with something on my back, but it didn't hurt. This time, they got me where I'm soft, and the thing stopped inside me. I had to dig it out with my claw."

"I guess the bullet stopped when it hit the underside of your scales, then."

"The man who hurt my foot..." Odine began. "He didn't have a thunder stick. He had a small black thing. It looked like a—whatjacallit—cel-e-phone."

"Are you talking about a handgun?" Michael asked. "What kind of hunter comes out into the swamp with a handgun?"

Odile shrugged. "The only one who actually hurt me before I ate him. It doesn't hurt anymore. I healed."

"Do you... want me to kiss it better?" Michael asked, hesitant.

She turned to him. "Kiss?"

Michael assumed she wouldn't know what kissing was, unless there was some Eskimo kiss situation of bumping toothy snouts together. Michael demonstrated it by kissing the back of his hand. Odile didn't seem to understand, so he went for it. Taking her scaly foot in both hands, he kissed the underside gently, right where her scar was.

He stepped back to his seat, closer to her face. "Does it feel better?"

Odile looked off, gently biting her lower lip, then back to him, her slit pupils widening as she said, "Yes, it does." She smiled.

Michael looked off to the swamp. He saw a dragonfly zipping around some small flowers, a distant swan swimming across the water like the target of a carnival game, the rustle of gentle breezes shaking the branches of the trees.

"Is this what you do all day?" He asked.

"Sometimes." Odile responded, dropping her hand into the water and brushing it with her fingertips, making little waves. "Why, what else should we be doing?"

Michael's mind filled with inappropriate thoughts. He briefly fantasized about clamping his lips on those round breasts, suckling out whatever they contained. It probably wasn't milk, but that was fine with him. He didn't like milk anyway. Maybe they contained roe, like a fish. OK, this got less sexy the more he earnestly thought about it. Besides, caviar was for fancy-pantses.

"I don't know. Is there... anything you feel like doing? Something you can't do alone?" Michael could do it alone, but he was afraid the second he pulled it out, she'd have it for lunch without even understanding its importance.

"Nah." She shrugged. That made it clear to him; she wasn't interested in humans like that. Only as meals, and maybe friendship. Another woman who would rather be friends. It was a relief... or was it?

Michael had to start talking about something else. "Are you waiting for prey to swim by?"

"I'm not even hungry."

"Then why not hang out inside, where it's slightly cooler?"

Odile sighed, groaned as she got up to her feet, slowly staggered her way back to her bed, and plopped down into the bed in much the same pose. Michael shuffled over towards her, sitting in a new corner.

He briefly entertained the notion of finally rubbing one out, but with how shallow her sleep was and how easily she was roused, he decided against it. When he was away from his video games and other electronic distractions, and denied even that most simple pleasure of masturbation... he really had nothing to pass the time.

If this is all that happened in the swamp... one would think people who lived out here would be happier to see visitors. But those visitors all seemed to harbor ill intentions. Everyone except him.

Except him... Michael looked back over to his backpack. By now, he had been missing for an entire day. Someone was looking for him. But to be found, they would have to get lost themselves... hopefully.

Chapter 4: Croc Lobster

Michael withdrew his Swiss Army knife, pulled out the largest knife within it, a two-inch straight blade. He scratched two vertical scores into the wood of one wall the way a prisoner would scratch the days into the concrete of his cell. Maybe modern prisoners would just use a marker, but he had no marker and walls of wood, so the knife won out.

Odile slithered up behind him without him noticing. "What is this?" She asked, not bothered by the graffiti.

"I'm just trying to keep track of how long I'll be here." He said. "They do this in the movies, so... I figured why not."

"No, that. The shiny thing." She pointed her claw at the knife. "Is it sharp?" She took it from his hands, pointing the knife at herself. She tapped the point against the scales on the top of her hand. It bounced right off like a pebble thrown at a sewer lid. She brought the knife to her soft flank, exposed on the side by the overalls. She tapped the point against the less rigid skin. She made a gentle grunt, but her skin was not pierced. It might as well have been an unsharpened pencil.

"How do you defend yourself without claws?" She asked.

"Not very well, as you saw a few days ago." Michael said. Odile handed the knife back to him and extended a single claw-tipped finger. She scratched the thin scores he had just made into deep, wide visible scratches as effortlessly as you'd scrape the frosting off the top of a piece of birthday cake.

Feeling just a bit inadequate, he folded the two-inch knife and put it away. He reached for his canteen and shook it, feeling nothing within. He cocked his head back and shook the last few drops into his mouth.

"What's wrong?" Odile asked.

"I'm out of water." Michael answered, shaking the canteen upside-down, the lid clattering against it like a cowbell.

Odile blinked, her vertical pupils growing narrow, a gentle squint forming on her confused face. "Then go get some." She said. "I got plenty."

"I can't drink that water."

Odile made a gentle hissing click. "Oh, sorry, Downtown. Sorry my home's water isn't up to snuff."

"No, that's not it. It's salt water." Odile looked confused, and Michael continued before she could ask about the different kinds of water. "Or maybe it isn't. I honestly don't know if it's salt water, but it's got microorganisms in it that will probably make me really sick."

"So... you need the stuff people from the city drink?"

That was apparently the line Odile drew between herself and humans. Not merely as 'people,' as she evidently thought of herself as at least partially human. She was different in attitude and geography and placement. She was from the swamp, other people were from "the city," an imaginary single city where the rest of the world lived. When city folk like himself blundered in, there was that hillbilly attitude of "get yer Yank ass off my prop'ty." But instead of the threat being supported with a double-barreled shotgun, it was incredible strength and a jaw like a bear trap.

"Anything from the city would be terrific, but I don't know where you'd find any around here."

Odine stood up. "I reckon I'll find something." She walked towards the door.

"You're going out now? It's nighttime." Michael said.

Odine turned around in the doorway, her tail sweeping gently and barely not making contact with the frame. She was a black silhouette against the moonlit swamp. She unbuckled her overalls and dropped them to the ground, revealing her shapely body. "I see perfectly in the dark."

She jumped into the water, hands pointed in front of her like a diver, and swam off.

Even having seen it all before, watching her unbuckle her overalls and strip down before him... he wished he could see perfectly in the dark, too. He adjusted himself in his jeans, trying to get comfortable.

There was nothing but the gentle buzz of bugs, the occasional frog croak, the hiss of wind passing through leaves. She was gone. He was completely alone. His hand went towards his erection, but stopped. He hadn't done it in two days. At home, with access to all the pornography you could imagine, he seldom bothered waiting that long. The longer he waited, the more intrusive the thoughts became.

Michael blew out a cleansing sigh. He would hold out for now. There was many reasons not to. There was no lock on Odile's front door. He would deprive himself of precious fluids, and he was already dehydrated. If she were to return while he was doing it... what would she say?

The thought of Odile walking in on him while playing with himself somehow unleashed a new wave of lust in him, and he grew uncomfortably hard in his jeans. What was happening to his mind? Why was he attracted to this weird mutant?

He closed his eyes. He tried to think of the parts of her that weren't attractive. She had large breasts, but she also had a large tail. She had shapely legs... partially covered in scales. She had reptilian eyes... but they were green. She had no hair... but she probably would look silly with hair. She had a cute belly-button, which now that he thought of it, why did she have a belly button? He'd assumed she'd been born out of an egg. She had a mouth full of razorlike teeth that would (and had!) shredded men like so much pulled pork... but it was nice to see her smile. And there was something about watching her tail swoop about...

OK, Michael needed to go to sleep. He wasn't thinking straight. He turned himself over on the cot, facing the wall, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind so he could rest.

***

Morning broke, and Michael stirred in the cot. Sometime in the night, Odile had climbed into bed behind him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, he couldn't leave the bed without waking her. She snorted in her sleep, bringing one of her legs around his. He was trapped, but this time... he wasn't scared.

Odile slid her nostrils along Michael's neck, sniffing his hot, sweaty flesh. She rubbed her lip against it, tasting the salt. Then Odile gently pricked Michael's shoulder with her top row of teeth.

Michael panicked and pushed Odile out of her bed, throwing her to the floor. Michael sat up, Odile scrambled to all fours and looked up at the threat she imagined had done that. When she saw Michael, she cocked her head to the side. "What happened?"

"You bit me in your sleep!" He checked his shoulder to see if she'd drawn blood. Somehow, she hadn't.

Odine rose to her feet. "Sorry." She sat back down on the bed, putting her arm around Michael's opposite shoulder. He leaned away from the touch, but didn't move from the bed.

"Are you still going to eat me?" He asked nervously.

Odile pursed her lips together, rubbing Michael's shoulder. "I won't eat you, because like you said... you don't want to die a virgin." Michael felt his cheeks flush immediately. "But... I do enjoy the taste. It's so rare, it's like a special occasion when someone shows up for me to eat."

"People themselves aren't rare, of course. Florida's got plenty." Michael said, finally spotting the coconut and bunch of bananas sitting in the corner. "Are those for me?"

"I hope you can eat those." Odile said. "I had to climb a tree to get them. I'm not great at climbing." Odile took the coconut in her hand. "I didn't find water, but... I shook this and it sounded like there was liquid in it." She pressed her thumb through the shell of the coconut, leaving a half-inch hole. She presented it to Michael, who brought the hairy hole to his lips and knocked back a swig of coconut water.

Michael coughed and gagged a bit. It was horrid. He didn't even like coconut Girl Scout cookies. People drink this voluntarily, when they're on vacation? Maybe the coconuts in fancy hotels was actually filled with Kool-aid. On the other hand, it wasn't salty, and it probably had vitamins. He drank it until the coconut was empty, setting it down on the bed. He might try to eat the flesh later... if he could stand it.

"Thank you very much, Odile." Michael said. "I needed that."

"You didn't look like you enjoyed it."

"I was very thirsty. I will take what I can get."

"If you're hungry, you can eat the yellow hand." She pointed to the bananas. "I'm going to swim around looking for something for myself. If I find more, I can bring them to you, but..." She gestured to his backpack. "I could bring back more if I had something to hold the food in."

Michael grew nervous as she directed her attention at his backpack. "Oh, I've already got stuff in there."

"Food?"

"No, something else."

"Does it have to stay in that thing?"

Michael sighed. This woman didn't even know the word 'banana.' What was he nervous about? Michael hoisted the backpack to the bed and opened it. He pulled out twelve bricks of white powder, each a precisely measured kilogram.

"What is that?" Odile asked. "Is this that 'snow' thing I've heard about?"

Go ahead and say it, Michael. Tell her it's cocaine. It won't mean anything to her. She certainly doesn't know what cocaine is, despite living in the general proximity of Miami. She doesn't even have a nose!

"It's flour." He lied. He saw her turn her head out the window to look at some wild swamp blossom. "Not that kind of flower. It's used to make bread, but I can't eat it like this. Besides, it's worth a lot of money..." His sentence trailed off, remembering where he was.