Jurassic Florida

Book 1: Hunter Shea's One SIze Eats All

by Hunter Shea

Genres: Short Stories; Horror; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

FLORIDA. IT’S WHERE YOU GO TO DIE. Welcome to Polo Springs, a sleepy little town on Florida’s Gulf Coast. It’s a great place to live—if you don’t mind the hurricanes. Or the flooding. Or the unusual wildlife . . . IGUANAS. THEY’RE EVERYWHERE. Maybe it’s the weather. But the whole town is overrun with the little green bastards this year. They’re causing a lot of damage. They’re eating everything in sight. And they’re just the babies . . . HUMANS. THEY’RE WHAT’S FOR DINNER. The mayor wants to address the iguana problem. But when Hurricane Ramona slams the coast, the town has a bigger problem on their hands. Bigger iguanas. Bigger than a double-wide. Unleashed by the storm, this razor-toothed horde of prehistoric predators rises up from the depths—and descends on the town like retirees at an early bird special. Except humans are on the menu. And it’s all you can eat . . . Raves for The Montauk Monster “Old school horror.” —Jonathan Maberry “A lot of splattery fun.”— Publishers Weekly “Frightening, gripping.”— Night Owl Reviews

Release date: June 19, 2018

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 112

Sample

Quotes

“We are the people our parents warned us about.”

—Jimmy Buffet

“I think most of the dinosaur specimens we find represent subadult sizes.”

—Jack Horner, paleontologist

SEARCH FOR SURVIVORS AND SUSPECTS CONTINUES

March 4. Search crews are still scouring the Gulf of Mexico today for survivors of the massive Maxxon oil rig explosion that has rocked the region. Shockwaves from the disaster plummeted through the extensive pipeline, sending ripples across the Gulf’s floor that measured 5.7 on the Richter scale. Extensive damage is being reported by numerous oil rigs in a ten mile radius.

The eco-terrorist group, Earth Matters, has claimed responsibility for the blast that at last count has claimed the lives of twenty-three people, with dozens more injured, some in critical condition. It is estimated that fifteen of those reported casualties were on board the Great Gaia, a boat loaded with explosives that slammed into the Maxxon supports at five a.m. on Monday. Earth Matters declared the calamity a ‘victory for mother Earth’.

Authorities have arrested five key members of Earth Matters overnight, with talk of them being taken to Guantánamo Bay for questioning. Numerous eco-activist groups have been quick to disassociate themselves from Earth Matters, though there is suspicion that they were working in tandem with several cells throughout the South to execute one of the most stunning homegrown terror attacks in US history.

Joining the Coast Guard and hundreds of other first responders is a team of environmental engineers to assess the extent of the damage to the ecosystem.

“These jobless animals not only have taken the lives of innocent men and women, they have just murdered innumerable fish and plant life, fouling the waters in a way that may take a generation to overcome. All that matters to them is their cause, no matter how misguided. If they truly cared about the earth, they wouldn’t take such drastic measures to destroy vital parts of it,” a spokesman for the corps of environmental engineers said. Looking out over the spreading oil slick, the waters littered with the bodies of thousands of fish, he said, “The death penalty would be too good for these people, if you can call them people.”

The President will be speaking out about the tragedy at a press conference later today. Earth Matters has been moved to the top of the FBI’s most wanted list, and a special task force is being gathered to apprehend all those involved with the eco-terrorist group.

Meanwhile, a special vigil is being held in . . .

Chapter 1

They fed Tony to an alligator!

Frank Ferrante woke up in a cold sweat, heart galloping to break free from his rib cage. His mouth was gritty with sand, the sour taste of thick morning breath compounded by the fact that he hadn’t brushed his teeth in two weeks.

He rubbed his sunburnt lids with filthy knuckles. The image of Tony, screaming like he’d never imagined a man could scream, the alligator clamped on his leg like a vise, refused to dissipate like the ghost of a dream.

Because it wasn’t a dream.

The crying gulls overhead were drowned out by Tony’s pleading cries within his head.

The sun stabbed his face when he sat up, the Gulf of Mexico surf creeping toward his hiding space in the tall beach grass. He spat into the sand, the yellow gob of mucous quickly absorbed.

“You’re safe. You’re safe,” he muttered, hoping if he said out loud enough, he’d eventually believe it. So far, it wasn’t working.

What he did know was that he was safe for the moment. That didn’t mean his ultimate fear wasn’t standing right behind him, waiting to ruin the next moment.

An old couple walked along the surf, gray hair standing on end against the breeze. A guy wearing nothing but a nut hugger and headphones jogged past them, his body glistening with sweat or sea spray. Frank really didn’t care which.

Every joint and muscle in Frank’s body hurt. He was used to sleeping on one of those sleep-number beds, not within itchy beach grass, alleys and dark stairwells. He was sore and tired and hungry and scared. He wondered how long his heart could hold out, always on the brink of disaster and misery like this. He was young, only thirty-two, but he’d aged at least fifty years over the past couple of weeks.

Shit, being forced to watch what they did to Tony had taken him right to the front of the old codger line.

“What the hell?”

Something tickled his back. He reached an arm to pull what must have been grass out of his shirt. His shoulder popped, ripples of pain shooting down to his fingertips. The pad of his index finger touched something long and hard. It moved up his back. More like scampered.

Frank yelped, the old couple pausing in their morning walk to see him pop out of the reeds like an overexcited meerkat.

Something was in his shirt, clawing its way up and down his back. He went into an impromptu St. Vitus dance, clawing at the dirty rag he called a shirt. Now there was something in his front and back!

He stepped on his own foot, toppling backward. He heard and felt whatever was in his shirt give a soft pop. A sticky wetness oozed down his spine. Tearing his shirt open, the buttons popping free, a sleek green shape leapt off his scarred belly and tore ass along the beach.

Goddamn lizard.

Which meant the thing that had exploded on his back was one, too. Disgusted, but not as much as he would have been weeks ago, he slipped his shirt off and inspected the Turin-like stain that was in the vague shape of a lizard. He scooped the sticky remains off his back, flicking it onto the sand but refusing to look.

Still in his clothes, he walked into the warm waters of the Gulf, washing the remains from his flesh.

There were more goddamn lizards in this poor excuse for a Florida town than squirrels in all of New York. He’d gotten used to them flitting over him while he slept. But this . . . this was an intrusion that would not stand. He was glad he’d crushed the one, pissed he’d let the other get away.

After a thorough soak, Frank left the beach, wet shoe prints in the sand. He needed to find food and something to drink. Worsening dehydration was making his heart beat all kinds of funky. He should be home in Ozone Park right now, having a hot cappuccino, huevos rancheros and a side of home fries at the North Avenue Diner.

Frank choked back tears at thinking he could never go back there again.

That life was as good and done as Tony’s.

Dripping seawater, he didn’t bother to make himself presentable. Let everyone think he was a bum, a nothing that wasn’t even worth a second glance. There was safety in that. For now.

He spied baby lizards darting in and out of the grass and up the palm trees as he shambled toward what passed for a town square.

“Get out of here,” he spat, stomping his foot to make them run away.

They were looking at him. They knew what he’d done. They’d be waiting for him tonight, when he was too damn tired to keep vigil.

“You’re fucking losing it.”

Picking up rocks along the way, he flung them at the lizards, hoping there would be some of yesterday’s sandwiches in the dumpster behind the luncheonette.

Huevos rancheros weren’t going to be on the menu for a long, long time.

Chapter 2

Gary’s scream got Don Hendricks running for the door.

Where the hell was he?

Don listened for his son, who had gone eerily silent.

This is why he turned off the central air and kept the windows open whenever Gary went out to play. Florida in the summer was like living in a prison, everyone trapped in the cocoon of their cool houses, oblivious to what was going on outside their doors. A little bit of sweat was a small price to pay for being able to listen out for your child.

He looked up and down the street, hoping to every god ever worshipped that he didn’t spot an unmarked van speeding away.

Everyone thought he was crazy when he scaled down his business and left his nice office to work out of his home. Barbara’s real estate job had taken off and she had blossomed in ways he’d never imagined. Rather than stick Gary in some overpriced daycare where he had to worry if he was being properly cared for, Don had made the decision to be the stay at home dad four years ago. No one thought it would last, especially not Barbara’s parents.

He once considered having a sign made, the kind they posted in factories, that would say: 498 DAYS WITHOUT AN ACCIDENT, just to have a daily affirmation that he was doing the best job a dad could do. When his in-laws would snort about his still ‘dabbling in this Suzie homemaker busines. . .