Bones chuckled. “Tell you what. When we get back to town, we’ll put rat poison in a beer, drop one of these in, and you can drink it. Sound good?”’
Dave laughed. “I’ll pass.” With that pronouncement, he cut the camera. “Does this mean we get, I don’t know, salvage rights or whatever?”
They all looked at Bones, the only treasure hunter in the group.
“If we were three leagues out in the gulf waters or three miles off the Atlantic coast, things would be a lot simpler. On land it’s a little more complicated.”
“But, finders keepers, right?” Carly asked.
“Not necessarily. A lot depends on who owns the property. If we’re still inside the state park, Florida treasure trove law says that whatever we find belongs to the state.”
“That’s not fair,” Dave said.
“That’s just the way it is. The good news is, the common practice here is for the government to keep everything of historical value and give the finder seventy-five percent of the intrinsic value of the find.”
“What if we’re on private property?” Carly asked.
“It probably goes to the owner. There would definitely be a legal battle.”
“And since we’re doing this under the auspices of the television show, there are other ownership angles to consider,” Slater said. “This could be a mess.”
“So, maybe we’re rich and maybe we’re not,” Dave said. “It’s Schrödinger’s treasure.”
“I’m sure this will sort itself out eventually,” Slater said. “But for now, I say we cover up the holes where you two klutzes fell through, and get back to the job at hand.”
Bones nodded. “I want to track down whatever it was that attacked us.”
“You think it was a ‘what’ and not a ‘who’?” Carly asked.
Bones merely nodded.
They made their way back up to the crew deck and Bones helped Slater and then Carly climb out. Both were light and agile so it required little effort. Getting himself and Dave out would take a little more creativity.
“Let’s gather all the boards and crates we can. We’ll pile them up and climb out that way. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to dig up enough dirt to make a mound that we can get up on, and hope it isn’t so heavy that it causes the floor beneath it to collapse.”
He waited for Dave to reply, but no response was forthcoming. The young cameraman knelt by the old fire pit, poking at the bones that lay there. “Take a look at this.” He held up a thick leg bone — a femur if Bones didn’t miss his guess. “It’s got cuts all over it — signs that the meat was butchered. We’ve seen this before on the show. Cannibalism.”
Frowning, Bones took the femur from Dave and gave it a close look. “Maybe not cannibalism.”
“But the cuts…”
“You’re not wrong about the cuts,” he said. “But I don’t think this is human. At least not human as we know it.”
Chapter 10
“Let me get this straight,” Slater said. “You think this is a bone from a primitive form of hominid?” Slater asked. She turned it over in her hands, scrutinizing every inch of its length. Nearby, Dave kept the camera rolling.
“That’s what it looks like to me. Of course, it’s the actual bone, not just a fossil, which means it’s not very old.”
“About as old as the ship?” Dave offered.
Slater nodded. “Mister Gambles did mention the theory that the skunk ape is, in fact, a form of human ancestor. Between the footprint and this bone, we should be able to put that theory to the test.” She looked directly into the camera, her jaw set and her gaze hard. “We now have to consider the possibility that the stranded crew sealed their own fate by killing and eating one of the local population of whatever hominid the skunk ape might be.”
Quieted by dark thoughts, the group retraced its steps and waited while Bones searched around until he picked up the trail of the fleeing attacker. He found no clean prints, but more than enough sign to guide them in the proper direction. As they followed the tracks, the dank swamp began to dry up, and eventually gave way to forest.
It was early afternoon when Bones spotted something in the distance. “Somebody lives here.”
Up ahead, in a clearing, stood an old mobile home. A sagging, makeshift covered porch sheltered the front door. A rusted out 1968 Camaro stood on blocks amidst a patch of tall weeds. Behind the trailer, a decrepit outbuilding hugged the tree line where the forest resumed. To the south, a rutted dirt road wended its way into the dense foliage and vanished from sight.
“I wonder who lives here,” Slater whispered.
“I don’t know, but it’s a shame they didn’t restore that Camaro. What a waste.” Bones moved a few steps forward, still scanning the ground. “The tracks end here. Whatever we’re chasing, it must have skirted the clearing.”
“We’ll see if anyone’s home,” Slater said. “They might have seen something.”
“Does anyone have dueling banjos playing in their head right now, or is it just me?” Dave whispered.
Carly giggled. “I’ll bet you’d be good at squealing like a pig.”
Dave raised his middle finger and kept the camera rolling.
Tension cramped Bones’ shoulders as they strode across the intervening space between the tree line and the old mobile home. His eyes flitted about, keeping alert for danger. Slater noticed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “It’s just a house.”
“I’ve got a feeling that, any second now, some dude in a John Deere had is going to jump out of the woods with a shotgun and start blazing away.”
Slater chuckled but Dave missed a step and Carly’s eyes grew wide.
“I was kidding about the banjos. Do you really think it’s dangerous?” Dave asked.
“Probably not. It’s just that redneckish places like this put me on edge.”
The sagging steps up to the front porch creaked under Bones’ weight, but they supported him. Just as he reached the porch, Slater grabbed him by the arm.
“Let me. I don’t look as intimidating as you.” She winked and slipped past Bones, who backtracked down the steps and moved to stand beside Dave.
Slater knocked, a dull sound in the quiet clearing
No answer.
She knocked again.
“I don’t think anyone’s home.” A note of hopefulness rang in Dave’s voice. “Let’s just keep following the trail.”
“Third time’s a charm.” Slater raised her fist to knock again, but the door flew open and an angry face poked out.
“This is private property. What are you doing here?” The speaker was a white-haired woman no more than five feet tall. Sharp blue eyes gleamed in the midst of a craggy, sun-weathered face.
Slater introduced herself and explained that they were a television crew investigating local legends. If she thought her fringe Hollywood credentials would earn her any points with this woman she was mistaken.
“I don’t know no legends. You need to get on out of here before I call the sheriff.”
“I done called him, Granny.” A familiar figure appeared in the doorway. “He’ll be here any second.” Jack froze when his eyes fell on Slater. “What are you doing here?”
“You know these people, Jack?” The old lady rounded on her grandson, eyes flashing.
“He tried to kill us,” Bones said.
“I didn’t!” Jack took a step back, but his grandmother snatched him up by the hair and hauled him out on the porch with surprising strength.
“Were you messing around with that rifle again? I done told you, it’s for hunting and nothing else. If you can’t be responsible I’m going to take it back from you.” She glanced at Bones. “I’m surprised the big fellow didn’t take it away from you and whoop your butt with it.”