Jack had finally managed to fire enough bullets into the gator's skull to kill it, and was just starting to relax, when two more of the beasts climbed up out of a manhole.
"Oh, of course," Jack grumbled. "The sewers. Where else would giant alligators come from?"
And they started spitting mutant goldfish, too, and his pistol was nearly out of bullets, so he did what any respectable veteran of the armed forces would do: run away.
He had a little bit of a lead on the monsters when he got to the docks, which was good. "Unluckily for you," he called over his shoulder as he ran towards the Homer, "I like to follow the Boy Scout motto!!!"
He rushed into his boat's cabin, got out the metal box stashed under the bed, and unlocked it. The rest of the gear could wait; right now, he needed the
P90. He slammed the magazine home, flicked off the safety, and stepped out onto the deck. "All right," he told the giant gators, which were now watching him suspiciously from farther down the dock. "Come get some."
[Open for gator carnage. Or for people wanting to rent the boat. One of the two.]