His eyes looked about ready to fall out of his skull.  “Guess I’m not so crazy after all,” Mick muttered. “Say what?” the Italian kid asked. He was busy tying a pair of Windbreakers together so he could make a sack to carry supplies in.  Mick didn’t answer him. Instead, he walked over to where the big guy stood and fixed his gaze on the mangled body sitting in muddy water, blood and brain matter.  “What the hell is that?” Mick said.  “I’ll tell you what it’s not. That ain’t no fucking monkey.” “It looks like it has two legs and two arms, but they’re so tore up, it’s hard to make heads or tails. Maybe if we can see the face.” Mick found an old, gnarled stick and used it to try to turn the body over. It had been squished into the mud and sand, neither wanting to give up their desperate hold. When it came loose with a sickening burp, the foulest odor he had ever had the displeasure of smelling exploded out of the carcass.  “If I had anything in my stomach, it would be on the floor right now,” Mick said, pinching his nose shut.
