Feral primates capable of spreading deadly herpes are plaguing Floridians and the state’s wildlife, experts complain. And the rhesus macaques’ ranks are growing.

“I personally am concerned,” Steve Johnson, associate professor of wildlife ecology at the University of Florida, tells the Guardian.

The rhesus macaque population in Silver Springs State Park has grown to more than 1,000 statewide, increasingly terrified state officials say. They’re wreaking havoc on the environment, gorging themselves on quail eggs and 50 species of plants.

And most menacingly, about 30 percent of those caught harbored herpes-B virus, and some actively carried the disease in their saliva and other bodily fluids, meaning it could easily be transmitted via a bite.

The virus can be deadly for humans. The threat became a real one in November, when a monkey infected a Japanese scientist with herpes-B, putting the lab worker in critical condition.

And they can swim — fast. Kayaker Rod Guynn captured the moment rhesus macaques dove into the Silver River this October, putting on display their strong swimming skills, and offering a warning to other park-goers of how close the animals can get.

The saga of these monkeys’ trail of terror began nearly 100 years ago. The primates are not native to the sunshine state’s Silver Springs State Park, but were introduced to the area by a wily tour guide, named Colonel Tooey, in the 1930s. Inspired by the film “Tarzan,” and looking to increase his tour’s allure, Tooey released six rhesus macaques onto an area island, where they have thrived and multiplied across Florida ever since. While initially a thrill for riders of the captain’s glass-bottom boat expeditions, the animals quickly became a threat.

The monkeys are on the state’s “do not feed,” list, but Johnson says more must be done.

“There’s a low risk, but very high consequence should something happen,” Johnson says. “Fortunately nothing has happened yet, but I wouldn’t want to have that looming over me if I was the state.”

With the primates’ population set to double by 2022, wildlife managers in the state are continuing their efforts to remove the terrors, but haven’t offered up many details on just how they’ll rid the state of the growing problem.

“If I was the manager, I would want to try to have them removed,” says Johnson, “But it’s not an easy decision, and it won’t be an easy task.” The situation, he acknowledges, is complicated.

“They’re not supposed to be there,” Johnson warns. “They were brought there by people. They’re like feral hogs, or feral cats.”