I managed to hang on to the spear, but the rest of them sank to the depths. We had one shot left at this.
The engines growled and gurgled.
I glanced around to check on the team bobbing in the swells. "Everybody okay?"
There were nods all around.
With the camera in a waterproof housing, Nick kept filming.
The dorsal fin of the shark pierced the surface of the water and circled.
We swam back to the stern of the boat. The deep V hull was too steep at the bow to climb. The engines growled like chainsaws, the blades slicing the air. They’d chew through flesh as easily as the shark.
I grabbed the stern corner and climbed up onto the capsized hull as the engines sputtered out. Then I helped Ariel out of the water.
The dorsal fin approached as Jack treaded water at the transom. I grabbed his hand and pulled him up. He cleared the water just as the shark’s dorsal fin submerged.
The shark swam under the boat, the current rocking the Raptor.
Nick was still in the water, filming the three of us climbing onto the hull. Something happens to camera operators in the heat of the moment. They get so caught up in gettingthe shot, they begin to forget the danger. Like the camera imparts some kind of immunity. The allure, the glory of getting a breathtaking, death-defying image is often too great. Maybe it’s the sense of detachment—looking at life through a lens.
“Nick, come on!” Ariel shouted.
The sheriff pulled his patrol boat alongside us. With a mix of anger and concern, he shouted, "I think this little exercise is over.”
In the choppy water, the sheriff kept his boat about six to eight feet from the Raptor. It was too risky to get closer.
The water was filled with the chum of the capsized boat. The shark still lurked in the depths.
The leviathan made another approach as Nick swam toward the Raptor. He slapped and splashed the water, clinging to the camera, doing a one-arm sidestroke.
The shark attacked from underneath again, its jaws wide, teeth sparkling in the sun as it emerged. The meat grinder clamped down, and blood bloomed the water. White water splashed, and Nick’s shrieks of terror filled the air for a moment until the shark pulled him under.
A bloody swirl remained at the surface.
Ariel screamed, her face twisted with sorrow, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The capsized boat pitched and rolled with the swells. It was not the best place to be. A large wave or a nudge would have us in the water again.
I scanned the area, looking for signs of the shark.
The sheriff shouted, “Tango One’s got a visual on the shark. It’s 100 yards out.”
A shark that size could close a 100-yard gap in no time, but it was enough time to get across the channel between the boats.
“Go. Now,” I urged Ariel.
“Fuck that.” Fear drenched her eyes. In all her shark experience, she’d never seen anything like this.
“Hurry!”
After a reluctant beat, Ariel dove into the water and swam across to the patrol boat.
Deputies pulled her aboard.
Jack followed and swam toward the patrol boat.
The dorsal fin surfaced, closer than I would have liked. The shark approached, barreling toward the two boats.
