Death. It looks like death.
Flat black eyes stare through me, like it sees only my bones, flesh. And wants them. Wants them all.
The world stops.Torpedo-shaped body.The words are dredged from the back of my mind. It’s huge, shockingly huge. Bigger than the whole sky and ocean put together. It’s covered in scars, running down its pointed snout, stretching under its chin. Angry. Red. Gouge marks.
And its mouth is a conveyor belt of teeth.
Itswide-openmouth.
Sharks rip their prey into mouth-sized pieces…and swallow them whole.
I scream, the sound ricocheting through my ears and the water. I push both arms out in front of me, curl them into stupid fists, and start swinging.
Closer, closer.
Two arm lengths away.
It’s not stopping. It’s not stopping.
I feel like I’m paused at a pedestrian crossing, and the car in front of me won’t slow down. It’s hurtling forward, closer, closer. I swing my right fist as hard as I can, and it flinches away, my fingers skimming the rough surface of its cold skin. I pull back as it charges past my face, sinking lower in the water. Heart pounding so hard, my entire face is numb.
Get to the boat!
I resurface noisily, scrambling to theReel Easy,my arms so heavy that it’s hard to lift them. But it’s closer, so close I can see the aluminum hull glinting in the dark.
I slap my fist against the side of the hull, tilting my head all the way back, trying to scan the boat for Luke. But I can’t see up over the side. I can’t see shit.
Where’s the ladder? Where’s the ladder?
I tread water beside the boat, legs and arms growing heavier as the fin cuts through the water, straight at me.
There!
I lunge for the boarding ladder, gripping the rail and hauling myself out. I scramble up the stairs, pulling my feet up, darting glances over my shoulder as the fin ducks below the surface.
I collapse in the boat, heart roaring in my ears.
TheReel Easyis dead silent. I peer at the skipper’s chair.
Luke.
I clamp a hand to my ribs, breathing slow and shallow. Luke is slumped in the chair, my knife stuck in his chest.
Chapter 33
We just want him home.
I swipe at my eyes and try to swallow through the lump in my throat. We’ve been driving for hours, wordless and silent, eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead. But all I can think about are Chris’s mum’s words.
We just want him home.
My throat closes and I grip the wheel tighter. Chris isn’t coming home. He’s never coming home.
“Letmedrive, Min,” Heath urges from the passenger seat. “Please.”
I shake my head, swiping at tears with my sleeve. “No,” I say, the first word I’ve spoken in hours. I need to do something. Isn’t that what Chris said on that crazy morning we spent digging for Donny Granger?
I need to do something with my hands.
