Surrounded by Sharks (15 page)

Davey had been bitten by a shark. It shouldn’t have been that surprising; he’d been surrounded by the things. But it was. It honestly kind of blew his mind.

It was a treacherous little nip. The blue shark had tried the direct approach and failed. So it approached slowly and cautiously on the second attempt. It wormed its slender body up through the water behind Davey and gave the back of his right calf a quick bite, just to see what sort of thing this was. Sharks don’t have hands, after all. If they want to know what something is, they bite it.

Two rows of sharp teeth punched through Davey’s skin, creating connect-the-dot half-moons on either side of his lower leg. Then the blue let go and quickly swam off. It didn’t clamp down hard and shake its head back and forth to tear off the meat. This was just a test. It knew there’d be plenty of time for feeding later.

That time had arrived. The blue cut in between the blacktips, emboldened by the blood in the water. The larger sharks swam farther apart and then back together, but they kept coming. They were all converging on Davey.

He pushed the mouth of the water cooler bottle below the surface, allowing some seawater to funnel in. The little fish that had been beneath it were long gone. They smelled the blood, too, and knew to get clear. The bottle sank lower as the sharks got closer. They were close enough to the surface that he didn’t need the bottle to see them. Plus, it was his only weapon.

The reality was overwhelming, so he tried to frame it as fantasy. He pretended that the blue was an orc and the blacktips were trolls. The bottle was his wizard staff and sword both. The blue arrived first, and he pushed the bottle forward. It was heavier now that it was partially filled.

BLEHNNK
.

It was a slow, glancing blow. The plastic brushed against the shark’s gills. It recognized the thing from before, remembered the impact. It veered off to the side. The tip of its long, flat pectoral fin scraped the bottle as it went. And it didn’t go far.

Davey located the two blacktips and tried to square the bottle up between them. If they split up, he wouldn’t be able to block them both. He had to hope they wouldn’t. As he watched the midnight tips of their fins slice through the surface toward him, a new fin rose into sight.

It was fifteen, maybe twenty, feet behind the blacktips. It rose up through the water and kept rising. It was six inches high, then a foot. Davey’s eyes were weak, but a bat could’ve seen the massive shape moving toward him under that fin. This was no orc; the Uruk-hai had arrived.

The blacktips were almost on him. Reluctantly, he shifted his focus back to them. But they never arrived. They sensed the weight and power of the thing behind them. They were as big as pro athletes; the tiger shark was as big as a boat.

Davey wasn’t even surprised when the blacktips veered off and dove down. He knew by now that blacktips were a timid, curious sort of shark. He knew just by the fact that he was still alive.

But they knew what they were doing. They would wait for the scraps.

They were spread out across the beach. Brando and Drew were working the tree line like monkeys. Pamela had walked all the way to the edge of the beach on one side, and Tam had made it all the way to the other. Marco was pulling a garden rake across the sand in long rows. It wasn’t clear what he thought he’d find that way, but he was working hard at it. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and dark stains blossomed under the arms of his dress shirt.

The other hotel employee from the office was walking back and forth across the sand. Even the two sunbathers were doing their part, standing at the edge of the surf and looking out into the water. Deputy Fulgham stood nearby, shielding his eyes with his hand and scanning the horizon. “I should really go back to the launch and get my binoculars,” he said to Bautista.

Bautista wasn’t listening. He was talking to the Coast Guard station at Marathon. The one at Key West was closer, but he was stationed at Marathon. The radio in his hand had been patched through the more powerful one in his boat.

“I can’t confirm anything right now,” he was saying. “But that’s what it’s starting to look like.”

And then someone started shouting and everything else stopped. It was Brando. He knew how his brother squirreled things away. He’d seen it many times: money and keys hidden under a hat under a shirt under a towel at the lake; his glasses tucked behind the ladder leading up to a waterslide.

By the time Fulgham and Bautista arrived, Brando was already walking back out from the scrub brush at the edge of the beach. He was crying softly. He had a book in one hand and a pair of glasses in the other.

Drew didn’t know what to do and just stared at the glasses. Marco threw the rake down into the sand. Tam and Pamela converged from opposite sides of the beach at dead runs.

“Oh my God,” said Pamela.

“No,” said Tam. “No.”

But there was no denying it anymore, and the two went to pieces after that. Bautista raised the radio back to his mouth. He spoke loudly and clearly so that he could be heard above the sound of it all.

“Station Marathon, this is Lieutenant Commander Bautista. You read me?”

There was a burst of static and then the response: “Roger that. This is Coast Guard Marathon. I got ya, Beast.”

He took a deep breath in, pushed it out, and then pressed the button.

“What do we got in the air?”

*  *  *

Things happened fast after that. Above them, returning from an uneventful law enforcement patrol, an HC-144A Ocean Sentry radioed in. Lieutenant Commander Chris Abelson confirmed the surveillance plane’s position and received his new orders.

“Search and rescue,” he repeated. “Roger that.”

Up at Air Station Clearwater, Lieutenant Amy Vandiemas had the rotors of her MH-60T turning. She shouted back at one of her airmen to stop moving around. Then, in a practiced, even tone into her headset: “Flight controls are checked…. Instruments are checked…. All checked.” And the big helicopter lifted into the sky.

Back on the island, Fulgham was approaching the dock. His feet were as blurry as a hummingbird’s wings as he pounded down the walkway. Behind him, Drew and Brando were doing their best to keep up. It was very clear that Fulgham didn’t plan to wait.

Bautista was at the edge of the little beach, trying to reassure Tam and Pamela. “We’ll do everything we can,” he said.

His eyes scanned the water. Akers was bringing their boat around. Bautista could hear it coming now and waited impatiently for it to appear. Once it did, Bautista strode back out into the water. He grabbed the side and hauled himself aboard. Before his legs even cleared the gunwale, Akers pushed the throttle down.

The only reason Drew and Brando made it onto the police launch was that Deputy Fulgham had to navigate through the people waiting on the dock and then spend a few moments casting off the line. When Drew hopped aboard, he spent a few more moments telling her she really shouldn’t be there. During that time, Brando hopped aboard, too. The boat was already drifting away from the dock, and Fulgham gave up.

“Fine,” he said. “Just put those life jackets on and hold on tight!”

They snapped the vests on and hunkered down as he pegged the throttle. He honked his air horn twice as he zoomed past Captain Zeke’s fat-bottomed boat. He carved a wide white semicircle in the water as he swung the launch around and headed toward the far end of the island.

Fulgham was pretty sure they were wasting their energy, but he had to try. If the kid was still alive, they didn’t have much time. He’d been at sea far too long already. And if he wasn’t, well … The body would either get hung up on the bottom and picked clean or would wash ashore on its own. Either way, he’d want to know — he’d
need
to know — that he’d tried his best.

Brando watched the shore until he saw the little beach come into view. He saw his parents’ backs as they headed toward the path. Then he turned and began scanning the water. “I’ll watch this side,” he called over to Drew. “You watch that one!”

“Right!” she said, but she was already doing it.

Fulgham eased off on the throttle as they came up on Bautista’s boat, which was floating almost motionless now. Brando looked over and saw Bautista throw something over the side. It was an orange ring with a blinking beacon attached. Drew watched it splash down. It caught the current immediately and began to drift away from the boat.

Fulgham cut his engine, and everything was suddenly quiet. For a few moments, everyone on the water was just watching the orange ring float away. Finally, Bautista broke the spell. “We’re right on top of the sandbar,” he shouted over. “You go on ahead! I’m just going to take it slow back here. Don’t want to overshoot him.”

“Got it!” shouted Fulgham. Then he stepped back into the cockpit and hit the throttle.

Brando and Drew looked at each other as the spray kicked up around them. They knew what it meant. Fulgham had to risk zooming right past Davey. He had to take the chance to try to get there in time. Brando leaned out, his eyes open as wide as he could get them. They were covering water fast, just eating it up at this speed. He scanned the surface, looking for his brother, looking for anything.

Drew did the same, taking her eyes off the water just long enough to check the time on her phone. It was almost six.

Fulgham was thinking the same thing. “I don’t like this,” he was saying into his radio. “Too long to stay afloat without a life jacket. And that sun’s going to go down….”

Bautista was listening in on the other end. He knew what it meant. Once the sun went down, hypothermia would set in. And there was something else. Bautista lowered the binoculars from his eyes briefly and looked down under the surface of the water.
Dawn and dusk
, he thought.
That’s when the sharks like to feed
.

*  *  *

But three miles away, the sharks weren’t exactly watching the clock. The big tiger shark was bearing down on Davey. It was close enough now that he could see the faded stripes along its back. He had no idea what to do. This thing was blunt-nosed, thirteen feet long, and twelve hundred pounds. It was like a truck coming at him with bad intentions. He gripped the plastic water cooler bottle, but it just felt flimsy and pathetic in his hands.

For a moment, he thought maybe he could swim for it. The shark was moving slowly. But then he remembered: Swim where? He had nowhere to go. And he was pretty sure the shark could move fast if it wanted to. He was right about that.

He watched, horrified. The thing was five feet away … four … three … He pushed the bottle forward and down. He wanted to get more water into it, to make it heavier.

BLUHMP BLUHMP

Water rushed in and fat air bubbles rushed out.

Two feet … one …

BLUHMP BLUHMP

This was it. He could see the shark’s teeth now. He was close enough that he could see the serrations along their edges. He would be torn apart, mashed and sawed. He pushed the bottle forward at the thing. He was right, it was far too flimsy and light to stop so massive an animal. But the bubbles …

BLUHMP BLUHMP

They confused the shark. They hit its nose and slid across its skin. There was a faint, distasteful scent of sunbaked plastic and an odd gurgling sound. The big tiger veered past with a sudden burst of speed.

It brushed by the blue shark, which had slipped around behind Davey again. The smaller shark skittered away.

But once again, neither shark went far. Davey’s leg continued to bleed, to bait the water, and they both circled back.

The bottle was heavy in his hands. He’d let too much water in. Instead of lifting him up, it was dragging him down. The last few bubbles of air slipped out. He kicked hard and tried to lift it out of the water, to dump it out like he had before. But the strength he’d had then was gone now, all spent, and then some.

It slipped from his hands and disappeared. He honestly thought about following it down. It seemed so much more peaceful than being torn apart, eaten alive. But he didn’t. He was a quiet kid, but no quitter.

He lifted his head out of the water and took a deep breath. The air seemed delicious to him, and he took another quick breath. He was greedy for it in the way you suddenly want something that’s about to be taken away from you.

There was a droning in his ears now. He assumed it was his racing pulse, but his pulse couldn’t get any faster and the droning was getting louder. He looked up just in time to see the HC-144A. The drone turned to a roar as it zoomed low overhead.

Treading water now, Davey turned and watched it go. A yellow flash caught his eye as something fell from the plane. Before it even hit the water, orange smoke began pouring from the little canister.

Like the sharks, the plane began to circle around. Unlike the sharks, though, it couldn’t reach Davey. The Ocean Sentry is a surveillance aircraft, not a seaplane. Lieutenant Abelson did what he could: “Be advised, we have an update on person in the water.” He read off the location, advised the other searchers of the smoke canister, and then added, “We need to hurry on this one. Looks like he’s not alone down there.”

The smoke signal landed fifty yards away, a good shot if you think about it. Davey swam for it, keeping his eyes on nothing but the billowing orange smoke. The tiger swam slowly after him, with the blue in its wake and the blacktips angling in from the other side.

Of the other searchers, Fulgham was closest. The deputy had overshot him, but not by much. He could just see the smoke now, like an orange cotton ball in the distance. The throttle was all the way down and Fulgham was stomping on the floor, kicking his launch like it was a lazy horse. Brando and Drew held on tight, trying not to get bounced out of the boat as it crashed through the late-day swells.

Davey didn’t hear him coming. He barely had the energy to lift his mouth out of the water between strokes. His muscles ached from clutching the bottle all day. His lungs burned and his pulse pounded. Pain shot through his injured leg as he kicked it weakly through the water, but he kept going.

He was moving slowly and had made it a little more than halfway to the smoke by the time the police launch arrived on the scene. Deputy Fulgham saw the splashing first, and then the boy who was causing it. He was amazed that this kid was still on the surface, much less still swimming.

He aimed the boat right for him, but had to cut back on the throttle so he’d be able to stop in time. And then he saw the fins: dorsal and caudal, and big, very big. He knew it was a sea tiger. It was right behind the boy.

“Oh no,” whispered Fulgham.

His hand went to the gun on his hip, but he didn’t draw it. He wasn’t sure it would stop the thing, and they were a protected species anyway. Tiger sharks might attack a few people a year, but people had killed thousands of them in these waters, just for the sport and the fins. Instead, the deputy got back on the throttle and drove the launch right toward the thing’s dorsal fin.

The shark heard the powerful engine getting closer and felt the vibrations shake the water. These were no little bubbles this time. It veered off and dove down. Fulgham let out a long breath.

Drew and Brando had spotted Davey now, too, and arrived at the cockpit.

“Was that a … ?” Brando began before swallowing his stupid question. Of course it was a shark.

“Get him quick! Get him quick!” said Drew. She grabbed the orange life ring hanging on the side of the cockpit, but it wouldn’t come loose.

“Okay, okay,” said Fulgham. He reached over and unclipped it. “I’m going to pull up alongside him, and you toss it to him. Throw it in front of him — don’t hit him with it!”

Brando ran over to the side of the boat. “Davey!” he called. “Davey, we’re here!”

Davey saw the boat now and changed course toward it. He saw his brother standing on it and waving, but he thought there was a good chance he was hallucinating that part. The boat cruised slowly toward him, and he swam for it.
Please don’t let me die now
, he prayed,
not when I’m so close
. He saw the English girl he’d seen that morning, holding a big orange ring.
Yep
, he thought,
I’m hallucinating. Please at least let the boat be real
.

Fulgham edged it slowly forward. He flicked his eyes from Davey to the water around him, scanning for the tiger shark. He knew he’d shoot now if he had to. Drew did the same thing as she waited to toss the ring.

“Come on, Davey!” shouted Brando. “Get out of there, man! Get out of the water!”

What do you think I’m trying to do, Hallucination Brando?
he thought.

The boat was close enough now. Fulgham cut the engine, and Drew tossed the life preserver. Davey took a few big swings at the ring and finally got his right arm over and through. Drew tugged him to the edge of the boat. Davey pushed the life preserver aside and grabbed on to the side of the boat with both hands.

Drew reached down and grabbed his right hand, and Fulgham hopped past her to get to his left. Everyone scanned the water. There was still no sign of the big tiger shark. But no one was looking for that sneaky little blue.

The smaller shark surged forward below the surface and clamped on to Davey’s leg, harder this time. It swung its head to the side with surprising power and pulled Davey out of Drew’s grasp and clean off the side of the boat. Davey’s head dipped under the water, and a mouthful of seawater slipped into his lungs.

“Son of a …” said Fulgham. His hand was still extended, reaching for a hand that was no longer there. He could see the blue now, a few feet down and clamped on tight. He grabbed for the gun on his hip, but he never got the chance to use it.

Brando took two quick steps, jumped high up in the air, and then tucked himself into a tight ball. He plunged down into the warm, clear water and landed on the blue shark’s back.

It was at exactly that point that he realized:
Holy cow, I just cannon-balled a shark
.

The blue wasn’t much happier about it than he was. This floating thing was a tough meal to get! Reluctantly, it let go. Brando felt its sandpaper skin scrape across his shins as it slipped away. He opened his eyes in time to see Davey pulled onto the boat. His legs disappeared, leaving only a red cloud in the water. A red cloud that Brando was now in the middle of.

As he bobbed back toward the surface, his eyes registered a huge darkness, approaching him like a thundercloud rolling in. He burst into the air, already grabbing for the side of the boat. Two arms reached for him, two hands just a little bigger than his own.

Drew pulled hard. She refused to let go and leaned back as far as she could. Brando’s chest cleared the side, and then his hips. Only his legs were still in the water. He kicked frantically.

He looked into Drew’s face. His eyes said
Please please please
and
Hurry!

Drew gave one last tug and fell backward.

Drew’s butt hit the deck, and Brando’s legs cleared the water.

Fulgham saw that he was aboard, grabbed a towel, and turned back to Davey. The white towel turned red as the deputy pulled it tight around Davey’s lower leg. Davey grimaced and then coughed up more seawater.

“Is he?” said Brando

“He’ll be fine,” said Fulgham, not looking up. “He’s lost some blood. We just need to get him to shore.”

Brando nodded. “He can have my bed,” he said.

Fulgham had no idea what he was talking about. But Davey did.
That really is my brother
, he thought. Despite the pain and exhaustion, he smiled.

Drew heard a noise and looked up. Bautista’s boat was easing up next to them. Overhead, she could just hear the first faint sounds of a helicopter’s rotors. She looked back down at Davey and shook her head in wonder.
This boy was carried away by the sea
, she thought,
and the world has come to carry him back
.