Chapter 26.
Chile
Jack has been in firefights that felt easier than this.
Underwater, everything is slowed—movement, sound, time itself.
Jack and Jimmy surface only when they have to, careful and quiet, then slip under again like they’re trying not to make a sound.
For a few minutes the big tiger tracks them at a distance, patient. Curious. Like it’s deciding whether they’re worth the effort.
They’ve been well underneath the surface for the past few minutes, only coming up—carefully—to breathe before submerging themselves all over again.
Jimmy motions with one hand: up.
Maybe he’s decided that’s a better plan than engaging the shark, one of them being forced to deliver the blow Jack had been preparing himself for, the punch he was ready to throw as a last resort.
For now the shark hasn’t gotten any closer, almost swimming parallel to them, not changing direction or picking up speed.
Not yet, anyway.
When their heads break the water, Jack can see the shark’s dorsal fin breaking the water, too.
Now it’s moving in their direction, the fin acting as a pointer.
“What do we do?” Jack asks.
“The backstroke,” Jimmy says, trying to appear calmer than he really is. “Backstroke our way all the way to shore if we have to.” He pauses and says, “At least theoretically.”
Jack gives him a look.
“No eye contact with the beast,” he says. “So to speak.”
Jack says, “You know they’re way more likely to attack in shallow water? You do know that, right?”
“Would you rather hang around here and take our chances that he’ll play more fair?” Jimmy says.
Jack knows he’s right. If they can get close to shore while the shark is still keeping its distance, they can finally get to their feet and make a run for it.
Not much of a plan, Jack thinks.
But best we’ve got.
“Don’t splash. Don’t stare at him. Just move.” Jimmy shrugs. “Then we figure out how we get everybody else back.”
They roll onto their backs and start pulling water, slow and steady. The sky above them is too blue for what’s happening underneath.
They swim side by side on their backs, both moving in slow motion across the waters of the Pacific, away from the ship. Still managing to keep their distance from the shark, who somehow seems as patient as Jimmy is, despite the clear and present danger.
Jack turns his head enough to see the dorsal fin, trailing just slightly, looking like an up periscope.
It stays with them.
Not rushing.
“Honestly,” Jimmy says, voice aimed at the clouds like this is small talk, “if he was going to eat us, wouldn’t he have done it already?” Jack barely hears him over the slap of their arms hitting the water, almost in unison.
Synchronized, save-your-asses swimming.
“Don’t say that out loud,” Jack whispers.
Jack turns his head just enough to see the beach up ahead coming into clearer focus. It is an odd sensation, going backward this way, still in relatively slow motion, but running for their lives at the same time.
A hundred yards from shore now.
Maybe less.
“When do we make our run for it?” Jimmy says, having taken another look himself to try and see where they are.
“Soon,” Jack says.
He takes one more look at the shore, is about to tell Jimmy it’s time for them to haul ass, when the sun is blocked out and they’re staring up at the helicopter directly above them.
They hear the roar of it, feel the whirring of the rotors, the helicopter so close to the water it’s creating waves all around them the way a storm would. The sound is enormous. Physical. Jack feels it in his ribs.
Too fast, Jack thinks. Like it was already in the air.
The water around them goes rough.
Right before Jack flips over, he sees the shark’s fin coming faster, racing the helicopter toward the beach.
“Go!” Jack yells to Jimmy, rolling over—
—and the ocean explodes beside them.
Too late.
Steven Noble