Nash tore through the water, swimming with head up at all times, scanning the surrounding surface, picturing rows of razor teeth around a black gullet lunging for him from a nearby wave. Within a minute another scream from Kenny stopped everyone.
“I’m going back!”
Felix couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What?”
“Something bumped me again,” Kenny sobbed. “Fuck this, I’m turning around.”
“Don’t be retarded, we’re almost there.”
Kenny became hysterical. “Screw you guys! This was a stupid, stupid, stupid idea. Can’t believe I fucking listened to you. I’m going back!”
Nash raised his voice as much as he dared. “Don’t you dare do it, Kenny, we have to stick together.”
They all swam to the kid, forming a loose circle around him. Their closeness brought no comfort.
“I said I’m going back and that’s final.”
Before Nash could say anything more, a hand gripped his shoulder. It was Maria. She pulled, turning him so they were face-to-face. Her eyes were as cold as steel, her gravelly voice even more so.
“No, let the coward leave. The diablo wants him. Let the diablo have him.”
“Fuck you, bitch!”
Kenny struck out at Maria, the back of his hand catching her hard across the cheek. Her head flew back, submerging for a second. She resurfaced, coughing seawater. When she turned her eyes on Kenny they were ablaze.
“Bastardo.”
There was something in Maria’s hand when she struck back. They all saw it. The sharp stone cut into Kenny’s forearm as he raised it to block the attack. Everyone watched in horror as a four-inch gash opened, spilling blood into the sea. A wail rose from Kenny’s throat. The stone dropped from Maria’s hand into the water with a plunk.
“Maria, what have you done?” croaked Ginger.
Maria said nothing. Her eyes remained steely as she watched the blood pour. Felix lunged forward and grabbed the woman by the hair, wrenching her sideways, making her yell out in pain.
“What did you do, you crazy bitch?” Felix bellowed.
Maria pulled away with a howl, leaving a clump of black curls in his grip. Felix lunged at her again, but she was already out of reach and swimming for the island. Kenny looked to the others for help, but they kicked away from him, avoiding the growing cloud of blood in the water.
“Oh, God, I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding all over the place. Please, you gotta help me stop it. Help me stop the blood.”
Nash’s mouth went dry. “Sorry. I’m . . . so sorry, kid.”
“Don’t leave me here!”
Nash kicked farther away. Kenny began to cry. Ginger fought her survival instincts and tried to swim back to the boy.
“Ginger, don’t,” said Nash.
“We can’t just leave him, Nash. We have to try—”
Another fin, this one smaller and with a white tip, cut the surface ten feet from Ginger and silenced her.
“We got a new guest!” Felix cried.
He flicked nervous glances between Kenny and the island, unsure of whether to stay or swim on. Nash shook his head at Ginger, warning her to forget the suicide mission she was considering.
“Kenny, you can make it to shore if you want to,” Nash said. “Swim for it, man, before they get a fix on you. You got time.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Ginger pleaded. “Follow us to safety.”
They started to swim, trying to lead Kenny along. Nash could hear the kid sobbing behind him, but he refused to look back. Ahead, he saw the large fin of the tiger shark emerge and cut across his path before disappearing. The safety of the beach was less than a hundred yards away, Maria almost halfway to it. Nash could even make out a dark cube, the second trunk, lying on the sand. He whispered a prayer, his first in years, pleading for divine intervention.
“Please, God, we’re almost there. Let us all get there in one piece.”
God wasn’t taking requests. Another shriek rang out before Kenny was dragged under, water garbling the rest of his cries. Nash spun in time to see one of the boy’s flailing arms submerge, the tiger shark’s fin sinking down on top of it. A violent thrash of tail followed, splashing the surface, then nothing.
“Kenny!” screamed Nash.
Felix and Ginger saw only ripples circling out from where Kenny went down. They waited, frantically looking for any sign of boy or shark. Suddenly, a third of Kenny’s body shot out of the water, his mouth agape in a silent scream, sucking in needed air. His left arm was gone, severed below the elbow, blood ejaculating from a ragged stump and reddening the sea around him. Kenny’s eyes, wide and terrified, fell on the drapes of serrated flesh hanging from what was left of his arm. Skin and sinew, muscle and bone, all washed clean, looking like something displayed in a butcher’s window. Kenny’s screams grew hoarse.
“Help me, for Christ’s sake!”
Nash bared teeth. The sight of the kid begging in the water tore at his heart. He wanted more than anything to go back, but a rescue attempt was suicide with the sharks encircling and Kenny reduced to a piece of profusely bleeding bait. More splashing sounds came—from what, Nash didn’t see—but it made the decision for him to abandon the boy for good. As he put more distance between them, Kenny’s pitiful cries became enraged.
“Don’t leave me, you fuck!”
Nash looked back one last time, tears in his eyes. Kenny was trying to paddle after them using his ravaged stump, splashing and dipping in the water like a panicked pup, breath coming in high-pitched wheezes. His mouth hung in an upturned crescent, whitened lips trembling. Nash could see it in the boy’s eyes, the realization that his time was up.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Nash sobbed.
Kenny shut his eyes and thrashed blindly, streaming tears obsolete in the seawater. Nearby, Felix and Ginger watched helplessly, unable to bring themselves to aid the young man. Another splash nearby, a white-tipped fin glimpsed between the waves.
“Nash, we gotta go,” said Felix. “Right fucking now—”
His lips trembled, unable to form more words. The tiger shark came again. The tip of its fin cut toward Kenny, quickly climbing to full height before the shark’s back broke the surface. It raced for him, the sudden speed astonishing before it raised its snout above the water in a topside assault. From the side profile, Nash saw one jet-black eye roll back as a protective layer of white flesh slid over it. Jaws opened to their apex before clamping onto Kenny’s shoulder, sinking multiple rows of sickle-shaped teeth into his flesh, penetrating to bone. Kenny’s cry of pain barely registered as the shark’s weight pushed him under. The others waited as long as they dared, hoping he would resurface again. He did not.
“Kenny?” Ginger said, searching the waves in shock. “Sweetheart?”
Loud cheers came from the yacht. Two of the figures pumped fists in the air, while the others swigged from bottles in their hands.
“We got company,” Felix said, his eyes locking on something new.
Two smaller fins broke the surface in a succession of quick thrashes above the blood-clouded spot. Oceanic white-tipped sharks had arrived, drawn by their ability to smell a single drop of blood in the water from over a football field away, and they wanted in on the action. A third fin of the same species joined, but suddenly veered away, rushing through the water as the much larger tiger chased it off.
“Kenny’s a goner,” Nash said. “Nothing we can do for him now.”
Ginger shook her head, bewildered. “We can’t leave him out here, he needs us—”
Nash shook her fiercely. “Snap out of it. He’s fucking fish food now and we’ll be next if we stay here another second.”
“But, Kenny—”
The slap he delivered across her cheek returned Ginger t
o her senses. They resumed their desperate swim, bloody water splashing tumultuously behind them as fins and tails lashed the surface, tiger and white-tips fighting over the fresh kill. Felix looked back and saw something pink and ripped float to the surface, where it bobbed for a few seconds before being rammed by a gray torpedo nose and taken back under.
“Swim faster!” he shouted. “It’s a feeding frenzy back there!”
They clawed the water until their muscles burned, the last hundred yards threatening to break them. Hoots and jeers sounded from the nearby yacht. Nash dared not look back, dared not even open his eyes as he swam. As they neared the beach Felix stopped long enough to check the depth, his toes skimming the bottom. In another six strokes he was able to stand in four feet of water, less than thirty yards from the shore. A wide, giddy grin split his face.
“It’s shallow!” he cried. “We’re safe.”
Ginger and Nash checked for themselves, both letting out a hysterical laugh as their feet touched down on the sandy bottom.
“We made it,” Felix laughed. “We—”
Felix’s grin fell away. He pointed a finger in the direction they had come. Nash and Ginger turned to see a white-tipped fin cruising toward them, the shallow water not deterring its pursuit one iota.
“Get to shore.”
The group half ran, half swam toward the beach. Nash could feel the shark gaining on him with every struggling lurch he took through the shallows. Small waves pushed at his back, but didn’t seem to help him forward. In three feet of water he looked over his shoulder, eyes connecting with the dorsal fin of the determined hunter, still advancing despite the decreasing depth.
“He’s still coming!” Nash yelled. “Felix, watch out!”
Felix stumbled and fell into the water with a splash. Nash went to him, grabbing his arm and helping him to his feet. The extra seconds counted against them. The shark was too close.
“We’ve run out of road,” Felix panted.
He rose to full height, water lapping against his stomach, fists at the ready. Nash decided to keep the promise he’d made and held his position. The white-tip closed in, racing through the shallows with a sudden burst of speed, snout targeting Nash specifically. Instinctively, he grabbed for it as it lunged, palm forcing snout upward as the shark’s weight pushed him back. Nash held on, staring in terror at what was in his grip. Beady eyes rolled blindly. Jaws snapped and body thrashed. Hundreds of teeth, designed to shred flesh, came within inches of Nash’s face.
“Get this thing off of me!”
In an instant Felix brought a heavy fist down on the shark’s right eye, clobbering it with enough force to knock it sideways. The white-tip jarred in the water and froze, momentarily stunned. Felix stepped forward and tried to land another, but the beast came to, firing itself away with a swish of its tail, its refracted image disappearing under the waves.
As soon as Nash and Felix lost sight of it they made for the beach. Ginger and Maria were already collapsed on the shore, waves washing against their legs. Maria vomited into the surf. Ginger sobbed, beating the beach with a fist, dirty matted hair strung across her face. The men dropped to their knees beside the women. Nash planted his face into the wet sand and kissed it. He turned caked lips toward Felix and forced a smile.
“Teamwork,” he said, panting. “What did I tell you?”
Felix couldn’t catch his breath. He gave a nod of approval, offering a thumb in the air and a pat on Nash’s back.
“Teamwork,” Ginger snarled. “I was just thinking about that.”
Maria looked up, eyes glassy, string of saliva hanging from her chin. Ginger lunged, her full weight crashing into the smaller woman and sending her sprawling. In a flash she was straddling her, pulling hair and scratching skin.
“You made a sacrifice out of that poor boy, you cunt!”
Ginger’s fingernails raked over Maria’s cheek as she tried to gouge her eyes. Screams and Spanish filled the air. Felix pulled the women apart and hauled them to their feet. He let Ginger go, but held on to Maria.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, ladies,” Felix started, voice rising. “We’re the ones who made it. So, we’re gonna open that trunk, divide up some drugs, and fucking celebrate. We’re gonna enjoy our share, and Tal’s share, and Kenny’s share, and . . .”
He turned a wry smile on Nash and Ginger, which fast became a sneer. They barely saw the punch that Felix delivered to Maria’s jaw. She dropped like a stone and hit the beach, out cold, fresh blood in her mouth. Felix watched it dribble from her open lips onto the sand.
“And we’re gonna enjoy that bitch’s share too.”
A clamor of claps and cheers arose, drawing their attention out to the water. The yacht had dropped anchor a couple hundred yards from the island, the four figures on the bow applauding and waving. Nash noticed one of them holding what looked like a video camera.
“Think you were right, Ginger. We are on Candid Camera.”
Ginger saw it too. “Sick fucks.”
Felix extended his middle finger, holding it high for them to see. Laughs and boos exploded from the boat, chiding his gesture.
“Go to hell, you limp-dick bastards!” Ginger shouted.
More jeers crossed the water. Nash and Felix sank to the sand, nursing the aches in their bodies, heaving air into overworked lungs. Adrenaline quickly drained from their systems. Withdrawal symptoms filled the space. Ginger rolled Maria into a position where she wouldn’t choke on her own blood. After a minute Felix staggered to his feet.
“How about we break out the party favors?”
He trudged up the beach toward the second box lying on the sand, Nash and Ginger hounding him the whole way, heroin the only thing on their minds. Felix unlatched the trunk and flipped the lid open to reveal a scene similar to the first box. He rummaged inside, pushing past the food and water until he found a small metal container. He lifted it out, shaky hands gripping it tight.
“Open it already,” Ginger pressed.
They huddled together, holding their breath with pained anticipation. Felix removed the lid, exposing a baggie of fine white powder and several thin metal straws. Nash’s heart sank a little at the sight. He’d expected a different modus operandi: needles, spoons, a lighter. Injecting was invariably better than snorting, but they weren’t being given the choice.
“Fuck, I guess we’re not cooking, then.”
“They wouldn’t trust us for a second with an open flame,” Felix said. “No signal fires, remember?”
Nash remembered. The yacht men were adamant about covering all bases for their little game. Felix lifted the baggie out and discovered a plain white envelope underneath. He tossed it back in the box without opening it, uninterested in its contents.
“Let’s get our snort on.”
Felix shut the lid of the trunk and prepared the dope on the flat of it, pouring out the heroin and dividing it into three piles. There was more of the stuff than they’d anticipated, a hell of a hit for each of them. Ginger and Nash each drew a straw from the container and waited for Felix to finish. He finally raised his eyes to those of his companions, a quivering smile beckoning them closer. The little mounds of pale dust hypnotized them. They stared, wide-eyed and grinning as they scratched at their skin.
“Dig in,” Felix whispered.
They dropped to their knees around the trunk and bent over their allotted piles, straws jammed up nostrils, sucking opiate powder into nasal cavities. They felt a mule’s kick the moment the drug dusted membranes.
“Oh, my God,” Nash gasped.
The note on the previous island hadn’t lied. The junk was the finest he’d ever consumed. Nash fell back onto the sand, feeling a cool worm twist and turn through his gray matter. The heroin’s rush washed every one of his cares away. It was heaven.
Eighteen
They looked to the heave
ns where the first stars of emerging night glinted. Such beauty was rare, a horizon of embers shimmering on the sea, the setting sun the color of backlit blood. When dusk came to the Keys, prime feeding time came with it. The sharks would be back on the hunt soon if not already. Greer sat in a deck chair on the bow of the yacht, puffing a Cuban cigar and watching the four bodies on the beach through a pair of binoculars. The stranded had been indulging in their prize for hours now, writhing and squirming on the sand like unearthed worms, too high to care about the sunburns covering their bodies. Even Maria, recovered from Felix’s punch, had been allowed to sample some leftovers from the others.
Without taking his eyes from the lens, Greer grabbed a bottle of beer from the deck and took a swig, cigar still locked in the corner of his mouth. An amber trickle escaped his lips, dribbling past a chin of mottled skin once melted by white phosphorus. He wiped away the line of liquid with a grunt.
“Sharks aren’t on the ball,” he grumbled. “We should have lost two today.”
Buchanan leaned against the rail beside him, picking at a plate of steak and rice, watching the beach with mild interest.
“Mr. Jones last night makes up for it,” he said between mouthfuls. “I didn’t realize he was so starved when we picked him up. He went downhill so fast, kinda jumped the gun.”
“Ah, you never know with these maggots.”
Buchanan nodded. “Still, I wish I’d seen that coming. We could have gotten great footage from it. It looked like he really got torn apart out there.”
“Yeah,” said Greer. “What a waste.”
“Not for me.”
Buchanan’s smug smile annoyed Greer. Tallahassee Jones’s unexpected death early in the proceedings favored the odds that Buchanan had put his money on. A correct first pick paid out an automatic thousand-dollar bonus from the pool. Greer was now tied with him in light of Kenny’s demise, whom he had correctly selected as the second fatality. Neither of them had picked two for two so far, both betting that one of the women would have died in the early stages. Turk and Reposo were fishing at the stern of the yacht, the current winner and loser respectively. Reposo was zero for two, neither the heavyset Felix nor the waif-thin Ginger coming up a corpse. Turk led the group. Both his picks had turned out perfect.
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