Surrounded by Sharks

by Michael Northrop

  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.

  The sun set over the ocean, and that was fine because Davey wasn’t in it. He was lying in a clean white hospital bed with fifty-six fresh stitches in his leg. They’d done a lot of work in the little hospital on Key West. Cleaning the wound, cutting away the dead flesh, stitching him up. They’d knocked him out for it, but it was hardly necessary. After it was over, he slept straight on till morning.

  For the second day in a row, he’d woken up to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. And now, a few hours later, he found himself once again crammed into a small room with his entire family. But they weren’t snoring this time; they were talking.

  “It’s like a Bengals game out in the waiting room,” said Tam.

  “Browns!” said Brando. He had — in classic Brando fashion — chosen his own team. Two days ago, that was exactly the sort of thing that would’ve started an argument. Not now.

  “It’s like a Bengals-Browns game,” said Pamela.

  Tam and Brando smiled; those were always good games.

  “Who’s out there?” asked Davey. “Who’s waiting?”

  “Lots of people want to talk to you,” said Tam.

  “Like who?” said Davey. Images of state police, FBI agents, and possibly his school principal flooded his mind. He was still having a hard time believing that he wasn’t in trouble for causing so much commotion.

  “Reporters, for one,” said Pamela. “You’re big news.”

  No FBI agents, but that wasn’t much of a relief. The thought of TV cameras and tape recorders — of having to explain himself — made him nervous. “Who else?” he said.

  “Your aunt from Miami,” said Pamela.

  “I didn’t know I had an aunt in Miami,” said Davey. He looked over at Brando for confirmation. He shrugged.

  “You don’t,” said his mom. She opened her eyes wide with fake fear.

  Davey laughed. He must be big news to bring reporters and crazies to the same hospital.

  “Yeah,” said Tam. “We might keep that one waiting a while.”

  “How about forever?” said Brando.

  Davey chuckled again. He looked down at the spot where his right arm emerged from under the hospital gown. It was badly burned from a full day of direct sun and devilish glare. He reached up with his right hand and poked a particularly wicked patch just below his shoulder. All he felt was a weird tingle. And now that he thought about it, why didn’t his leg hurt more? He couldn’t see what was going on beneath all that gauze, but they’d told him about the stitches.

  “I’m pumped all full of painkillers, aren’t I?” he said.

  “Oh yeah,” said his mom.

  “Big-time,” said his brother.

  “What if I get addicted?”

  “See, that question right there is why you won’t,” said his mom.

  He looked over at the IV bag. It was hanging from a metal hook above his bed. A long plastic tube hung down, ending in a needle that disappeared under a strip of white tape on his left arm. “They’re in there?” he said.

  “Yep,” said his dad.

  “What else?”

  “Just salt water and some antibiotics, I think.”

  “Salt water?” he said. “I think I’ve had enough of that already!”

  It wasn’t a great joke, but once they started laughing, they didn’t stop for a long time. It was pure relief. When they finally stopped, Davey had something else to say. He almost chickened out, but he couldn’t. Out on the water, he’d made a promise to himself: If he ever got the chance, he’d say it.

  “I missed you guys.”

  The room was quiet now. It was his mom who spoke first. “It must’ve been so lonely out there.”

  He looked at her. They realized at the same moment that h
e didn’t mean he’d missed them “out there,” or not only that. He meant before that, too; he’d meant up in his room. Davey looked down, his blush hidden by his sunburn.

  “We missed you, too.” It was so quiet, barely a whisper, that Davey wasn’t even sure who’d said it. It could have been any of them, and that was enough for him.

  Someone knocked on the door: three firm raps. Tam straightened up and muscled a smile onto his face. “Ready for the first group of visitors?”

  “Not the reporters!” said Davey.

  “No,” said Tam. “They can wait.” He got up and went over to the door. When he opened it, one man filled the entire frame. Davey recognized him from the morning before: the big British guy.

  “Thanks for coming,” said Tam.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” said Big Tony. The room seemed smaller as soon as he entered. He was followed by the rest of the family.

  “Hi, Drew!” said Brando.

  “Hey, B-Boy,” said Drew.

  Just like that, Davey knew his little brother had a new nickname. Drew pushed Brando in the shoulder in place of a handshake. Then she turned toward the bed, where Davey had something else he’d been waiting to say.

  “Thank you.”

  Drew had expected the words, but not the emotion behind them. All she could think to say was, “It was nothing.”

  All Davey could think to say was, “It wasn’t.”

  Then suddenly the whole room was talking. Davey leaned back. Brando — or was it B-Boy? — started telling everyone about chasing after Deputy Fulgham and hopping into his boat. How Fulgham hadn’t really wanted them there. How they weren’t about to ask. After that, he did a spot-on impersonation of “the Beast.” Everyone laughed. Davey lay back and listened. He felt lucky to have a brother like … well, like whatever his name was now.

  And then, as if she was reading his mind, his mom said, “We were lucky.”

  “How’s that, then?” said Big Tony.

  “Lucky you were there on that street, that you took the boat you did.”

  “Oh, that was her idea,” he said, hooking a thumb at his daughter.