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When he could no longer hold his breath, Jerry flashed the man a wave, pointed to his watch and raised his sole index finger. One minute, and counting. He then shot to the surface. |
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Nobody else was in the water. Because they were hidden behind the island, he swam a short distance to check the beach. On shore the granddaughter still played in the sand while her mother was lost in the news. |
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When Jerry returned, Karsky was dancing on his rope in full panic. From the surface he could see him trying to get his teeth into the inflated tube. Even if he could get a gripwhich he couldn'the had no bite left. Besides, the material was the stuff auto airbags were made ofhe'd have to have razorblades for teeth. |
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Which reminded Jerry what a shame that sharks never entered the bay. What an occasion for a feeding frenzy. He had seen films of common reef sharks gone berserk over a bucket of fish mash. Imagine a live human being up close and personaljust a couple of slashes to let the word out and the place would be a red whirlpool of sleek bodies and flashing teeth. The perfect cover. |
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(For a moment he had flashes of that time in Nam when he and a buddy paid fifty dollars to watch a pack of dogs take apart a naked VC informant. It was in the cellar of the Dixie Sport's Club, a private night spot for connoisseurs on the north side of Saigon. All that was left was a faceless head and a messy ribcage. Saved on bullets.) |
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While it seemed like an hour, in real time maybe only a hundred seconds had passed. And below, Karsky was nearly gone. In a last desperate burst, he pulled himself down the rope arm-over-arm to the bottom, hoping to slash the tube on a sharp edge. But years of sea stress had rounded smooth the cement block and boulders. And yesterday Jerry had cleared the area of any shells and sharp-edged rocks. All Karsky managed to do was stir up a cloud of sand. And without fins his buoyancy quickly defeated him. In seconds his final fling at salvation was over, and he bobbed back up, arms out and twitching like a man practicing flight. |
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From the surface Jerry watched as the last air from Karsky's lungs floated up like a string of silver mushroom capslittle pockets of screams expanding as they reached the surface, breaking silently. Jerry let them stream across his facemask, tickling his neck and shoulders. What a pity, in water they carried no sound. |
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