wendybix
Synopsis
Excerpt
In the movies, sharks are grey and white, almost the color of kittens. What you don’t know is that in real life, in the Farallons, sharks are the color of mountains, the soulless basalt black of statuary. They are so big it doesn’t seem like they should be able to move, much less at speeds that could kill you, knock you out of the water and stun you before you even realized that your legs had been bisected from your body. Or your flippers, in the case of elephant seals. They are impossible to see from the little boat, a tipsy topsy whaler that is about half the size of the sharks we’re supposed to see. What I’m looking for are shadows under the water. Shadows down under a murky depth of churning water. Later, Peter explains to me that they don’t really see the sharks so much as feel them, somehow sensing the danger with our lizard brains, and then our eyes look for the shapes that caused that sensation, the prickling at the base of our skulls. What you’re hoping for is a sense to run away. That’s what you should be listening to. Your instinct to hide.
There’s nowhere to hide.
“What if a shark capsized this boat?” I eep out over the squalls of sea birds on the island.
“Won’t happen.”
“Won’t happen? Or couldn’t?” I want couldn’t. Couldn’t. Couldn’t. Couldn’t.
“Won’t," says Ty, but instead of shaking his head, he's nodding. "It probably could, but hasn’t. Won’t happen. Nah." He pauses for a bit, looking down at the decoy. "Don’t put your hands over the side, though.”
