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CHAPTER 20

I WAS DIVING with all six boys about a hundred yards offshore, and they were putting me to shame. After all my training with Kira, my lung capacity was probably twice what it used to be. So how could these froggy little kids be swimming rings around me?

They’d been coming back to our little speck of an island every day to fish. They only spoke a few words of English, and even Kira couldn’t decipher their native dialect. So we communicated with hand gestures and facial expressions. It worked fine. There wasn’t a lot to talk about.

The boys were always grinning and laughing—full of life. Not a care in the world. And they were expert fishermen. They hung nets from their outriggers, pulling up big hauls of grunts and snapper. Every afternoon, they grilled us a feast on the island, then took the rest of the catch home—somewhere over the horizon.

Today, the boys and I were spearfishing in deep water, about thirty feet down. Kira had stayed back to start the fire and crack open some coconuts.

All six kids were zipping around with netted sacks and long wooden sticks with spikes at the end. No snorkels or swim fins. Just natural ability. Occasionally, I’d see one of them shoot up to the surface to grab some air. But I’d swear a few of them had gills. Their sacks were starting to fill with speared catch. The boys all had dead aim. I never saw one of them miss a target.

This far out, the coral on the bottom was mixed with white sand and craggy rocks. I watched a fat moray eel squirm into a crevice as one of the boys swam past.

Lung-wise, I was just about at my limit. I pointed to the surface and got ready to push myself off the bottom. Just then, I saw one of the kids flinch. He started backpedaling with both feet, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He made a quick hand gesture to his buddies. They all swam toward me. A few of them dropped their sacks of speared fish on the way, trailing thin streams of red through the water.

I stared out into the shadows where the first boy had pointed.

That’s when I saw it. A gray shadow, getting more defined with every second. Smooth. Bullet-shaped. Heading toward us.

Shark.

I fought the instinct to rush for the surface. By now, I felt like my insides were pounding through my skin. The boys banded around me. White bubbles streamed from their noses.

The shark moved its head from side to side in tight rhythmic sweeps.

It circled us—close enough that I could see the remora fish on its fin. We turned as a unit to track its path, our backs pressed together.

The shark’s head dipped. Then, with one huge thrust of its tail, it sped straight for us.

I knew we only had one chance.

I held up my own spear—all metal. I waved it an arc across the shark’s path. Ten yards away. Now five! The jaws gaped open and the pupils rolled back. Suddenly, the huge fish stopped like it had rammed into an invisible wall. Its whole body shook in a violent spasm. Then it made a flipping turn and swam off into the gloom. A few seconds later, it was gone.

I signaled for the kids to surface. I followed a few yards behind, keeping my eyes toward the bottom the whole way. I could feel my lungs burning and my head pounding. I knew I only had a few seconds of air left.

When my head popped up above water, the boys started jabbering and running their hands across my magic spear.

“Force field generator,” I told them, gulping for air. “Invented by my ancestor.”

As usual, they didn’t understand a single word I said.