January (2 page)

With the last of my strength, I tore off the life jacket. I kicked and stroked upwards towards a surface that seemed impossibly far away. I felt like I was getting nowhere, but I kept fighting
through the crushing tonnes of water … and I pictured Dad. Then, when I thought I couldn’t hold my breath one second longer, I burst through the wild surface.

By now the squall was at its worst. The wind lashed me with spray. I grabbed hold of the boat, which was now riding bottom up, only centimetres above the waves. I clung to it and sucked in huge gulps of air whenever I could get my mouth above water.

I couldn’t see my uncle anywhere. ‘Rafe!’ I screamed, spitting out salty water. But my voice came out like a whisper beneath the sound of the storm.

‘Rafe!’ I screamed again before being thrown around by another massive wave. This time the force of the storm tossed me to the other end of the barely visible boat. Somehow, it was afloat, and even though the surge crashed my body hard against the hull, I caught hold of the anchor rope and quickly looped it around my wrist.

The rope rubbed salt into my broken skin. I could only hope that Rafe was OK and making
his way towards the shore for help. But in these conditions, what should have been a
thirty-minute
swim might have taken hours.

The tinny had flipped over and trapped air beneath its upturned hull. I was lucky. While the boat stayed on the surface I had a chance.

I knew I must have been way out to sea now, kilometres from the beach. The anchor couldn’t possibly hold against the violence of the storm. I shivered from wind chill and being in the water too long. I wondered if it was shock as well. My lashed hand was aching and I glanced down to find a long gash running across the back of my right hand under the rope.

Things Dad had said came back to me—I could almost hear his voice in my head:
Callum, you know what to do in this situation. Relax and tread water. A person can stay afloat for hours if they do that
. I tried to stay calm by thinking of all the reasons why I couldn’t die.

I had to find out what Dad meant in his last letter. I had to see the pictures he drew while he was in hospital—the ones that Dr Edmundson was going to send to me. And now, the crazy guy on the street? I had to know what was going on.

The storm was easing. The swell was still strong and choppy, but the worst of the weather had moved on. Carefully, I lifted my body, trying to see if I could find the shoreline. I was looking for lights, but all I could see was three hundred and sixty degrees of black.

I blinked, painfully aware of how swollen and sore my eyes were. Slowly, I began to make out the shapes of the waves in the moonlight. My hand was hurting bad and I loosened my hold on the anchor rope. Blood seeped from my injured flesh.

Blood in the water.

Another flashback hit me. This time, a horrible image of a dead dog washed-up on the beach … or, at least, the head, shoulders and front legs of a dog. It had been torn in half, and there is only one thing in the sea that can do that.

An icy fear shivered through me.

I started reassuring myself. Sharks rarely came into the estuary. Surely by now searchers would be getting ready to start looking for me at first light. All I had to do was hang on, stay with the boat, and wait for rescue.

It seemed as though I’d been hanging on, head
against the hull, rope around my wrist, for hours, trying to stay alert. Exhaustion was making me weak. I could barely feel my fingers.

Then something bumped into the boat hard. I hoped we’d collided with something submerged, drifting in the water. I looked around. The sky was much lighter, but I couldn’t see anything but the chopping waves.

Another bump, this time so hard I almost lost my grip on the rope. I still couldn’t see anything, but I knew something was out there. I was freezing cold, but broke out in a sweat.

A third bump, so hard that it knocked me completely into the water. I splashed and slipped, scrambling back to the top of the upturned boat, hauling myself up by the ridge. In the grey light I spotted a three-metre shark rolling over, exposing its pale belly before disappearing again.

I waited, sick with fear, praying that it had gone away. I searched around for a weapon—anything to try and defend myself.

Tossing on the waves, and just out of my reach, was the boat’s jag-hook.

Yet another powerful bump and the upturned boat and I, clinging desperately above, started to move over the water. The shark was under the
boat, powering us along! Any minute now, it would bash through the hull and grab me. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the motion stopped. I watched the dorsal fin speed away.

Was it leaving?

The shark had pushed me and the boat closer to the floating debris. I saw, again, the long wooden handle of the jag-hook floating nearby. And then, in the background, I saw the vanishing fin slow, turn and flick around. The shark was coming back—and straight for me!

Without even thinking about it, I seized the hook. From somewhere I was aware of a loud, throbbing noise but I was focused entirely on the huge shark ploughing through the water.

Whoomp, whoomp, whoomp. I didn’t have time to think about anything but the beast before me. I raised the jag-hook, ready. The shark charged and I whacked the hook down as hard as I could on its head. Its cold left eye stared at me as it rolled underwater again.

‘Come on!’ I screamed furiously. ‘Where are you?!’

Not knowing where it was lurking was worse even than seeing it.

I looked up in the direction of the noise and in a brief moment of relief I saw a helicopter in the sky. But when I turned back around, I was met with the shark. And it had returned with a friend.

Through the pink-gold surface of the dawn sea, the two fins came straight at me.

The first one hit the boat. I was terrified that if I hit the shark and the hook got stuck in its sandpaper skin, I’d be pulled into the water where the second one circled.

The first shark disappeared.

‘Hang on!’ shouted a male voice. ‘You’re going to be OK. Just hang on, Callum!’

I faced the circling shark, hook raised. The first shark was still hidden somewhere. There was no way I could fight off two of them.

Above me, an orange-overalled man was being winched down from the helicopter.

‘Sharks!’ I screamed out. ‘There are sharks!’

The first shark suddenly revealed itself, coming at me with open jaws, ready to ravage. With every ounce of strength, I roared and smashed the jag-hook across its upper jaw. It dropped away and, for a second, I thought I was safe. The upturned boat lurched. The second shark was underneath me now!

‘Hurry!’ I screamed into the sky. The
orange-overalled
man couldn’t hear me above the noise of the rotors and the engine.

The sea flattened as the helicopter came in lower. The second shark surfaced. Now the two of them raced towards me.

Somehow, I made out the man’s words. ‘I’m coming in close now! I’m going to grab you, OK?’

What if he missed?

What if I fell straight into the teeth of the two sharks?

I didn’t know where to look—what to do …

The first shark hit hard, gnashing its jaws, tugging and shaking the boat.

‘Let go, Cal! Let go and grab me!’

The helicopter then came down so low I thought it would end up in the sea. Suddenly the shark released the boat, leaving three of its teeth embedded in the aluminium.

The voice yelled, closer now. ‘Grab onto me!’

The second shark knocked the boat, almost throwing me again into the water. It was now or never.

Just as I grabbed onto my rescuer, the first shark charged the boat with such force that its body skimmed over it. I wrenched myself up fast. The man tightened the rescue sling, clamped his
legs around me, then swung me away to safety.

Beneath me, the sharks lunged, jaws gaping wide.