Then he thought he saw a gray triangle cut the surface ten feet away.
“What was that?” he asked.
The worm became a snake. It crawled up through his chest and stuck in his throat. His mouth dried
up.
“This is a little nature trip, Weasel,” Stick said, taking a grappling hook from the bulkhead storage
box and burying its hooks in the beef shoulder. He wrapped a thick nylon fishing line around it
several times and tied it in a half hitch. “Ever hear of Christmas Creek?”
“I told you, I get seasick. I don?t have nothin? to do with the fuckin? ocean.” His voice was losing its
bravado.
Stick saw the bar dead ahead, a slender strip of sand, barely a foot above water.
“Well, you?re right in the middle of it. This is it, this is Christmas Creek,” Stick said. “One of the
local ecological wonders.”
There was another, more vigorous splash of J the starboard bow and this time Murphy saw it clearly,
a shiny gray dorsal fin, It sliced the surface for an instant and then disappeared in a swirl.
“Good Christ, those?re sharks,” Murphy gasped.
“1 was about to tell you,” said Stick. “This is a breeding ground for gray sharks and makos, and this
is the month for it. That?s why they?re so fidgety. I?d guess there are probably, oh hell, two, three
hundred sharks within spitting distance of the boat right now.”
The first shark Murphy actually saw breached water three feet away, rolled over on its side, and dove
again.
It was half the length of the sailboat!
“Sweet Jesus,” Murphy muttered to himself. He was still trying to maintain his tough facade, but his
eyes mirrored his growing fear. He dropped back onto the floor of the cockpit and cowered there.
“This bloody piece of beef here will drive them crazy,” Stick continued. “I thought I?d just give „em a
snack, let you see one of the wonders of the world.”
Murphy hunched down lower.
“C?mon, fella, watch the show,” said Stick. He reached down and pulled Murphy up and slammed
him against the bulkhead. He threw the piece of meat overboard, holding it by the nylon cord. It had
