Jack was first to break the spell of horror that gripped them all. “Paddle! Paddle!” He began digging his oar in deep and sweeping water back along the side of the raft.

Cate, Greg and Abby started to do the same. Cate momentarily used one arm to pull her pod-door oar, and lifted her flashlight shining it down into the water – it was stained wine-red from the blood of the whale.

“Move it,” Jack hissed. His head moved left and right, as if to get his bearings. “Veer right, we need to get out of the kill zone.”

“You guide, we’ll paddle,” Cate yelled back. They all dug their oars in deeper, causing the nose of the raft to come around.

The muscles in Cate’s shoulders and back began to rebel, but she focused on the drips of perspiration running down her nose, and her rhythm, and nothing else.

Greg’s breathing rasped as he pulled the oar back hard through the water. “That… was it, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t know; happened too fast… couldn’t really see it in the dark.” Cate grimaced as she dragged her own oar. She knew she was stonewalling herself as well.

Jack wasn’t hazy. “Yes.” He said over his shoulder. “No use pretending it wasn’t.”

“Shit, I knew it.” Greg looked out over the dark water. “We’re fucked.”

“Shut up and keep paddling.” Cate dragged hard on her oar.

“Do you think the whale might have filled it up?” Abby asked, her voice little more than a squeak.

“Maybe, uh, I mean, sure,” Cate said, but was concerned to see that Jack briefly turned to shoot her a look that had implied he thought anything but.

Cate kept her head down. She had lied to Greg; she had seen the size and shape of the creature that had grabbed the whale. It was the Megalodon she had expected – the dinosaur shark – alive, and now, perhaps circling somewhere below them. The portion of the creature that had launched itself out of the water had dwarfed the twenty-foot mammal, and from what she knew about sharks, they could consume enormous amounts of meat. Like Abby, she just hoped it was full for now.

They rowed, hard, for many more minutes, probably moving another half mile from where they had seen the attack, when Cate felt her shoulders, back and arms turning to jelly. She and Greg paddled on one side, and Jack on the other. Abby was already in the bottom of the raft, vomiting from fatigue.

“Jack… Jack,” Greg rasped. “I can’t…”

Cate lifted her pod door to poke him. “Keep, going, Greg.”

More minutes passed, and then finally Jack turned, his face slick and pale. He looked from Cate to Abby, and then nodded. He straightened, pulling his oar from the dark water.

“Let’s take a minute. Grab some water, but just a few sips.”

“Thank god.” Greg slumped forward.