Real trouble always follows behind curiosity though. That’s what got the cat, and this cat really doesn’t want to fucking die. A fin pops out of the water next to Row, larger than any of the previous ones. This one is definitely larger than my hand. Fuck, it’s probably larger than Creed’s hand, and it’s only the fin we see. The moment the fin appears beside Row, I realize it had to have brushed against him with how close it is. He jerks away and immediately starts to panic, as any human would. He kicks hard, pushing his raft away from where the shark brushed against him. And that’s where the mistake happens. In his panic, Row kicks too hard, splashing too much like an injured fish.

“Stop that!” Achilles snarls at him in a harsh whisper. “Stop panicking!”

Row stops moving at the command, his eyes so wide in full on panic, I see more white than color. Everything falls into silence as we dangle in the water, waiting, trying to calm our breathing.

And then, I watch in horror as Row shouts in pain. He loses his grip on his raft and disappears under water, his shout cut off.

“Row!” I shout, about to swim toward him but Creed holds up his hand.

“Wait,” he orders, his eyes hard. I get it. I do. If Row is being eaten alive right now, there’s nothing we can do. We can’t heal a severed artery. Putting ourselves in the same path risks our own lives and we’d made a deal before we stepped into the water to keep going if any of us die escaping. I don’t like it, but I made a promise. It doesn’t stop the pain in my chest though as I stare at Row’s raft and where he disappeared, waiting.

Five miserably long seconds later, Row resurfaces, sputtering water, coughing it up. “It bit me!” he croaks out. “It bit me!”

“Get out of the fucking water!” Achilles orders.

As a unit, we all lift ourselves out and onto the small rafts, picking up our legs as shark fin after shark fin darts around us. It’s in the plans. Get out of the water until the blood can be stopped and we can ease back in. The scent is in the water now which means we’re all in danger.

Achilles bumps his raft against Row’s. Row is just barely managing to balance on his raft despite the clear pain he’s in, his leg held up in the air.

“Where were you bitten?” Achilles snarls, and I know he only sounds angry because of his fear. This is something we planned for but now that it’s happened, we have to take care of it. There is no other option. An open wound in the water will be our death.

“On the calf,” Row moans, holding it up.