‘A passion I inherited from my mother. Remember her? Pretty Mesoamerican thing, with bright blue eyes. I believe you cut them out of her head the night I was born.’

Virgil struggles to move, the damp rope cutting into his forearms. A six-foot swell washes over his chest, and he swallows seawater. ‘I … I can’t swim.’ He gags.

‘Don’t worry, Daddy, I would never let you drown.’

‘My feet hurt. What’s wrong wit’ my feet?’

Ben lights a joint, then leans out over the rail. ‘Your feet are fine, partner, it’s your toes that are the problem.’

Virgil looks down. As the boat rises above another swell, his bare feet are drawn out of the water—exposing bleeding stumps where his toes had been.

‘Oh, Jesus—help me!’

‘Now why would Jesus waste His time helping a murdering sonuva bitch like you?’

‘I paid my price … I did my time—’

‘And I suppose that makes everything hunky-dory, huh? Read a Bible verse, call yourself saved … poof, you’re born again, a clean slate.’

Desperate, Virgil searches the horizon for another boat. ‘I … I have to report to my probation officer.’

Lilith and Ben laugh.

‘Oh look, Daddy, is this him?’

Virgil’s eyes widen as a half dozen lead gray fins circle below his ankles. ‘Oh, God, please—’

‘God is dead to you, Daddy.’

The boat dips. The sea froths crimson.

‘God is dead to both of us.’

Virgil screams like a banshee.

The boat rises, revealing a seven-foot mako shark tearing at the remains of Virgil’s gushing left knee.

‘Fu … bitch! Hope you … burn in Hell!’

‘I’ve been to Hell, Daddy. You sent me there the night I was born.’

A large brown fin cuts the surface, a second dorsal trailing along the creature’s broad back. ‘Uh-oh. See that shark, Daddy? Now that bad boy’s a bull shark. Once they bite, they don’t like to let go.’

‘Sort of like you, Lilith, darlin’,’ Ben says, drawing another lungful of smoke.

The bull shark circles twice, darts toward the boat, then turns at the last second.

Virgil’s eyes widen, snot running down both nostrils.

‘Why won’t he attack?’ Ben asks.

‘He will,’ Lilith answers, spellbound in the moment. ‘He just wants to be sure. It’s always best to be sure before you strike.’

‘We can learn so much from sharks. Such fine predators.’

‘Yes, nature is the perfect teacher.’

The boat rises and dips, submerging Virgil to his neck.

A serene Lilith watches the nine-foot bull shark bury its snout into its screeching meal, the animal’s serrated teeth tearing apart flesh and intestines within a shroud of scarlet foam—

—eviscerating the life from her father.

24

NOVEMBER 21, 2033: UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI
FOOTBALL PRACTICE FIELD, CORAL GABLES, FLORIDA

3:50 p.m.

K. C. Renner lines the first-team offense up at the twenty yard line, scans the alignment of the ‘Canes’ second-string defense, then barks out signals: ‘Blue—twenty-six, blue-twenty-six … hut, hut … hut!’