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Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

It seems to take an hour for me to make it around the first bend, but finally I do. Eko slowly vanishes behind the curtain of trees. I hate to leave her in the rain forest without a canoe, but I know she can fend for herself. This is my only chance to save P.J.

I’m the master of my fate again. And that’s when I see the silver torpedo bearing down on my canoe!

62

62

It’s not a torpedo, it’s a whale. I can see it above the waterline, gasping oxygen. But we’re in fresh water and it has scales, so it has to be some kind of humongous air-breathing fish.

I try to paddle around it, but I’m already exhausted and it’s coming on much too fast. It dives and I prepare to use the paddle to ward it away when it surfaces again.

A flock of brightly plumed birds is skimming five feet above the river. As they pass near my canoe, the gigantic fish suddenly launches itself out of the water like a flying oil tank and snags one of the birds in its mouth. The rest of the flock veers away, shrieking wildly. As the lunker water-to-air predator falls back into the river, its massive tail clips the bow of my dugout.

My canoe flips wildly, and I’m thrown far and clear. Before I can grab the upside-down dugout, the current catches it and carries it away downstream.

The fin-tailed colossus turns slowly in my direction. It must be twelve feet long and weigh six hundred pounds. I see that it has teeth. It finishes off the rest of the bird in one gulp and looks at me curiously. Does it eat humans? Does it know whether it eats humans or not?

The good news is that it slowly swims off. The bad news is I’m now floundering in the middle of the river, more than forty feet from either bank, too weak to swim.

My nose and mouth sink beneath the surface, and I try to breathe water. I come up sputtering. That’s one.

Panic gives me the strength to take a few pathetic strokes. But I’m just flapping my exhausted arms.

I sink down again, and try to hold my breath. My eyes are open and I see the muddy bottom. The stems of water plants. Tiny fish. This will soon be my resting place.

My mouth opens and the river rushes in. I pop up, choking. That’s two. The next one will finish me.

Is a voice in the distance shouting my name? I manage one last kick and then I sink down a third and final time.

Blackness edges in on the fringes of my consciousness, like a curtain slowly being drawn across a lighted stage.

I’m just barely aware of a shape diving toward me. Is it the freshwater killer whale, coming back for a bite?