The Call (The Magnificent 12 1)

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Eighteen

“Ret click-ur!”

Mack yelled it and got a mouthful of salt water.

He yelled it again.

But the shark fin kept coming. Nothing stopped. Nothing changed.

“Huh,” Stefan remarked.

“Aaaaaah!” Mack cried. He’d always known it would end this way.

The fin disappeared beneath a swell that lifted Mack up like a cork. He felt something big brush against him. It turned him around. He cried out in terror and started swimming, splashing, heedless of direction so long as it was away.

But then the fin! It was in front of him. Coming straight at him, fast, fast, so fast!

Then the shark rolled over onto its side. Mack was staring straight into the shark’s evil eye.

Only it didn’t look evil. And instead of a huge gaping mouth full of razor-tipped teeth, Mack saw a quirky smile.

It took several seconds for the truth to percolate through Mack’s brain. It was not a shark.

“It’s a dolphin,” Mack yelled to Stefan.

Stefan yelled back, “Sharks are way cooler.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you ever see Megashark vs. Giant Octopus? That was so cool the way the shark, like, ate that whole bridge.”

Not for the last time, Mack wondered if he and Stefan were even from the same planet.

Then something much bigger than the dolphin appeared. A vast white sail. It was closer to Stefan than to Mack. They both started shouting and yelling.

Stefan yelled, “Yo!”

Mack yelled, “Save me! Save me! Help! For the love of God rescue me!”

The sail—they couldn’t see the actual boat because it was hidden by the swells—suddenly collapsed. And then they could see the boat itself, the blue hull with chrome railings. It was turning toward them, slowing but coming closer.

A man stood at the wheel. He was barely visible in the dim light, but Mack could see the glow of a cigar.

They swam hard for the boat, which was now just a few dozen yards away. Mack was pretty sure he would be chomped by a shark before he could get aboard. But he was going to give it a try.

The man came to the rail and tossed them a rope. Stefan grabbed it and carried it to Mack, who clutched it like it was his last hope of life. Which it probably was.

A minute later they were hauled up the side and stood, wet and shaky but definitely alive, on the teak deck of the sailboat.

“Out for a swim, then?” the man asked, in what Mack assumed was an Australian accent.

Mack stared at him.

“Bit of a haul to Sydney Harbour, mate,” the man said.

“Yes,” Mack said, spitting out salt water. “I guess we didn’t think it through.”