I scrambled forward, strapping in with shaking hands and grabbing the binoculars.
Out in the gloom, five pale shapes arrowed toward us. Fast, purposeful, unmistakably hunting.
“More are already here!” I shouted, panic tightening my throat.
A pit yawned in my stomach as I caught the details: ridged, blunt heads, black eyes cold and endless, teeth jagged and raw, glinting pale in the darkness. They were nothing like the creatures from our books. They looked like things the ocean never meant to share.
Hayden dove into the back compartment, hands moving with brutal efficiency. Something clicked, followed by a shrill electronic beep.
“Tighten your seatbelt,” he ordered, voice flat.
I fumbled at the strap, yanking it tighter. “What are you?—?”
“Just do it.”
A heavy thud shook the pod. The control panel flared to life and the engine roared, rattling my teeth. Hayden seized the wheel, muscles rigid, and shoved us upward—away from the feeding frenzy below.
The pod bucked and jerked as if fighting him, pitching me hard into my harness. Pain spiked behind my eyes; I braced for another impact.
“What’s wrong with this thing?” I yelled.
“Emergency override,” Hayden shot back. “Controls are rough. Hold on!”
But we were already hurtling straight toward one of the circling sharks.
“Swerve!” I barked, adrenaline burning away any hesitation.
“I can see it!” he grated out, wrenching the wheel.
The pod clipped the shark’s side with a sickening jolt, sending it tumbling. Blood and pale flesh billowed in our wake as we lurched upward, breaking from the fray.
Below, more sharks converged on the whale, carving through what was left. For a split second, I saw the divers—small, fragile silhouettes near the cave. Then two of the predators peeling off, angling toward the entrance.
“They’re going for the divers!” My voice cracked as I pointed.
Hayden reacted instantly, forcing the pod downward in a stomach-dropping dive. “Get ready,” he said, voice rough with urgency. “When I say go, hit the red button on your right. Thered, not green.”
“Red,” I repeated shakily, fingers hovering over the control. “Got it.”
“GO!” Hayden barked.
We hit the buttons in unison. Twin missiles tore into the water. One clipped a shark’s tail, spinning it off into the gloom. The other shot past, missing the mark. Hayden gunned the pod forward, tracking the second shark, but it was already surging ahead, a pale blur zeroing in on the divers below.
My heart slammed against my ribs. The divers—heads down, still working—didn’t know what was about to hit them.
And then, out of nowhere, another pod streaked in, its pointed nose colliding with the oncoming shark. Bone shattered, blood clouded the water, and for a second the threat seemed blunted.
But the rear screen flashed red: more blips converging from below, shapes rising out of the murk.
I forced my voice steady. “More are coming. The divers need to get out, now!”
Having spotted the rescue pod’s intervention, the divers were already scrambling back toward the submarine—frantic, kicking hard, painfully exposed against the murky water. They looked like easy prey.
Hayden’s whole body seemed to lock in, every muscle taut with concentration as he spun our pod to face the approaching sharks, putting us squarely between the divers and the frenzy beyond. “Hit them. And don’t stop until I say,” he said, never breaking focus.
We hammered the red buttons, launching missile after missile as more pods swung into formation beside us. Together, we made a ragged defensive wall, trying to hold the sharks at bay with sharp bursts of firepower.
But the predators splintered, some tearing straight into the bleeding sharks, others veering off toward the rocks. Blood and chaos turned the water into a churning, clouded mess. Bodies spun and thrashed—sharks colliding and biting each other in the frenzy. I lost all sight of the divers in the turmoil.
