He slipped into the water. The cold hit him hard, even through the wetsuit, but he pushed forward with slow, steady strokes. The safety rope trailed behind him. At fifteen yards, then ten, he could see the sandy bottom. The orca didn’t move much—just the slow pulse of its blowhole.
Now that he was close, he really saw the size of it. At least thirty feet long. Its skin was shiny and black, almost like glass, speckled with salt. The white oval behind its eye stared at him, unmoving. It was watching, but it didn’t move. Like it was saving what little energy it had left.