John surfaced, heart hammering. “Easy, big guy,” he whispered, absurdly. “We’re going to fix this.” He ducked under again and traced the trailing edge of the net. The net was knotted so tight it cut into the flesh, staining the water with faint ribbons of pink.
Thick strands looped the tail like a handcuff, tethered to a bigger clump snagged on hidden rocks. Get in, slice, get out. Simple on paper, lethal in reality. Orcas could crack Arctic ice with a tail slap; one reflexive flick here, and he’d be pulp.