Fourteen
Ten minutes after I spotted the first fin, the first rhiz brushed against my thigh plate as it swooshed past in the twilight, mouth agape to scoop dead fish into a lower jaw studded with more four-inch teeth than I could count. For the moment, I suppose I smelled and felt as appetizing as driftwood. But if these monsters decided I was food, I wasn’t sure whether the suit would keep them out indefinitely. And I didn’t know how deep these fish might dive or how deep the suit would stay pressure-tight if one dove and took me with it.
Bump.
A big one thumped my back, and I sucked a breath and clenched my teeth. The happys I had taken, back in the relative safety of the lair of the giant scorpions, were wearing off. My shoulder throbbed, and my cold, wet leg was growing numb.
It was nearly full dark now. There were no friendlies.
Beneath the surface, something clamped against my boot.
I kicked.
It held fast.