Finally, Eric heard Greene's voice, a little sheepish, but still trying to sound hard like he'd made up his own mind. "Fallows said you were in charge, Dobbs, so we follow you. For now."

"Bet your ass you do, sucker. OK, let's hump on over to the shore, start fingering through these weeds. Greene, you're so fond of the water, I want you to stay in the creek, following us north. You see anything swimming around that ain't got fins, you give a holler. Got it?"

"Yeah, Dobbs, I got it."

Eric listened to seven pairs of boots sloshing to the shore, knowing that one pair still stood nearby. Damn! He twisted his head to the side, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of Greene, pinpoint his location. But it was no use. There was nothing to see. Only black, gritty water brushing against his eyes like sandpaper.

He clutched the rock tighter to his chest, squeezing it as if to absorb any oxygen it might have. He tried not to think. Clear his mind. A crazy image persisted, banged his brain like a locomotive. There was Julie Andrews rushing over a green mountain, singing, "The hills are alive with the sound of music." Her cheeks were red from the crisp mountain air. Tons of it. She took deep breaths, winked at him.

Eric chuckled like a drunk. Tiny air bubbles squeezed out of his nose. He was losing it.

He heard Greene's boots starting to move away. Hold on a little longer. Think of something else.

Three lousy feet of water. Most shark attacks occur in three feet of water. Where'd he learn that? Of course, Timmy. Taking his son to see Jaws had resulted in the family having to listen to shark trivia for two weeks afterwards. Now the family was gone. His wife and daughter murdered. His son kidnapped. All by the same man. Dirk Fallows.