Summer passed. Ryo continued to slowly, gradually improve. His stump healed. He had therapy, learning to walk with a prosthesis. He stayed in diapers full time, making no effort to get to the toilet. Ro eventually convinced him she wasn’t abalone diving. She just picked up more diving classes since it was the busy tourist season. He was reluctant in his trust, as if he didn’t fully believe her. She reiterated what the doctors and his therapist said; he was just emotionally scarred from his own attack. Tourists flocked to their small coastal town. They went diving, surfing, swimming. No shark attacks all scorching summer long. There were a few sightings. Great white breeding season passed. Abalone season was drawing to a close. The late summer sun beat strongly on.

Ro swam through the open water, hugging the craggy reef line. The churning tide pushed and pulled her as she hunted the elusive abalone. The shells blended perfectly with the algae covered rocks. Long, flowing seaweed and kelp helped hide the hand-sized sea snails. Ro felt her way along slowly, her seasoned eye on the lookout for any bumps or movement that might give the snail away.

The abalone liked cold, deep water and strong currents. Their muscled feet clutched tightly to the rock. Removing them was delicate, tricky work. The abalone were very touch sensitive; she had one shot to remove them before they clamped down tightly to the rocks in a defensive anchor. She could still remove them after that, but the odds of damaging the valuable delicacy increased. A single abalone could sell for a hundred bucks. To pry them loose, she used a tool that resembled a paint scraper. She slid the flat blade under the snail, pried it loose, scooped it up and put it in her bag. Intact, whole, and sure to fetch top dollar.

Before she did any of that, her first action was to measure the shell to make sure it was legal size. To keep wild abalone farming sustainable, there were strictly enforced limits, licenses, and permits. Ro took care of her end, but most of that fell on Sheila’s head.

Ro moved along through the kelp field, searching for another abalone cluster. She was on her last bag of the day. It had been a good dive. One abalone bag could net a few thousand dollars. A boat needed at least three bags full to break even with operating costs. She’d send up over half a dozen. They were sitting pretty today. All the bags were of green lipped abalone, which fetched the highest market prices, particularly in Asia.

This last bag was almost full. She just needed a few more abalone and she could call it a day. She’d been under for several hours filling up bag after bag of abalone. This spot was empty; time to move on. She looked up, searching all around. She was far under the ocean, smack dab in the middle of the great whites’ hunting ground. Up on the surface above, the sun beat down in a merciless, hazy heat. Sheila wore a sunhat, sunglasses, and an old t-shirt dress. Down here, Ro had on a wetsuit due to how cold it was. Summer temperatures above, winter below. The sun’s heat couldn’t penetrate this deep. The light still reached, making everything around her a murky, blurry blue.

Her vision was limited through her mask. She’d never see a shark coming until it was too late. She couldn’t hear under the water. She was a helpless sitting duck. A large, seal shaped happy meal. Down here, the sharks had all the advantages. Sight, sound, smell, stealth, strength. Teeth. Her only defenses were the shark shield-a small, rectangular black box with a red button that emitted an electromagnetic field to deter sharks- and the shark prod- a new invention that was basically an underwater cattleprod modified for sharks.

Looking around, she saw no sign of a shark, so she was safe to move on. She kicked hard, swimming parallel to the current until she found a promising spot. Pushing aside the dark green undersea foliage, she hit pay shell. With one last safety check, she began to collect the last few abalone she needed to fill her bag.

Some abalone divers used a motorized shark cages as an added layer of protection. The small cages slowed down the hunt. Moving along in the cage was slow. They were bulky and cumbersome. Ro preferred the protection of time. She could swim and gather abalone much faster without it. Which meant less time in the water. Less time for a shark to find her.

She put an abalone into her bag when a large, blurry movement in the murky distance caught her eye. Instantly, all her senses went on alert. She gripped the shark prod tightly and slipped her abalone scraper into her bag. Her heart beat sped up as adrenaline kicked in, but she kept her breathing even. Forced herself to stay calm. Panic killed divers. She kept her eyes on that blurry shape. From this distance, it could’ve been anything; a dolphin, a small whale, a tightly packed school of fish. Or a shark. Whatever it was, she wasn’t sticking around to find out.

An image of Ryo’s mangled, severed leg popped into her head. White bone sticking out of red meat. That could be her. Ryo’s voice, his tear-filled, shaky pleas, filled her mind. The shadow circled closer with each arc. She squeezed the prod’s long handle and began to swim for the surface. Adrenaline gave renewed vigor and strength to her tired limbs. She kept her fear tightly in check. She swam in slow, wide circles and always kept the tip of the shark prod between her body and the lazily approaching shadow. Keeping pace with the potential predator.

Other sharks could be approaching. She made sure to never leave her back exposed to the same side for too long. That gave her hunters an opportunity to strike her blind. Just because she didn’t see a shark didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Her instincts screamed for her to swim break-neck for the surface and the safety of the boat in a blind panic.

Too rapid of an ascent put her in just as much danger as the shark circling her. Even at a depth of thirty some feet, she risked getting the bends, or decompression sickness if she ascended too fast. A blind swim would also trigger the shark’s hunting instincts, enticing it to chase her. It also made her few defenses useless.

Gradually, she worked her way to the surface. The seconds stretched into tense minutes that felt like hours. She glanced up every so often, careful to keep herself oriented to the boat. She could clearly see the outline of the shark now as it circled closer, growing more bold. Memories of Ryo’s sobbing filled her ears.