Winter 1949 – The Prince of Teeth

 

I pulled Cooper the last few yards to the beach and then, for good measure, dragged him another fifty feet from the sea. Only then did I check his wounds.

The bite on his right leg was bloody and ugly but most of the flesh was still there.  His left hand was gone. I tore a strip of cloth from the hem of my dress and applied it as tourniquet to stanch the bleeding. Cooper’s eyes were open and he was clearly breathing but he did not respond when I called his name. 

I looked up and down the beach in hopes of finding assistance but I saw no one. I turned to look at the water. The shark’s fin slid through the water just off shore. It circled, changed direction and rushed the beach. It came out of the water and ten feet up the sand. It was huge but, even so, it was now on land. I was more a threat to it than it to me. 

It quiver. Something in its body changed position. And then it stood up.