It’s the whisper in the clouds. The swift turning and movement of frozen water.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she whispers, wishing she could take back wanting to impress him.
Luke pulls the ripcord on the power-glider, and the small gas engine chugs into life. With an obvious fake-smile, he turns back and shushes her, “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”
And as if it matters, he shows off the evil-looking spear as he grabs his cords and sprints air born.
With a sigh, she follows his lead and is air born also. Soon enough, she falls into an easy formation with him, and all she hears is her own revving engine and the roaring wind as they approach the unaware creature.
Then the signal and Luke begins a dive and takes a chunk out of its flank, not enough to wound but enough to draw attention, as the shark grabs her school mates chute and shakes.
Fool, she screams, following the boy is he falls through the clouds. She knows her words are eaten by the wind, but curses again, hoping he had time to pop his reserve.
Cloud sharks be damned, she decides, setting her sights. The old lore was right, when the ancient hunters made the North West safe for flight hundreds of years ago, this is what they did, tapped into their brutality, and killed. She thinks of her dad and all the pilots back in Seattle, all in danger. Their way of life, fishing the clouds, at risk. As she approaches the huge fish, she clenches her own spear ready for what’s to come.
A fight to the death.