A grandpa is someone you never outgrow your need for… –Anonymous
Isaiah Covington stared death in the face, and her eyes were cold, glass buttons peering out of two tons of a nearly mindless eating machine. Sweat beaded on his face as she drew closer, her gaping mouth revealing grim rows of pointed, serrated teeth designed to tear and rend flesh.
He thought of the torch on his belt, but the heavy clumsiness of his undersea suit’s gloves made it uncertain if he could bring it to bear and ignite it in time to use as a weapon.
He looked into death’s eyes while muttering a prayer to the God of Daniel, Peter, and Paul, and death stared back.
With less than two meters between them, the Great White Shark suddenly veered off to her left and vanished into the murky waters of the Bay.
“Keep praying, children. She may come back.”
“Pa?”
Isaiah thought his son’s voice sounded meek and uncertain in his ears, but Lord knows he had good reason for it.