Mike Dixon

The sounds of the tropics were new to David. He was familiar
with those of colder waters but these were different.
There was a faint whistling that he associated with dolphins
but a loud chomping noise was harder to identify. He heard
it between breaths and traced it to a shoal of parrot fish that
were chewing up dead coral with their bird-like beaks. He
watched them charge into the coral like mechanical diggers
and bite off chunks.
Then he heard another sound. It started suddenly and,
like all underwater sounds, had no direction. There was no
way of telling where it came from – only that it was getting
louder. The high-pitched whine of an outboard motor sent
shivers down his spine. He looked up and saw a dark form
racing through the waves.
Tim had a large crayfish in his gloved hand when David
appeared. The kid was more agitated than usual. Tim
guessed it was the cray. David thought you had to do every-
thing by the book. He came from that sort of family.
The Pagets thought that because someone made a law
you had to obey it. He‟d tried to explain that laws were
made to be broken but the kid wouldn‟t listen. He couldn‟t
understand that it made no difference how you caught your
crays. They were just as dead once you got them in the pot.
He ignored David and continued with what he was doing.
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