Mike Dixon

David guessed that Daryl intended to kill the tiger shark
and take it back for the crocs. He didn‟t approve. Sharks
were in need of protection. He had often argued that in his
dive classes – usually with zero success. He turned to Daryl.
„How are you going to kill it?‟
Daryl reached under his seat and produced a rifle. David
recognized it as a Lee Enfield 303 from the Second World
War. His father used to have one and he‟d been allowed to
fire it under strict supervision. Father‟s gun had been kept in
top condition. Daryl‟s looked like it hadn‟t been cleaned in
years.
„This‟ll sort him out.‟
Daryl held the rifle as a child might hold a toy.
David threw open the cabin door and jumped out. He‟d
survived Barry‟s attempts to shoot him. It would be ironic if
he was killed by a chance shot from a moron with an antique
gun.
He went round to the rear of the truck and helped Daryl
unload an aluminum dinghy. They dragged it down to the
water and David climbed in. He picked up the rifle.
„You‟ve got a round up the spout.‟
„Yeah, mate!‟ Daryl got in beside him. „That‟s so I won‟t
waste time if I sees a pig. You have to be quick or you miss
„em.‟
David slipped the round in his pocket and waited for Daryl
to get the outboard started. After several tries it spluttered
into uncertain life and they battled through the choppy
waves to the drum. The scene was much as David expected.
A large tiger shark had been caught on a huge hook, baited
with the head of a feral pig. The trace was a steel cable of
the sort used to winch boats onto trailers. It was attached to
the drum via a length of chain. The shark was going in circles
and near exhaustion. David watched cautiously.
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