Mike Dixon

the way that he‟d been taught. Suddenly, he realized
why you surfaced like that.
“Better to lose an arm than a head.”
A dark shape had turned the sea to foam. Humphrey
clawed at his buoyancy vest in a frantic attempt to descend
– hit the wrong button and rocketed up.
There was pandemonium when he reached the surface.
Tim‟s divers were bobbing about in a tangle of fishing lines
and Tim was back in his boat with Janet. A catamaran had
stopped a short way off and a man was trying to reel in a
fish. Tim waved his speargun at him.
„You bastard!‟
The man ignored him.
„This is a dive site. We‟ve got flags up!‟
„So what?‟
„You shouldn‟t be here … that‟s what!‟
„Grow up!‟
The fishing line swept though the water and became en-
tangled with Tim‟s boat. He cut the line with his dive knife
and the man looked mortified.
„You fucking bastard!‟
Shocked faces appeared on the catamaran: neatly
dressed people who seemed overwhelmed by what was
happening about them.
„Get his rego number,‟ Janet yelled.
„Fuck off!‟
The catamaran revved its engines and became entangled
in Tim‟s anchor line. The inflatable lurched round, throwing
expensive equipment into the water.
„Stop … or I‟ll shoot!‟
More equipment was lost overboard.
„Sod you!‟
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