The Lost City of Faar by D.J. MacHale Read Free Book Online Page B

the spectacular scene. The water was as clear as air. It was even more special because the air globes allowed me to look all around. Unlike diving goggles where you pretty much had to look straight ahead, the air globe gave me a perfect view of everything—and, man, it was worth it!
    That is, until something happened that caught my eye.
    â€œUh-oh,” said Uncle Press.
    He had seen it too. One second there were hundreds of these weird fish gently dancing through the currents. The very next moment they all scattered. It happened so fast that if I had blinked I would have missed it. Every single last fish in my view had suddenly darted off in a different direction. There’s a better word for it. They had fled. Something had scared them. And if they were scared, I was too.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
    â€œSomething just spooked the fish.”
    â€œYeah, no kidding,” I said. “What do you think—”
    â€œLook out!”
    Uncle Press grabbed my arm and pulled me back down under the rock ledge. A second later I saw what caused the fish panic. Yup, it was a shark. A quig shark. It wasn’t in a hurry though. The big beast drifted past us as we cowered back in the shadow of the ledge. It used no effort to propel itself along.
    It was beautiful and horrifying at the same time. Most of its body was battleship gray, but its underbelly was jet black. And it was big. We’re talking Jaws big. It was way bigger than the shark Saint Dane had sent back at us through the flume. One thing was the same though. Its eyes. The beast had the cold, yellow eyes that told me it was no ordinary shark. It was a quig, no doubt about it. The monster glided past, turned away from the rock, and started swimming directly away from us.
    â€œMaybe it didn’t see us,” I said hopefully.
    â€œIt saw us,” came the flat response. “It’s just taking its time to—here we go!”
    I quickly looked back outside and saw in horror that the shark had done a complete 180 and was now swimming directly at us! It had moved away from the rock overhang so it could get up a good head of steam to make its kill run at us. There was nowhere to run, or should I say, swim. We were trapped and this thing had us in its sights.
    Uncle Press grabbed the speargun away from me, planted his feet, and took aim. The quig kept coming. It was almost on us. Its jaws were already open in anticipation of the big bad bite.
    â€œShoot!” I yelled. “Get him!”
    Uncle Press waited to make sure he wouldn’t miss. I hoped he was as good with this speargun as he was with the spearson Denduron. His finger tightened on the trigger, but he didn’t fire.
    Believe it or not, the shark being so big turned out to be a good thing. Its head slid underneath the ledge, but its dorsal fin hit the rock above. Yes! It was too big to fit under the ledge. It couldn’t get to us! Uncle Press lowered the speargun because the immediate danger was gone. That is, unless the quig could figure out how to squeeze in sideways. I didn’t think that would happen. Fish don’t swim sideways.
    â€œSo much for your decoy theory,” I said.
    â€œIt worked,” replied Uncle Press. “But this bad boy was quicker than I thought. Look.”
    I saw that stuck in the shark’s teeth was the decoy water sled, completely tangled up in pants and vines. The quig went for the bait all right, but it was just an appetizer. It now wanted the main course. Us.
    The huge quig wriggled and squirmed, trying to force its way under the rock shelf. If it’s possible for a fish to look angry, this thing looked major-league ticked. It writhed its body, swung its tail and gnashed its jaws, desperately trying to get at us. We were just out of its reach by a few yards. Too close, in my book, but no matter how furiously the quig pushed, its body was too big to squeeze any closer.