The WaterMaker MKI works. Barely.

As the sun of a new day drops below the horizon, Andrew lifts the plastic sheet off the leather bowl and checks inside. The level of seawater has fallen significantly, and inside the smaller bowl is a puddle of clear liquid. He dips a finger in then brings it to his tongue.

Lukewarm, but not salty.

In other words, drinkable!

Andrew grabs the small bowl and drains it in one go, tasting the first drops of water in two days. It's so delicious enough to make him sob. But there isn’t nearly enough. He's thirsty even before he puts the bowl back down. The sip has only moistened his appetite for more. Andrew licks at the sides of the leather bowl, still warm from the day’s heat. He licks the plastic sheet, going so far to suck on the tooth placed in the middle in case some condensation has gathered on it.

Not enough. Andrew puts everything back, refilling the bowl of seawater and covering it once more. He’ll need more watermakers. Many more. At this rate, he’ll only die of thirst a little slower than before. He looks around the raft. There aren't enough materials to make more right now, so he'll need to come up with another method of quenching his thirst.

What if he boils the seawater?

Andrew contemplates the idea. He has never read about boiling seawater, but as long as he’s out here he may as well try. And he’s getting sick of eating raw fish. For days now, his stomach has been constantly cramping and his gums are sore from tearing through flesh.

There is good news though, and it's that Andrew actually knows the method of making fire. A block of wood, a handful of kindling, and a long stick are all Aragon Dragnoia needs in his stories. So Andrew has all the confidence he can recreate the scene on his own raft. But he'll have to gather those ingredients first thing in the morning, because the moon is out now.

Andrew stares out at the shimmering waves, their blade-like waves slicing the moon into pieces. Except...

He looks closer. One of the blades is heading closer. Andrew's eyes pick up movement but logic dictates that the shark does not attack at night.

The blade glides closer.

It isn't possible. The shark doesn't attack at night.

Andrew turns away from the raft. His eyes are playing tricks on him. He's read about hallucinations caused by thirst and exposure. This must be what it is.

He lies down and closes his eyes. Yes, that must be why.

Turns out, it isn't.

Andrew feels a bump, and when he opens his eyes again he is flying. At first, nothing makes sense. He can feel the wind whistling past his ears. But it's impossible. Logic and pattern dictate...

He doesn't get a chance to finish that thought as logic and pattern crash into his back.

Andrew’s breath leaves him in a whoosh. Stars explode above him, mixing with the real ones in the sky. He tries to get up, only to be thrown again. For an entire heartbeat, he is weightless. Then below him, he hears the shark’s massive body slapping the water. Another heartbeat, Andrew follows.

Water hits him on all sides. Dark. Cold. Numbness envelops his senses. Andrew can't figure out which way is up.

Kick!

His body trashes on its own. Panic takes hold of his mind.

Move!

His legs spasm, finding footholds in the water’s resistance.

Find the surface!

Andrew reaches over his head, around his body, trying to feel for solidarity. His fingers hit soft wood. His raft! Andrew orientates himself in the direction he prays is the surface, then pushes his legs in the opposite direction. The water sticks to him like sludge. He’s beneath the raft now, both hands pressing against the ceiling of wood. All he needs to do is find the edge and pull himself up.

When he kicks again, Andrew feels his toes brushing against something rubbery. Rough. Alive.

Move. Move. Don't think. Move.

Andrew’s heart surges against his ribs and he cries out. Bubbles burst into his eyes. The pain forces him to suck in a breath. Big mistake. Liquid fire races into him, filling him. He starts to thrash, desperately wanting to breathe and trying not to at the same time.

Luckily, he is still below the raft all this time, and his twisting has pushed it away enough for light to spill through. Moonlight. Coming down on the surface. Reason reaches out. Andrew follows with his own hands. He grasps onto the raft’s edge. There, wood. He pulls, claws the raft aside, his head bursting through in an explosion of water and air.

Gasping and crying, Andrew drags the rest of himself onto the raft. He collapses onto his back, then immediately gets back up to vomit out saltwater. As he reaches into the water, he spots through the murky depths a set of black eyes, followed closely by the huge shape of the shark.

Andrew springs back from the edge just as the shark erupts into the sky, its monolithic body blocking out the night sky. It seems to hang there for a moment, before cracking back down against the side of the raft. Andrew flies forward from the force, arms and legs flailing as he heads straight towards the shark’s opened mouth.

It is a void of death and darkness.

It’s over. The phrase repeats itself over and over inside Andrew’s head as his feet fumble uselessly from out under him.

It’s over. I’m dead.

His hand winds against his neck. The teeth are still there, hanging on their string. There's something else too. The nail.

With one final surge of desperate strength, Andrew yanks the necklace off his neck and grips it in his fist, nail poking out from between two fingers.

“You want to eat me?” he screams at the monster coming closer. “Then you have to pay for it!”

At the last moment, Andrew's feet find hold. But he doesn't try to scramble away. He instead leaps towards the monster, bringing his spiked fist down across its horrendous face.

A burst of blood. A bellowing howl. Andrew feels flesh parting. He is thrown sideways but he holds on. Gripping the nail tighter he raises his fist. He can't see. The world is a blur. But there, glinting from moonlight, a black orb. A primal scream tears from Andrew's gut and he plunges his hand down, bringing all his strength into this one blow.

Steaming blood jets into the sky, painting the stars black. The sound coming out of the shark this time is a wail.

Andrew hits the deck, his necklace flying from his grip as he fights to grab onto the raft. Splinters dig into his skin but he manages to keep from falling into the water again. He gets up into a crouch. Pain rings in his ears, making his vision blurry. He wipes the blood from his eyes and whips his head from side to side, looking for the shark. There's so much blood, tinting even the moon's reflection. Andrew doesn't think all the blood is from him, but he can't be sure.

The necklace!

He scrambles around looking for it, but it’s too dark. He pictures the shark coming for him, its jaws locking around his head, those dark eyes peeling back his soul with its hateful glare.

But the shark doesn’t come. It’s gone quiet. Andrew’s mind registers the stillness even as his heart continues urging him to move. Eventually, Andrew's logic regains its control over his reality and he stops.

The waters are red, wavering but not broken. The shark is gone. For now, at least.

Andrew's legs give out and he collapses, sprawled across the deck of his broken raft. A sob starts from deep within his gut, works its way up his throat and flutters behind his clenched teeth. Andrew curls up on his side and shuts his eyes. He can feel the slow approach of water as inch by inch, his raft begins to sink from the damage it has sustained.

"Are you not satisfied?" he whispers, and then it is too much. Tears gather behind Andrew's eyelids as his lungs spasm. He opens his mouth to breathe, only to expel a gasping cry.

He needs to fix his raft, but who is there to fix him? Who will be there for him?

As the moon drifts above him, Andrew's consciousness fades. His crying soon dulls into silent grief, and his heart returns to its normal pace.

"Are you... not satisfied?" he whispers once more, just before sleep takes him.

Then, in the veil between respite and death, Andrew hears a soft splashing somewhere by his head. The shark has come back to finish the job, he thinks as he prepares himself to feel the sting of a hundred sharp teeth.

But what comes instead is a whisper, coming gently into his ear.

“No. Not yet.”