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Summary:
The silver, pointed, razor toothed missile was coming straight at me faster than a speedboat. It was crazed, panicked, with Michelle’s spear tip toggled through its midsection, and trailing the spear next to its sleek, streamlined body. Behind that, it was trailing Greg’s new heavy wooden speargun that had been violently jerked out of Michelle’s hands. The crescent tail was beating the water so forcefully and so rapidly that it was propelling the wahoo at high speed, leaving a thick jet stream trail of bubbles and foam behind…
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