By dusk on Monday, hundreds of sharks had encircled them. There were makos, tigers, white-tips, and blues. Rising at the speed of a man at a gentle run, the sharks ascended from the depths of the dark sea to the paler glow of approaching night overhead, toward a sky empty of stars. As the heat of the day tempered into relative cool, the boys, lying in their rafts, hanging from floating nets, and bobbing in life vests, began to feel things bumping from below—nudges and kicks that they mistook for the touch of their comrades treading water. They nodded off and slept, if their wounds allowed them
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