Marcus’s blood ran cold. Blast fishing. The reef he had just admired — the life he had captured on film minutes earlier — was being obliterated before his eyes. He hauled himself onto the ladder, arms shaking, every muscle screaming at him to move carefully. Aaron sat stiffly on the edge of the deck, his notepad forgotten, eyes wide with unease.
One of the pirates barked something in broken English. “Equipment. Now. All of it.” He gestured sharply with the harpoon gun, the meaning unmistakable. Marcus froze, dripping seawater onto the deck. He looked from Aaron to the men, disbelief twisting through him. These weren’t fishermen.