Dennett knows. And he's not a fan of sharks--if his panicking about them earlier didn't make that clear. But sharks...well. You know what? He wasn't going to think about that, other than the fact that they weren't rats.

Maybe one of them would choke on a bone or something. He can hope.

"Thank you," he says--it's barely a whisper, because he's still not doing that breathing thing that well, because he could taste the blood in his throat now.

It is fast, a little shock of pain almost like a flash of lightning, and then everything went dark, like a light being turned off.