Fifty feet in the air above East-Harbor Beach, time seemed to stop for half a second.
Shark-General Sha Po was still holding his heavy iron anchor above his head in a heroic war pose, his mouth wide open mid-battle-cry:
“CHARGE INTO THE STREETS AND BITE THEIR—eh?”
Sha Po blinked his round black shark eyes and looked down between his webbed feet.
A second ago, he had been riding on the curling crest of a two-hundred-foot wall of roaring black seawater.
Now, the water was gone. Completely gone!
All one hundred thousand elite Shark-Man Raiders were hanging suspended in mid-air fifty feet above a flat, bone-dry, sun-warmed sandy beach, kicking their tail-fins against empty wind like frogs thrown out of a bucket!
“Gurgle?! Where’s the tide?!”
