*An account of the consecutive shark attacks on humans in Brazil in early March. The names of the characters have been changed.
Carlos stared intently at the crowd frolicking on the golden sand under the blazing sun of a late March day. His field of vision was split into two starkly contrasting halves: the lower half was the golden beach, teeming with dozens of people playing noisily; the upper half was the clear blue sea, devoid of a single soul.
The ocean stretched wide and vast, yet no one dared venture near it to splash in the water, let alone swim. And for good reason—Piedade Beach had long been notorious as a hunting ground for sharks. Over the years, dozens of people had been attacked by sharks here, most suffering grievous injuries. Only those who were either unaware of the warnings or stubbornly reckless would dare step into these deadly waters. Like the man in the white tank top standing off in the distance, for instance.
The man’s unusual footsteps immediately caught Carlos’s attention. Earlier, he had been glancing around nervously, and only after ensuring no one was watching did he begin striding quickly toward the sea. Carlos instantly understood his intent. Vivid images of his best friend Antonio’s blood-soaked calf flashed through his mind. He muttered under his breath, “Some people won’t fear until they see the coffin!”
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Just over a month ago, on February 20, Antonio had been bitten by a shark right here at this very beach. Antonio was obsessed with surfing—every weekend, he’d drive to spots with the best waves to indulge his passion. Together with Carlos and Davi, the three formed a tight-knit group of sea lovers. Antonio and Davi rode the waves, while Carlos was content swimming near the shore.
All three were locals of Jaboatão dos Guararapes and well aware of the swimming bans at Piedade Beach, so they’d long avoided coming here. Yet, on the evening of the 19th, while clinking glasses at a bar, Antonio suddenly declared something shocking: “Tomorrow, I’m going to surf at Piedade!”
Carlos and Davi both turned to look at him. Carlos asked, “Piedade? You mean our Piedade Beach?”
“What other Piedade is there?” Antonio confirmed, downing half his drink in one gulp.
Davi cautioned, “Come on, man, don’t be stupid. There are plenty of other spots with good waves. The shark stories at Piedade aren’t just empty warnings—people have seen them!”
“I don’t care,” Antonio shot back stubbornly. “I’ve conquered every beach around here. Piedade’s the only one left to complete the set. I’m going, no matter what!”
That night, Carlos and Davi tried a few more times to talk him out of it, but their words fell on deaf ears. True to his word, the next afternoon, Antonio marched out to Piedade with his surfboard in tow. Carlos and Davi, unable to stop him, reluctantly followed to cheer him on.
Carlos had once read a statistic somewhere: since 1992, there had been over 70 shark attacks at Piedade Beach. Over 20 years, more than 70 incidents—averaging three to four attacks per year. He mulled the numbers over in his head, hoping his friend wouldn’t be unlucky enough to join that tally.
Sadly, Lady Luck turned her back on Antonio that day. Barely five minutes after he paddled out to deeper waters, disaster struck. One moment, he was standing tall on his board; the next, he was gone. A loud boom followed by a spray of white foam erupted where he’d been. A gray shark’s head broke the surface, dragging him under.
Sensing trouble, Carlos and Davi raced to the water’s edge, joining two lifeguards who had been helplessly watching from the shore. Seeing Antonio in peril, the lifeguards sprang into action, grabbing their boards and paddling out to him.
From the beach, Carlos and Davi watched anxiously. Antonio had resurfaced and was thrashing wildly to fend off the beast below. The shark circled relentlessly, lunging at him repeatedly. Instinctively, Antonio pummeled its head each time it emerged. The peaceful sea quickly turned into a chaotic battleground.
Antonio’s frantic punches eventually paid off. One solid blow landed square on the shark’s nose, forcing it to retreat. It circled a few more times before abandoning its tough prey and swimming off. By then, Antonio was utterly spent. Blood from somewhere on his body stained the water red. Clutching his board, he paddled toward shore with one arm. The lifeguards reached him just in time, each grabbing a side to haul him back.
When Antonio was dragged ashore, the gruesome sight sent chills through the onlookers, many stepping back in horror. A large chunk of his left calf had been torn away, a ghastly wound. Carlos and Davi approached to comfort him but could barely look at the mangled flesh.
At 4:30, the rescue team arrived. Antonio was airlifted to a hospital for surgery. Left behind on the beach, Carlos and Davi waited anxiously, unsure if their friend’s leg could be saved.
Antonio was discharged after just ten days. His leg remained intact, save for the chunk of calf now digested by the shark. He’d paid a steep price for his stubbornness, but he was still fortunate to keep his leg—unlike two kids attacked just days later.
At 11:20 a.m. on May 3, again at Piedade Beach, a 14-year-old boy swam out to deep water. A shark bit off part of his right thigh. Rescuers pulled him to shore, saving his life, but not his leg. Doctors had no choice but to amputate, leaving him permanently disabled.
The very next day, around 1 p.m. on the 6th, a 12-year-old girl named Kayle became the next victim. Swimming in deep water about 500 meters from the boy’s attack, she too was struck by a shark. By the time rescuers got her to shore, her right arm was gone—bitten off from the shoulder down. She reached the hospital at 1:20, her condition stabilized, but she now faced a new reality without her arm.
Three shark attacks in just half a month sent the city’s alertness to an all-time high. Tourism plummeted, leaving beachside restaurant owners fretting over their livelihoods. Those who still visited the beach wouldn’t dream of dipping even a toe in the water.
Except for the man in the white tank top.
Since his friend’s ordeal, followed by the two children’s attacks, Carlos had spent every afternoon at Piedade Beach. He didn’t want anyone else to lose a limb—or worse—lured by the cool, inviting water in a moment of carelessness. He didn’t do much—just sat quietly, watching. If anyone showed odd behavior, he’d intervene immediately. Seeing the man in the tank top, Carlos knew it was time to act. He sprang up and bolted toward him like an arrow.
Carlos wasn’t the only one who noticed the man’s intent. Two lifeguards on watchtowers also scrambled down and raced over. The three reached him just as he waded in, the water lapping halfway up his stomach.
Together, Carlos and the lifeguards tried dragging him back to shore, but to their shock, he resisted fiercely. He shouted that he wanted to swim, demanding they let him go. His strength was far greater than Carlos had expected. Three grown men struggled for nearly a minute without budging him an inch.
Amid the effort, Carlos heard a splash cut through the water nearby. He whipped his head around and spotted a shark fin circling not far off. His heart pounded uncontrollably. “Shark!” he yelled, yanking the man with all his might, but the man’s stubbornness kept him rooted.
Fear for their own safety gripped Carlos and the lifeguards. They knew they had to resolve this fast, but the man wouldn’t budge. In a flash of desperation, an idea struck Carlos. “Lift his legs!” he shouted.
Bending low, Carlos slipped his arms under the man’s groin. The lifeguard with “Bruno” on his name tag caught on, doing the same. With a synchronized “Up!” they hoisted the man’s thighs off the seabed and hauled him ashore, dumping him onto the sand. The shark, seeing its prey escape, slunk back into the blue and vanished.
Sprawled on the ground, Carlos panted, gazing at the white clouds drifting overhead. A tiny speck of a plane flickered in and out among them, like the sharks lurking beneath the sea.
The man beside him had stopped struggling. Whether he grasped the gravity of his actions was unclear. For violating the swimming ban, he’d likely face charges. But at least he still had his life to face the consequences.
THE END
Written on April 4, 2025
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