JAWS by Peter Benchley

Find 3 examples of suspense and tension in extract 2 and 3 (6 in total).

Extract 2:
In thirty-five feet of water, the great fish swam slowly, its tail waving just enough to
maintain motion. It saw nothing, for the water was murky with motes of vegetation.
The fish had been moving parallel to the shoreline. Now it turned, banking slightly,
and followed the bottom gradually upward. The fish perceived more light in the
water, but still it saw nothing.
The boy was resting, his arms dangling down, his feet and ankles dipping in and out
of the water with each small swell. His head was turned towards shore, and he
noticed that he had been carried out beyond what his mother would consider safe.
He was not afraid, for the water was calm and he wasn’t really very far from shore –
only forty yards or so. But he wanted to get closer; otherwise his mother might sit up,
spy him, and order him out of the water. He eased himself back a little bit so he
could use his feet to help propel himself. He began to kick and paddle towards
shore. His arms displaced water almost silently, but his kicking feet made erratic
splashes and left swirls of bubbles in his wake.
The fish did not hear the sound, but rather registered the sharp and jerky impulses
emitted by the kicks. They were signals, faint but true, and the fish locked on them,
homing. It rose, slowly at first, then gaining speed as the signals grew stronger.
The boy stopped for a moment to rest. The signals ceased. The fish slowed, turning
its head from side to side, trying to recover them. The boy lay perfectly still, and the
fish passed beneath him, skimming the sandy bottom. Again it turned.
The boy resumed paddling. He kicked only every third or fourth stroke; kicking was
more exertion than steady paddling. But the occasional kicks sent new signals to the
fish. This time it needed to lock on them only an instant, for it was almost directly
below the boy. The fish rose. Nearly vertical, it now saw the commotion on the
surface. There was no conviction that what thrashed above was food, but food was
not a concept of significance. The fish was impelled to attack: if what it swallowed
was digestible, that was food; if not, it would later be regurgitated. The mouth
opened, and with a final sweep of the sickle tail the fish struck.
The boy’s last – only – thought was that he had been punched in the stomach. The
breath was driven from him in a sudden rush. He had no time to cry out, nor, had he
had the time, would he have known what to cry, for he could not see the fish. The
fish’s head drove the raft out of the water. The jaws smashed together, engulfing
head, arms, shoulders, trunk, pelvis and most of the raft. Nearly half the fish had
come clear of the water, and it slid forward and down in a belly flopping motion,
grinding the mass of flesh and bone and rubber. The boy’s legs were severed at the
hip, and they sank, spinning slowly to the bottom.

Extract 3:
Carried by the tide, one of the small white squid slipped between the bars of the
cage and, tethered by twine, fluttered in Hooper’s face. He pushed it out of the cage.
He glanced downward, started to look away, then snapped his eyes down again.
Rising at him from the darkling blue – slowly, smoothly – was the shark. It rose with
no apparent effort, an angel of death gliding toward an appointment fore-ordained.
Hooper stared, enthralled, impelled to flee but unable to move. As the fish drew
nearer, he marvelled at its colors: the flat brown-grays seen on the surface had
vanished. The top of the immense body was a hard ferrous gray, bluish where
dappled with streaks of sun. Beneath the lateral line, all was creamy, ghostly white.
Hooper wanted to raise his camera, but his arm would not obey. In a minute, he said
to himself, in a minute.
The fish came closer, silent as a shadow, and Hooper drew back. The head was only
a few feet from the cage when the fish turned and began to pass before Hooper’s
eyes – casually, as if in proud display of its incalculable mass and power. The snout
passed first, then the jaw, slack and smiling, armed with row upon row of serrate
triangles. And then the black, fathomless eye, seemingly riveted upon him. The gills
rippled – bloodless wounds in the steely skin.
The fish continued to move away from the cage. Hooper heard faint popping noises,
and he saw three straight spirals of angry bubbles speed from the surface, then slow
and stop, well above the fish. Bullets. Not yet, he told himself. One more pass for
pictures. The fish began to turn, banking, the rubbery pectorals fins changing pitch.
“What the hell is he doing down there?” said Brody.
The fish had moved off to the limit of Hooper’s vision – a spectral silver-gray blur
tracing a slow circle. Hooper raised his camera and pressed the trigger. He knew the
film would be worthless unless the fish moved in once more, but he wanted to catch
the beast as it emerged from the darkness.
Through the viewfinder he saw the fish turn toward him. It moved fast, tail thrusting
vigorously, mouth opening and closing as if gasping for breath. Hooper raised his
right hand to change the focus. Remember to change it again, he told himself, when
it turns.
But the fish did not turn. A shiver traveled the length of its body as it closed on the
cage. It struck the cage head on, the snout ramming between two bars and
spreading them. The snout hit Hooper in the chest and knocked him backward. The
camera flew from his hands, and the mouthpiece shot from his mouth. The fish
turned on its side, and the pounding tail forced the great body farther into the cage.
Hooper groped for his mouthpiece but couldn’t find it. His chest was convulsed with
the need for air.

“It’s attacking!” screamed Brody. He grabbed one of the tether ropes and pulled,
desperately trying to raise the cage.
The fish slid backward out of the cage and turned sharply to the right in a tight circle.
Hooper reached behind his head, found the regulator tube, and followed it with his
hand until he located the mouthpiece. He put it in his mouth and, forgetting to exhale
first, sucked for air. He got water, and he gagged and choked until at last the
mouthpiece cleared and he drew an agonized breath. It was then that he saw the
wide gap in the bars and saw the giant head lunging through it. He raised his arms
above his head, grasping at the escape hatch.
The fish rammed through the space between the bars, spreading them still farther
with each thrust of its tail. Hooper, flattened against the back of the cage, saw the
mouth reaching, straining for him. He remembered the power head, and he tried to
lower his right arm and grab it. The fish thrust again, and Hooper saw with the terror
of doom that the mouth was going to reach him.