The Shark Whisperer (25 page)

The other teens nodded in agreement.

“Okay then. After the Jet Ski passes, it's only a couple of miles to the lab from here. With your webbed feet, that shouldn't be too long of a swim. There are several islands you can stop on along the way. And if you don't show up in a few hours, we'll send a boat out to find you.”

“Maybe fiddling with our tracking bracelets wasn't such a brilliant idea,” Hugh said anxiously, twirling the one on his wrist.

“We'll be fine,” Tristan said, trying his best to sound reassuring and confident. “Ryder and I will help you guys. And maybe we can find some other dolphins and sharks to help out.”

“I'll take a pass on the sharks, thank you,” Hugh muttered.

The young campers chugged some water, then just as the man on the Jet Ski rounded the southern point of Stanley's Neck, they slid quietly into the sea.

“Be careful, see you soon,” Director Davis said as he pointed the boat south, motoring at a slow cruising speed. He pretended to look confused and nervous, glancing repeatedly at the islands around him.

18

SAND TRAP

T
HE STROMATOLITES LOOMED LARGE AROUND
Tristan. He swam between the tall tan pillars and away from the sound of the approaching Jet Ski. The other Seasquirts followed. They swam as fast as possible, weaving in and around the columns of hardened algae and sand. It was like racing through the undersea ruins of an ancient stone temple. Tristan wished he could stay to explore the towering pillars, but they had no time to spare. The Jet Ski was getting close.

The teens swam south to the next island, staying submerged as much as possible. Tristan was the first to reach the mangrove-lined shore. He crouched beside the mangroves' crooked orangey roots hanging into the water. It smelled terrible, like rotten eggs, and when his feet hit the bottom they sank into squishy
oozing mud. But it was the best and only hiding place around. Tristan waved the others over. Ryder and Sam arrived next. They squatted low in the water to stay hidden. Hugh and Rosina made their way more slowly, popping up frequently to take breaths.

Tristan watched the man on the Jet Ski as he continued to slowly cruise south. Rickerton's goon had a gun slung across his back and wore a headset. He seemed to be talking into a microphone, but Tristan was too far away to hear what he was saying.

Tristan waved Hugh and Rosina over whispering, “Stay low.”

The man on the Jet Ski passed over the stromatolites. He seemed to be following Director Davis at a distance. If the man turned their way and concentrated, Tristan was sure he'd see them. The teens ducked lower in the water.

“What's that stink?” Rosina whispered, plugging her nose and shaking some mucus off her hands.

Sam scrunched up her nose, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, and don't try to stand up, the mud here's nasty.”

“
Shhh
,” Tristan said.

They tried to push further back into the mangroves, but the tangled roots and branches were nearly as thick as the jungle wall. Ryder quietly pulled down some leafy branches to help hide them. The man on the Jet Ski looked to the shoreline. He seemed to stare right at them. The man hesitated and then continued going south.

“Phew, that was close,” Hugh said.

“Now what?” Rosina asked.

“Let's go along the shore. Stay low and close to the mangroves in case he comes back,” Tristan suggested. “Sam, can you use your echolocation to keep track of where he goes?”

“I can try, but I don't know how far it works.”

“I can go scout ahead,” Ryder offered.

“Okay, but no jumping and don't go too far,” Tristan said.

“Dude, like, I'm not an
idiot
,” Ryder fired back.

“I'm just saying,” Tristan answered.

Ryder swam ahead. Tristan and the others slowly followed, staying alongside the mangroves. Little silver fish and crabs darted out skittishly to investigate the teens as they swam by. They could no longer see or hear the Jet Ski. About ten minutes later, Sam swam into slightly deeper water. She dove down and made dolphin-like clicking noises.

“He's still going south I think,” she told them a little later.

They swam on and the mangroves soon gave way to a sandy beach lined with remarkably flat rocks. The group was now out in the open—there was nowhere to hide. Ryder came back and they stopped to talk.

“The beach and rocks go to, like, the end of the island. Then there's a wide channel,” Ryder reported. “The Jet Ski guy is already past there and still headed south behind the director.”

“Almost forgot,” Tristan said. He pulled a map out from the pocket of his swim trunks.

“Good thinking,” Hugh said.

“Yeah, kind of borrowed it from Director Davis's
back pocket. Didn't have time to ask. I figured we'd need it more than him.”

“Look here,” Tristan continued, pointing to the map. “If we swim past the beach, go across the next channel, and then go south avoiding The Quicksands, we could go around the back side of the next island. This one here—shaped kinda like a boomerang. It goes almost all the way back to Lee Stocking Island.”

They sent Sam out to see if she could get a reading on the Jet Ski before they crossed the open beach area. She came back reporting she couldn't tell where it was.

“Hopefully that means he's too far away,” Hugh said, adding, “Hey Ryder, are there any of those standing waves in the next channel?”

“Not that I could see.”

“How wide is it?” Rosina asked nervously. “Was there a current?”

“Look, let's stay together and get across this open beach area first, then worry about the channel,” Tristan told them.

The Seasquirts swam together. They synchronized their speed and direction like the shape-shifting school of fish Tristan had seen in the stream on his first day at Sea Camp. The slowest swimmer set the pace and they frequently popped up for air, to look for the Jet Ski, and to stay headed in the right direction.

As they were swimming, several silver fish with yellow racing stripes streaked by, turned around, and darted in and out of the group. The fish soon settled in, cruising beside Hugh. Five reef squid then jetted toward the swimming teens. The campers and squid all stopped to stare at one another. The squid hovered in a line one behind the other, as if playing a game of follow-the-leader. The lead squid moved toward Hugh. It waved its eight arms and two tentacles at him and the other squid followed. A rainbow of color washed over their bodies, passing from one squid to the next. Hugh nervously reached out, wiggling his fingers. A flash of crimson went from his fingertips to his shoulder. The squid flickered red and lined up next to him. When the campers continued on, the squid followed along. Hugh glanced repeatedly at the creatures trailing beside him. Tristan smiled, thinking that Hugh was becoming an underwater celebrity. Though he wasn't so sure it was the kind of fame and attention that his bunkmate wanted.

Tristan didn't have to kick very hard to stay with the other teens so he looked around as they swam. Two large turquoise parrot fish were scraping algae off rocks. They had big white buckteeth, like the ones in the stream at camp. He wondered if their sparkling overbite came from munching on rocks. The parrot fish stopped grazing to stare at the passing teens. Tristan thought he and the others must look really weird to the fish—a school of humans, fish, and squid. Or maybe they should be called a pod? A roving band of surgeonfish
then approached. Tristan had never seen a school this big so close. He counted at least thirty-five fish, each with a blue oval body and yellow tail. Just in front of the fish's tail on both sides was a sharp white spine, kind of like a scalpel. He decided that trying to take a bite out of that fish's back end would be one painful dining experience.

Tristan bobbed his head up. They were almost past the beach and at the southern tip of the island. He swam into shallower water where he could squat down and stay low. The others followed.

“Hugh, looks like you've made some friends,” Sam said.

“Yeah, they're making me nervous. Following me around like that,” he answered, looking into the water by his legs.

“Were they saying anything?” Tristan asked.

“The silver fish wanted to race, but I declined, politely of course. Besides, not much of a contest there. The squid wanted to know why we have only two arms. They are very sure that eight arms and two tentacles are much more practical.”

Ryder looked at Tristan. “Dude, maybe you and I should check out the channel before we try to cross.”

Tristan turned to the other teens. They nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Okay, we'll be right back. Don't go anywhere.”

“Yeah, like where would we go?” Rosina responded sarcastically.

Tristan and Ryder dove in and headed into the channel. The others stayed behind, watching and waiting
to see what would happen. As he swam, Tristan popped his head up often to stay headed south and across the cut. Without the shoreline to his left it was hard to know exactly which direction he was going. A clump of sea grass slowly drifted by. It was moving with an east-lowing current out of the channel and into the deep open ocean. Tristan kept swimming. Soon the current strengthened and pieces of seaweed began to whip past him. Tristan had to kick hard just to make headway. He looked to his left. Ryder was struggling as well. Tristan tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for them to swim back. They reached the other teens, stood up, and caught their breath.

“Do you want the good news or bad news first?” Tristan asked.

“Good,” both Sam and Hugh said.

“No sign of the Jet Ski.”

“And the bad news?” Rosina asked.

“There's a strong current in the middle of the channel,” Tristan said. “And it's headed out into deep water. I think Ryder and I might be able to make it across, but I'm not so sure about you guys.”

“Yeah, it's fast alright,” Ryder added. “Kinda like a wicked rip off a beach I once surfed. Not cool.”

Sam, Hugh, and Rosina looked anything but happy.

“Maybe there's a way around it,” Hugh suggested.

Tristan reached into his pocket for the map, but it was gone. “The map's gone. Must have lost it in the current.”