The Shark Whisperer (27 page)

W
HEN THEY ARRIVED AT THE NORTHERN TIP OF
the boomerang-shaped island the teens were exhausted. The adrenaline rush from their encounter with Rickerton's thug had faded and the previous night's lack of sleep weighed on them like lead-filled backpacks. Tristan spun around in the water, looking for more boats, Jet Skis, or helicopters thinking:
How many can one man have?
He asked Sam if she could detect anything in the water. She said there was nothing there—at least for now.

The young campers dragged themselves out of the water and collapsed onto the sand.

“I could sleep for a week,” Rosina said. “Maybe we should just wait here for help.”

Hugh turned to Tristan. “How much farther is it?”

Back home Tristan was always the last one picked for any team sport that involved running, climbing, hitting, or throwing a ball; for the egg carry at Easter; or even if an old lady needed help with her groceries. Now the other Seasquirts seemed to be looking to Tristan not only for guidance, but for leadership too. He figured it was probably just because Ryder was too annoying and no else had stepped up, kind of like the school of fish at the Rehab Center. He had sort of become their leader by default. But still, he didn't want to let them down. Tristan wished he still had the map. He tried to picture it in his head.

“I don't think it's too far,” he told them. “We'd better keep going before anyone else shows up.”

Tristan looked south. “Looks like this beach goes to the bend in the island. There's no one around. Let's walk for a while instead of swimming.”

Hugh shivered. “Sun good, sand warm. Walking sounds good to me. This new webbed hands and feet thing is great and everything, but it's not like we have wetsuit skin or anything. I'm freezing.”

“Dude, we're pretty easy to see out here,” Ryder cautioned.

“Yeah, you're right. You guys want to get back in the water?” Tristan asked.

Everyone shook his or her head, except Ryder.

“Okay, but, like, don't say I didn't warn you,” Ryder told them.

The teens got up and walked wearily along the beach. It was slow going. With each step they sank into the fine, floury sand. Tristan trudged slightly ahead
of the others trying to set a good example. He didn't think he was doing a very good job since it felt like he was going slower than a snail and he'd already tripped several times.

Trying to take his mind off the soft sand and how tired he was, Tristan checked out the island as he plodded on. He decided getting stranded there would be bad, really bad. It would be even worse than sitting through hours of school exams. And that was serious torture. The boomerang-shaped island provided little, if any, shade. As far as Tristan could see, there was no freshwater and absolutely nothing to eat. There weren't even any coconuts on the few small palm trees on the island. Though Tristan didn't think any of them could actually climb a palm tree to get coconuts or for that matter, open one up.

The island was mostly covered with short scrubby bushes with big prickly thorns. Thin crisscrossing green vines crept out from under the shrubs creating a series of oddly shaped tic-tac-toe boards on the sand. The vines were dotted with flat round purple flowers, each with a white spot at the center. They reminded Tristan of grape-flavored pancakes with a dollop of butter in the middle. Just the thought made his stomach growl.

They'd been trudging through the sand for only about fifteen minutes, but already Tristan's swimsuit and hair were dry and his skin had started to tingle with the first signs of sunburn. His mouth was so dry it felt like he'd been chewing on a towel. He tried to ignore the heat, his exhaustion, his hunger, and an
overwhelming longing for a gigantic glass of ice-cold lemonade, but with each step in the soft, hot sand it was getting harder and harder to do.

He began to think they should get back in the water. At least it would be cool and they'd probably move faster.

“I could really go for a little snack right now,” Hugh said dreamily. “A glass of cold chocolate milk and a piece of the red velvet cake our chef at home makes.”

“I'd take just a plain old glass of water and a cheeseburger,” Tristan added.

Soon they reached the bend in the island. It was the elbow of the boomerang. A tilted stack of layered reddish rocks created a natural marker at the island's corner. They climbed over the rocks as if scrambling up a short playground slide and then jumped down a series of natural steps. Around the bend was another beach. It was about a quarter mile long and extended to the southern tip of the island. Tristan's first thought was:
Not more sand!
But then he realized that the beach was covered with flat, square stones like the one they'd swam past earlier. Maybe they didn't need to get back in the water just yet, it looked like easy walking.

Ryder must have thought the same thing. He jumped off the rocks onto the stone pavement to jog ahead. Almost immediately, a loud rustling noise erupted from the bushes that lined the rock-covered beach. Ryder and the rest of the teens froze, staring nervously at the quaking green shrubbery. Seconds later a pack of large dark-brown iguanas dashed out from under the bushes and scampered toward them.
The reptiles' short little legs moved like wind-up toys on overdrive, causing their bodies and long tails to wriggle as they ran. Tristan, Sam, and Ryder remained still as statues. Hugh and Rosina sprinted for the water. When the iguanas were just several feet away from the campers still on the beach, they suddenly stopped, tilted their heads, and stared at the intruders.

Tristan looked closely at the creatures. They resembled miniature dinosaurs with wrinkly peeling skin, clawed scaly toes, and long tapering tails. Sam crouched down and reached out to one with her hand. The iguana moved toward her curiously, lowering its head. Out of its mouth flicked a pink forked tongue.

“I'm not sure I'd do that,” Hugh warned.

“Oh, they look harmless.”

Tristan picked a purple pancake flower from a nearby vine and handed it to Sam. “Try feeding it this, we had an iguana in class once.”

Sam cautiously offered the colorful bloom to the iguana. It inched slowly toward her. Then, like a powerful vacuum cleaner, it sucked up the flower. “Cool.”

“Hey, let me try,” Rosina said, walking out of the water. She picked a flower and shoved it into the face of one of the smallest iguanas; it was only about a foot long.

The iguana sniffed either the flower or Rosina's hand. It was hard to tell. The creature hesitated and then it lunged.

“Yeowww!!!” Rosina squealed, wildly waving her hand and the iguana that was now attached to it. The iguana careened back and forth several times before it
let go and was catapulted into the bushes. Tristan tried not to laugh. He'd never seen a flying iguana before. Rosina stared at her hand. Blood was beginning to ooze from an arch of teeth marks. The other iguanas began inching closer to the teens.

“Maybe we should get back in the water,” Sam suggested, backing up.

“Anybody good with iguanas? Anyone?” Tristan asked also backing up toward the water.

“Uh, I don't think they're on the list of we-know-what-you're-thinking sea creatures,” Hugh said. “Rosina, get back in the water it will help your hand.”

She looked at Hugh like he was seriously nuts, but headed into the water anyways to get away from the iguanas. They went out to where it was deeper, keeping an eye on the approaching creatures. When the teens were standing about waist-deep, the mini-dinosaurs stopped. They had reached the water's edge.

Sam sighed with relief and turned to Rosina. “How's your hand?”

“How do you think it is? I was just chomped on by a giant lizard,” she replied, holding her hands out of the water. Blood dripped from her injured hand.

“Put it in the water.
Really
,” Hugh said.

“Yeah, put it in the water,” Tristan urged.

Rosina shrugged and put her bloody hand into the water. “Yeah, now what?”

“Just keep it in there for a minute and watch what happens,” Hugh told her.

The others gathered around, watching her hand.
Soon the skin around the iguana bite got sort of blurry, like ink being smudged on paper. Rosina's eyes widened and she bent down to look closer. The cuts had disappeared. She pulled her hand out of the water. The only thing dripping from her fingers was some gooey clear mucus.

“Hey, maybe it was the slime. Maybe that's why the iguana bit you,” Sam said.

“Or they're just vicious wild animals,” Rosina responded. “How'd you know that would happen in the water anyways?”

“Same thing happened to me back at camp,” Tristan told her. “I got these wicked grass cuts . . .”

Before Tristan could explain any further, the silence of the island was broken by a faint, but distinctly unnatural sound. They all pivoted around looking for the source of the noise.

“There,” Tristan said, pointing to a dark speck in the sky to their south. It was getting larger and the sound louder.

“Oh no, a helicopter!” Sam said. “Must be that guy from the yacht again. What should we do? We could try to hide on the island. Not much to hide in except thorny bushes that come with iguanas. What about the water? What . . .”

“Let's dive under just as he's passing by,” Ryder suggested.

“Do we have a choice?” Hugh said frantically looking around.

“Nope,” Tristan answered. “The water's really clear
here, he might still be able to see us. Let's at least go out to where it's deeper.”

They swam further off shore to where it was about fifteen feet deep. The helicopter was much closer now. They could hear the distinct thumping of its rotating blades and the whine of the engine. And it was definitely headed in their direction.

“Do you think they've seen us?” Sam asked worriedly as they treaded water at the surface.

“Hope not,” Tristan said. “Okay everyone, we need to time this perfectly. Stay low and just before it reaches us, dive down, and swim south. Stay down as close to the bottom as you can for as long as you can.”

Tristan could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Time seemed to pass agonizingly slowly. Seconds seemed like hours. The helicopter was so close he could see the transparent bubble at the front, its two bottom skids, and a big red “R” on the side.

“Not yet,” Tristan said. “A few more minutes—hold on.”

“Now!” Ryder shouted.

“No!” Tristan countered. “Not yet.”

The others looked back and forth between Tristan and Ryder. They turned to Tristan. Ryder shook his head and dove.

When the helicopter was almost on top of them, Tristan yelled, “Now!”

They dove, kicking hard with their webbed feet. The teens shot down to the bottom, skimming along the sand. Tristan prayed the overlying water would
somehow hide them or at least make them look like really weird sea creatures swimming innocently across the seafloor.

Rickerton looked down. The helicopter was headed back to where the yacht had gone down. They were just coming to a narrow island with a bend in it. The water was so clear he'd already seen several large eagle rays and a few sharks. A flash of movement just ahead caught his eye.

“Take her lower,” Rickerton ordered the pilot.

The helicopter dropped down. He stared at the water below. He saw something moving underwater like a pod of oddly-shaped dolphins or a school of large funny-looking sharks.

“What the heck was that?” he said as they quickly passed by.

“Don't know sir. Would you like me to go back around?”

Rickerton hesitated. “No, keep going. Captain Brandon hasn't been able to reach the men we left on site. I want to be sure my yacht remains secure. We can come back afterwards. Plus I want to check out that other island we just passed. The one with the runway on it.”