Ocean S. O. S.

by Jan Burchett

  Ben hoisted his backpack on to his shoulders. “Let’s see what we can find out about Fingal from the local people,” he said.

  “Good idea,” said Zoe, as they made their way down to the lobby. “Make sure to be subtle about it. They can’t know we’re from WILD.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Duh,” he said. “Anyway, while we’re in the village we should buy some food.”

  “You just had breakfast!” said Zoe. “You can’t still be hungry. The hot chocolate and spicy tortillas were delicious — and very filling.”

  “Yep,” Ben said. “And that’s why I’m already looking forward to lunch!”

  Señor Rodriguez came out. He glanced at the children’s bulging backpacks. “Are you going on a long trip?”

  “We’re going sailing,” said Zoe. “Our aunt’s renting us a boat. The sea looks very clear here — not like back home — and we want to see the underwater life.”

  “My sister has always dreamed of seeing wild dolphins,” Ben added, taking up the cover story. “If we don’t see any, I’ll never hear the end of it!”

  “You’re in luck,” said Señor Rodriguez. “The fishermen often see dolphins from their boats. But listen, your aunt might not have to take you that far out. You might even see the dolphin from the old marine park.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Zoe, pretending to be clueless. Ben admired how good she’d become at acting since they started working for WILD.

  Señor Rodriguez told them all about the closing of the marine park.

  “The dolphin’s been popping up ever since,” Señor Rodriguez said. “Only yesterday, Filiberto told me it had been pestering him when he was fishing. It was a real nuisance. It kept calling to him and banging against the side of the boat. Then it did a funny sort of backward walk on its tail.”

  “That does sound like a tame dolphin,” said Zoe, giving Ben a knowning glance.

  “You be careful now,” Señor Rodriguez added. “Dolphins are pretty friendly, but there are also sharks further out in the bay. So no swimming out there, okay?”

  “We’ll look out for sharks,” Ben said, nodding.

  Ben and Zoe headed toward the sea. They walked along a rough, dusty road toward the center of San Miguel.

  In this area, houses were scattered around an old church. The morning sun warmed the red-tiled roofs.

  Ben and Zoe turned a corner and gasped in delight. Ahead of them lay the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, sparkling in the sunshine. A few guest houses and tourist shops overlooked the ocean, but there were no tourists around. The bay was wide, with a wooden pier. Nearby, boats tethered to red buoys bobbed in the gentle swell. Several fishing vessels were heading toward shore to haul in their catches of the day. Ben and Zoe could hear the distant drone of their engines as they puttered in. Far out to sea, the twins could barely make out a small island that was scattered with palm trees.

  “That’s a coral island,” Ben said. “I read about them on the plane.”

  Zoe aimed her binoculars at the far end of the bay, where a battered fence surrounded some shabby buildings. A tattered sign hung loosely on its hinges.

  “That’s Mundo Marino,” Zoe said in disgust. “So that’s where poor Fingal was living.”

  “Soon we’ll get him to a much better place than that,” said Ben.

  They made their way down the main street. They passed gift shops, a bar, and several grocery stores. Nearly all of the shop owners were placing wooden shutters over the windows. “Everyone’s closing their stores,” Zoe said, surprised.

  One small store still had the door open. “At least we can buy our food here,” said Ben. He pushed open the door and breathed in the delicious smell of freshly baked bread and smoked meats.

  “Hello,” Zoe said to the woman behind the counter. “Do you speak English?”

  “A little,” the woman said.

  “Why is everything closing?” Zoe asked, pointing to the shutters.

  “Hurricane,” the woman said with an apologetic smile.

  Zoe turned to Ben. “This is really bad news,” she whispered in alarm. “Fingal isn’t used to being in the ocean, let alone in hurricane conditions.”

  “We’ve got to get Fingal to the center before the hurricane arrives,” Ben whispered. “If he stays near the shoreline, he’ll find it hard to swim in the strong waves. He could get hurt, or killed.”

  “Let’s hope there’s enough time,” whispered Zoe.

  “We need to find out when the hurricane is going to hit,” Ben said. “Hurry up and pick what you want. Then we’ll ask.”

  Zoe quickly grabbed fruit, crackers, and bottles of water. Ben pointed to the biggest pastry on display. It was stuffed with chicken and cream cheese.

  “Pastelitos,” said the shop owner, as she wrapped two up. “Very good.”

  “When is the hurricane coming?” Zoe asked as she paid.

  “Hurricane is come . . . is . . .” The woman gave up her attempt at English and led them to the door. She nodded toward a nearby café. There was a terrace outside, where a man was working. All the tables and chairs had been cleared away.

  “Good English!” she said, pointing at the café owner as he hung the last shutter. “He tell you.”

  They thanked her and dashed for the café. The trees were swaying a little in the breeze, and the sky was blue, but hurricanes weren’t exactly known for coming on slowly.

  The café owner smiled as they approached. He was a friendly looking man with brown eyes above a well-groomed moustache.

  “Can you help us?” asked Zoe. “We’ve heard there’s a hurricane coming, but the weather looks so calm.”

  “We might be at the edge of one,” the man told them. “So we take precautions. The National Hurricane Center’s report said it will pass close by this afternoon, but we need to make sure we are ready just in case.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Zoe. “We should be able to get some sailing in this morning, then.”

  “You don’t seem too worried about the storm,” said Ben to the café owner.

  The man gave a shrug. “We are used to it,” he said. “The storm comes, we close up shop. The storm goes, we open up again. What else can we do?”

  At that moment, a man in fisherman’s overalls stuck his head out the door and called out to the owner in Spanish.

  Ben and Zoe’s BUGs translated the words. “News just in, Enrico. The hurricane’s heading north. It’s going to miss us this time.”

  Enrico told Ben and Zoe the news. “You will be able to enjoy your sailing,” he said. He began to take down the shutters from the window. “And if you see some strange dead fish, do not worry. There is nothing wrong with the water. They were, how do you say . . . thrown out from Mundo Marino.”

  “We’ve heard about that,” said Ben, a grim look on his face.

  “But be careful of the tame dolphin,” Enrico warned them. “It could tip over a small boat. The fishermen are angry at it.”

  “They won’t hurt the dolphin, will they?” said Zoe.

  The café owner shrugged. “Making a living is hard enough here,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up getting killed.”

  Zoe couldn’t hide the fear in her face. “Don’t worry,” Enrico said. “I’m sure the little fella will find some friends and leave the area soon enough.”

  “Gracias,” Zoe said to the café owner. “Thanks for your help.”

  The owner smiled, turned, and walked away.

  “Poor Fingal,” Zoe said to Ben once the man had left. “All he’s trying to do is survive.”

  “And that’s all the fishermen are trying to do,” Ben said. “We have to do something, and soon.”

  Ben and Zoe raced along the rough bay road toward the wooden pier stretching out from the beach.

  “I really wish I’d taken those s
ailing classes with you,” Ben said, panting as they ran. “But baseball seemed like more fun at the time.”

  “Don’t worry,” Zoe said. “Just do what I tell you, and we’ll be fine.”

  “Great!” said Ben. “Another excuse to boss me around.”

  There was a worn sign in English and Spanish that read “boats for rent” with an arrow pointing down the pier.

  A small, single-masted sailing boat was tethered at the end. Its green paint was peeling, and two narrow benches ran along the inside. A dark-haired woman waved at Ben and Zoe as they neared the pier.

  “That’s our boat,” said Zoe. “La Gaviota.”

  “Looks pretty basic,” said Ben, “but it’s just the right size for the two of us.”

  “Boat for Erika Bohn?” the woman said in English. “Rented for one day’s hire?”

  “That’s right,” said Zoe eagerly.

  “Your aunt said you can sail,” the woman said. She looked at them doubtfully. “But you’re so young.”

  Ben gulped nervously.

  Zoe nudged Ben in the ribs. “I have taken sailing classes,” Zoe said truthfully.

  “That is good,” the woman said. She handed them two life jackets. “You must wear these always. That is the rule.”

  Ben and Zoe slipped on the orange jackets.

  Zoe bent down, pulled in the rope attached to the boat, and held the pointed front of the boat firmly. She dropped their two backpacks into the bottom of the boat and nodded to her brother. “Go ahead, Ben,” she said. “Climb aboard.”

  The boat owner folded her arms and watched. It was clear that she was worried about her craft being safe in the hands of two children.

  It didn’t help that Ben stumbled as he climbed onto the dinghy, making it rock violently.

  “Whoa!” Ben said, his arms flailing. He grabbed the mast and clung to it desperately.

  “My brother likes to joke,” Zoe said quickly. Ben threw himself onto one of the benches and gave a sheepish grin.

  Zoe noticed that the woman didn’t return the smile. But before she could say anything, Zoe swiftly untied the rope and boarded the boat. First she rigged the sails. Then she climbed to the stern and took hold of the tiller. As the sails caught the wind, she headed the boat out into the middle of the bay.

  “Close one,” said Ben, looking back. “But she’s still staring at us. What can I do to show her how much of an expert I am?”

  “Take that sheet and control the jib,” Zoe told him, nodding toward the small triangular sail at the prow.

  Ben reached forward and grabbed the bottom of the front sail.

  Ben wrestled with the flapping canvas. “I’m not sure I can hold on for long,” he said. “It’s pulling away.”

  Zoe burst out laughing. “The sheet is the rope that controls a sail,” she said. “It’s down there, secured to the side. Release it from its cleat — or clip, to landlubbers like you.”

  “Very funny!” Ben said. He freed the rope and grinned at her. “I’d like to see you explain the sacrifice fly rule from baseball!”

  “Anyway, it’s time for business,” Zoe said. “We have to search this bay for Fingal. We’ll start looking around those fishing boats over there. Get ready to let go of your rope when I tell you, then move to the other side of the dinghy.”

  Ben ducked around the boom.

  “Oh, and watch your head,” Zoe warned. “The big wooden beam will swing across.”

  “The boom, you mean?” said Ben. “I do know that one!” His feet kicked something under the seat and he pulled it out. It was a pail attached to a long piece of rope, which was tied to a hook. “A bucket?” he asked. “Is that in case we’re seasick?”

  “It’s for bailing out water, silly,” said Zoe. “Hang our backpacks on that hook, too. Everything has to be battened down.” She looked ahead. “Okay, ready about?”

  “Show off,” said Ben.

  Zoe grinned. “Look out, we’re turning,” she said. She pushed the tiller away from her.

  The boom moved over the boat. Ben raised the sheets on the other side. Taken by the gentle wind, the dinghy moved among the rocking fishing boats that were attached to buoys in the water.

  Ben slipped his BUG out of his backpack, scrolled through the animal identification menu, and set it to pick up dolphin calls. Then he peeled the limpet from his BUG and reached over the side of the boat.

  Ben attached the limpet to the hull just beneath the waterline. “Nothing yet,” Ben said, peering at the BUG screen.

  “Let’s get farther out and try again,” said Zoe. She adjusted the mainsail to catch the light breeze.

  As they reached the last buoy before they would reach open sea, a message appeared on Ben’s screen. “The limpet’s picked something up,” he said. “It’s a dolphin — and it’s close!”

  They peered eagerly over the water. Just a few yards away, the surface erupted as a sleek gray dolphin leaped up in an elegant arc. Then it plunged back into the waves. They could see it streaking through the clear water close to the boat.

  Zoe’s eyes went wide. “Could that be Fingal?” she said.

  “It looks like an adult,” said Ben doubtfully.

  As he spoke, more fully grown dolphins burst to the surface. “It’s a pod!” said Zoe. “Of course, now that we’re a ways out, we’re going to see lots of dolphins!”

  The streamlined shapes shot along next to the dinghy, launching themselves out of the water and diving back with barely a splash.

  “It’s like they’re racing us!” said Ben.

  “Not much of a race,” Zoe said. “They’re a lot faster than this boat is. They’re just tagging along for the ride.”

  The dolphins criss-crossed in the air in front of the boat. Then, as suddenly as they had come, they were gone.

  “How amazing,” she said softly. “They were so beautiful!”

  Ben grinned. “Cuteness overload,” he said with a groan. “Although I have to agree that they were amazing.”

  “Wouldn’t it be great if Fingal was a part of a group like that?” asked Zoe.

  Ben nodded. “That’s the goal,” he said. “But we’d better wait a while before we try to listen for him again. We’ll just end up locating that pod again.”

  “I’ll head toward the bay,” said Zoe. “He must be there somewhere.”

  Ben and Zoe sailed up and down between the buoys, but no alerts appeared on the BUG screen.

  “I think we’re in the wrong place,” said Ben. “We’ve been searching for over an hour and there’s still no sign of Fingal.”

  Suddenly, they heard a distant shout from across the water. They looked up to see a small boat out beyond the bay. They could hear the chug of its engine.

  “A fishing boat,” said Zoe. “It must be coming back with its catch.”

  Then there was silence as someone turned the power off. “Looks like they’ve got a problem with their net,” said Ben.

  Two of the crew were desperately trying to pull up a bright green fishing net. A third person called out instructions while keeping the lurching vessel balanced.

  Ben and Zoe could make out a few words, translated by the BUG.

  “Something’s caught,” one voice said.

  “It’s big,” said another.

  “It’s struggling!” a third voice warned. “It’ll tip us over.”

  Ben got out his binoculars and looked through them. “Can’t see what they’ve picked up,” he reported anxiously, “but it’s certainly in trouble.”

  Zoe glanced down at Ben’s BUG screen.

  “We should have checked sooner,” Zoe said. “It’s saying ‘dolphin’!”

  “It could be Fingal,” said Ben. Zoe swung the boat around and edged it toward the struggling fishermen.

  “The BUG identified it as a distress cry,” Be
n said. “Even if it’s not Fingal, we’ve got to get in there and do something.”

  Ben pressed some buttons on his BUG. “I’m saving that dolphin’s call just in case,” he said. “All dolphins have a different signature call, and if this is Fingal, we’ll be able to identify him from now on.”

  Zoe steered the dinghy toward the buoys in the bay. Lowering the sails, she secured the boat to the nearest one while Ben got out their GILS and flippers.

  “If only I had my sailing knife with me,” said Zoe. “We could use it to cut the net.”

  “I’ve got something even better,” said Ben. “My diver’s knife.” He produced a sheathed knife from the backpack and strapped it to his belt.

  “Remember what Señor Rodriguez told us,” said Zoe. “Keep an eye out for sharks.”

  Ben nodded. He ripped off his life jacket and clothes. “I don’t need to be told twice,” he muttered. Ben pulled the mask on and adjusted the snorkel. Then he attached his BUG to his diving belt with a safety cord. Zoe did the same.

  “Don’t forget, you only have ten minutes of air,” Zoe said.

  Ben made a circle with his thumb and forefinger — the diver’s sign for OK — and plunged into the water with a splash.

  The water rushed into his ears as he sank into the clear sea. Bubbles streamed up in front of his face. When the bubbles cleared, he spotted the long, dark shape of the fishing boat in the water ahead. With the GILS, he was able to breathe just as if he had an oxygen tank.

  The water was very clear, so Ben made sure that he kept on the side of the boat away from the fishermen so they wouldn’t see him. But now he had a good view of the net. It was full of fish, and thrashing violently. As he came closer he could just see the terrified eye of a dolphin in the middle of the catch.

  Zoe was approaching. Ben jerked a thumb up, and they swam for the surface, making sure to stay out of sight of the fishermen.