by Lewis, Gill
The dolphin’s tail flukes flap the shallow water.
I get up and kneel down beside her, so my face is close to hers. I look into her small pale pink eye. She blinks and she looks back as if she’s working out just who I am, and what I’m going to do.
But my mind is blank. All these years I’ve secretly dreamed of rescuing a dolphin and now I don’t know what to do. I put my hands on her side and try to roll her back to sea, but she might as well be one of the boulders on the shore. She’s much too heavy on land. She breathes again, a sudden burst of air, and I wonder if I’ve hurt her doing this.
I reach out to touch the white dolphin’s face again. Her skin is dry and hard, like sun-baked rubber. I remember I have to keep her wet and shaded from the sun. All the things Mum taught me start flooding back to me now. I know she could dehydrate out here. I jump up and run across the beach from boulder to boulder, pulling armfuls of wet seaweed from the rocks. I lay these across her body, careful to keep her blowhole open and uncovered.
I dig hollows in the sand beneath her fins to take the pressure off the bones inside. Tiny sand hoppers flip around the scooped-out sand. I brush my hair back from my eyes and see the white dolphin is still watching me.
I force myself to look at the wound in her mouth. The fishing net has cut deep into the skin. I try to gently pull the green mesh, unwinding it from around the teeth. Strands of fresh blood thread into the wet sand. The dolphin flinches as I pull and slaps her tail. Her tongue is a swollen mess. Her mouth is bruised, a bloody mass of skin and muscle. I can even see the white of jawbone shining through. She can’t catch fish like this. Even if I wait with her until the tide turns and comes back in, I don’t see how she can survive.
I scoop water with my hand and let it trail across her wounds. I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to do.
The mother has slipped back with the tide and is too far out to hear her call. The white dolphin’s eyes close. I wait to hear her breathe. I count the seconds in my head, but the breath doesn’t come. I don’t know how long she can last like this.
‘Wake up,’ I shout. I tap my fingers on her side. She blasts air out through her blowhole. She opens her eye again and looks at me. She mustn’t sleep. Dolphins don’t sleep. I know that if she falls asleep she’ll die. I remember Mum telling me that every dolphin breath is a conscious thought. People don’t have to think to breathe, but dolphins must remember to take each one. Dolphins suffering in captivity can choose not to breathe. They can choose to die.
And I don’t want her to die.
I soak my coat in seawater and squeeze it out across her back. I keep talking to her all the time. I tell her that she will swim with her mother across the sea again.
She watches me closely as I clean sand from around her eyes and mouth. I look into her small pale eye and have the strangest feeling I am looking at myself. I wonder if she sees her own reflection in my world too.
I feel I’m keeping her alive, somehow.
I know I must get help, but I can’t leave her here all alone.
The ravens croak above me on the clifftop.
I press my head against hers and close my eyes.
I don’t know what to do.
I just don’t know what to do.
‘KARA!’
I look up and fall backwards in the wet sand.
Someone is stumbling up through the shallow waves towards me in a wetsuit and fluorescent life jacket.
I can’t believe it.
He’s silhouetted against the sun, but I know just who it is.
‘How did you get here?’ I say.
CHAPTER 18
Felix stops in the shallow water and stares up at the sheer cliffs behind me. ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ he says. ‘I told Dad it was you here on the beach.’
Beyond Felix, I see his dad swimming in from a small sailing dinghy anchored in the cove.
Felix sinks onto his knees beside the dolphin. ‘What happened here?’
I kneel down beside him. ‘She’s been caught in fishing net.’
‘Is she alive?’
I nod. ‘Only just.’
I hear Felix’s dad’s feet slap on the sand behind us. He crouches down beside the white dolphin. ‘There’s another dolphin in the water going crazy,’ he says. ‘It almost caught my leg with its tail. I guess this must be its calf.’
‘We must get help,’ I say. ‘The Marine Life Rescue will help with this.’
Felix’s dad pulls his mobile from a waterproof pouch around his waist. He taps the keys and frowns. ‘No network. It must be these cliffs.’
‘Can’t we push her to the water?’ asks Felix.
I shake my head. ‘She needs a vet, anyway.’
Felix’s dad stands up and looks out towards the sailing dinghy. ‘Listen, I’ll sail back and get some help. You two stay here with the dolphin.’
‘Go to the chandlery and ask for Carl,’ I say. ‘I think he works part time there.’
I watch Felix’s dad climb in the dinghy and guide it out of the narrow cove. It’s not like the sailing dinghies at the sailing club. Felix’s dad sits deep inside the centre of the boat like a racing driver in a car, instead of sitting at the stern next to the tiller.
I scoop some water from the trench around the dolphin’s body and pour it through the layers of seaweed protecting her from the sun. ‘I thought you were going back to London.’
Felix frowns. ‘What made you think that?’
‘You weren’t at school today and your dad didn’t want to buy Moana. He said he was going to listen to what you wanted instead.’
Felix helps scoop more water and runs his wet hand along the dolphin’s skin. ‘Dad did listen to me,’ he says. ‘That sailing yesterday was the coolest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t sail a boat like Moana by myself. I like to be the one in control, remember?’
‘So?’ I say.
Felix sits back in the sand and grins. ‘So Dad borrowed a sailing dinghy from someone he knows through the cerebral palsy charity. I couldn’t believe it when they brought it over today. That’s why I didn’t come into school. Dad and I decided to try it out in the bay. It’s designed for the Paralympics. The seat is low down in the cockpit and I can control the sails and tiller with a central joystick with just one arm.’
‘So you’re really going to learn to sail?’ I say.
Felix grins. ‘Not just that. I’m going to win the regatta race around Gull Rock in five weeks’ time.’
I flick water at him. ‘You’ll be in second place. Moana’s going to win it this year. She always does.’
Felix flicks water back at me and laughs. ‘I wouldn’t bet on that, if I were you.’
We hear the rescue boat before we see it. The orange rib inflatable slews in a narrow arc into the cove with the dolphin mother arching through its bow waves. Dad and Mr Andersen are sitting in the boat with two Marine Life Rescue volunteers. One I recognize as Carl, one of Mum’s marine biology students from last year, and the other, Greg, one of the local crab potters and scallop divers.
Carl switches off the engine, drops a shallow anchor in the water and jumps out of the boat. He runs up the sun-bright sand towards us. I haven’t seen him since the night we floated candles out to sea for Mum. He used to make amazing sand sculptures of mermaids and sea monsters just for me.
I pull him down beside me. ‘You have to save her, Carl,’ I say.
Carl kneels down and pulls some weed away from the dolphin’s head and whistles softly. ‘She’s albino. I’ve never seen an albino dolphin before.’
‘She’s badly injured,’ I say. ‘She needs a vet.’
‘We’ve called the vet, but she’s out on another emergency right now,’ he says. He shines a small pocket torch inside her mouth. ‘You’re right. These wounds are nasty.’
‘But how long will the vet be?’ I don’t think the dolphin will last much longer here.
‘She said she’d radio us when she’s on her way,’ he says
.
Dad crouches down beside me. ‘Mr Andersen told me you were here. You know you’re not meant to come here on your own.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I say. ‘But if I hadn’t come . . .’
Dad sighs and shakes his head. ‘You can’t just go running off. I have to know where you are.’
‘I will, Dad, next time . . .’
‘Hold this,’ says Carl. He passes me the end of a tape measure. ‘You stand at the head end, Kara. You don’t want to be in the way of her tail.’
We measure the dolphin from beak to tail flukes. Carl reaches into the black bag for a clipboard and a pen. ‘A hundred and sixty centimetres,’ he says. ‘She can’t be much more than a year old. She may even still be feeding from her mother.’
Felix points towards the water. ‘Her mother’s out there, waiting for her.’
Carl nods and writes notes on his clipboard. ‘We saw her as we came in.’
Greg crouches down to examine the white dolphin too. He presses his hand against her flanks. When he takes it away, it leaves a dented handprint in her skin. He shakes his head. ‘Not a good sign. She’s very dehydrated.’
Carl looks at his watch. ‘Her breathing rate is up too. Ten breaths a minute. It should be about four or five.’ He sits back on his heels and rubs his chin.
I wet my fingers and trace water across the white dolphin’s face. She blinks and watches me. ‘What are we going to do, Carl?’
Carl runs his hands through his hair. ‘Let’s give her some fluids by stomach tube while we wait for the vet to get here.’
Greg nods. ‘It’ll make her feel better. But I don’t think there’ll be much the vet can do.’
I feel my mouth go dry. ‘What d’you mean, not much she can do?’
Carl looks at Greg and then at me. He talks softly to try to break the news, but it makes no difference, the words are still the same. ‘These wounds are bad, Kara. She can’t catch fish like this and I doubt she could suckle from her mother. She would die if we let her back to sea.’
He reaches in the bag and pulls out a long clear tube.
‘You mean the vet will put her down?’ I say.
Carl looks up and nods. ‘I’m sorry, Kara. I don’t think she’ll have a choice.’
I stand up and back away from him. ‘But her mother’s waiting for her.’
Dad wraps his arms around me. ‘I know it’s hard, but Carl’s right. It’d be cruel to put her back into the sea.’
I push Dad’s hands away and glare at Carl.
Carl crouches down next to the white dolphin’s head and looks up at me. ‘You’ve done really well, Kara. Both you and Felix, you’ve done everything right.’
I scowl at him. ‘It’s made no difference.’
‘It has to her,’ he says. ‘She’s suffered less because of you.’
I watch Carl measure the stomach tube against the dolphin’s side, and slide it into her mouth. She shakes her head as it passes over her swollen tongue.
‘You’re hurting her,’ I say.
Carl doesn’t speak or take his eyes off the dolphin until the tube is pushed in place. He stands up and holds the bag of fluids high. I watch the level sink lower in the bag as the fluids pass through into her. I just stand and stare at him. I can’t believe it’s come to this, that there is nothing else they can do.
Carl glances at Greg. ‘Why don’t you take these guys back to the harbour? You can pick the vet up from there too when she arrives.’
‘I’m not leaving,’ I say.
Felix sits back and digs his hand deep in the sand. ‘I’m staying too.’
Carl presses his head against the bag of fluids. ‘You won’t want to stay.’
‘Come on, Kara,’ says Dad. He tucks his hand under my arm. ‘I think it’s for the best.’
‘You too, Felix,’ says Mr Andersen. ‘You’ve done all you can do.’
I pull away from Dad and kneel down beside the white dolphin and stroke her head. She watches me so closely, that I can’t help thinking she wants our help. I know she doesn’t want to die.
I look up at Carl. ‘There must be something we can do.’
Felix kneels down beside her too. ‘Why can’t we take her to a rescue centre, where they can look after her until she’s better? They do it in America.’
‘We don’t have Sea Life centres here,’ says Carl. ‘Even if we did, they might not take her because wild animals can pass on diseases to the captive ones.’
‘What about a swimming pool?’ says Felix. ‘Or one of those small inflatable pools you can buy?’
I nod. ‘Felix is right. There’s got to be something like that we could use.’
Carl drops the bag of fluids lower and sighs. ‘Look, kids, it’s no use. Even if we could use someone’s swimming pool, it wouldn’t be right for a dolphin. For a start a swimming pool is full of chemicals and has fresh water, not salt water. The water would need to be changed and filtered to get rid of waste. Forget it. We don’t have salt-water pools in this country. We don’t have anything like that.’
I jump up to my feet. ‘But we do, Carl.’ I almost shout the words out. ‘We have something exactly like that.’
CHAPTER 19
‘The Blue Pool?’ says Carl.
I nod. ‘You know: the tidal pool out towards the headland. It’s perfect. The sea washes over it and cleans it out twice a day.’
‘I don’t know,’ says Carl. ‘I mean, if the weather gets up, there can be big waves crashing over there. We can’t have rescuers putting their own lives at risk.’
I look up at the clear blue sky. ‘The forecast is good for this week,’ I say. ‘Please, Carl, we have to chance it.’
Carl looks at Greg and he shrugs his shoulders.
‘Seems like it’d be worth a go to me,’ says Mr Andersen.
‘We’ve got to try,’ says Felix.
Carl sighs. He gently slides the stomach tube out of the dolphin. It slithers out smeared with blood and slime.
‘I’ll radio the vet, see what she thinks.’
I watch Carl walk down the sloping beach to the rescue boat. I pick up scoopfuls of dry sand and let it trickle through my fingers. Carl speaks into the radio. I try to read his face, but all I see is him nod and frown. Felix crosses the fingers of his good hand and holds them up to me. I smile, but I don’t feel much hope inside. Carl is walking back towards us, his face grim and serious.
I jump up and brush the sand from my clothes. ‘What did she say?’
Carl shakes his head. ‘The vet thinks the stress of moving the dolphin may be too much.’
‘It’s her only chance,’ Felix blurts out.
‘I know,’ says Carl, ‘and the vet can’t get to us for at least another hour. Considering the injuries, she thinks it might be worth trying your plan and taking the dolphin to the tidal pool so she can assess it there.’
‘Thank you, Carl,’ I grin. ‘She’ll get better now. I know she will.’
Carl shakes his head. ‘She’s very sick. Don’t get your hopes up too much.’
Carl fetches a tarpaulin from the rescue boat and I help to slide the edges to the dolphin’s sides.
‘When we roll her on,’ instructs Carl, ‘watch out for her tail. Keep away from her blowhole too. Their breath can carry some nasty diseases.’
We all line up and put our hands on the dolphin’s back.
‘This is the risky part,’ says Carl. ‘Her lungs have been crushed by the weight of her own body. She could find it difficult to breathe.’
Carl nods the signal and we all push and tilt her to one side. Greg slides the tarpaulin under her and we roll her the other way and pull the sheet out straight beneath her. The dolphin lashes her tail against the sand. Already she seems stronger since the fluids. Her flippers and her tail have lost their deep blue colour, and gained a tinge of pink. Carl rubs Vaseline around her blowhole and spreads sun-block on her body as Greg wipes the tarpaulin clear of grit and sand.
I take a corner of the tarpaulin w
ith Dad. The dolphin is much heavier than I thought she would be, and we struggle with her to the water’s edge. Greg pulls the rescue boat close up to the shore and we heave her in. She takes up most of the space inside the boat and the rest of us have to sit out on the rubber sides. I pull on a spare life jacket and cling on as Carl fires up the engines and takes the boat out of the cove into the wind and waves and sea.
The mother dolphin follows us, almost pressed against the boat, lifting her head above the water to see her calf. She whistles and clicks to her and slaps her tail down hard. I wonder what it is she is trying to say and if she understands what we are trying to do.
‘She’s injured too,’ I say.
Carl shades his eyes against the sun. A deep V-shaped notch is cut into the base of her dorsal fin. The edges are raw and congealed with blood. ‘I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks,’ he says. ‘It’s superficial. It should heal OK.’
He slows down as we enter the harbour walls. ‘I can’t take her to the tidal pool,’ he says. ‘There are too many rocks at low tide. We’ll have to take her across land from here.’
The mother dolphin follows us, her dorsal fin curving through the water as if she’s on a tow-rope right behind. She’s still with us, despite the smell of oil and diesel in the harbour, and the outboard engine roar that must echo under water between the walls.
The tide is low, and I feel the underside of the boat scrape on the mud and stones. Carl pulls up at the bottom of the slipway where the concrete is barnacled and green with weed and algae.
‘I’ll get my pickup truck,’ says Greg. ‘We’ll drive her across to the Blue Pool.’
Carl nods. He wets a cloth and lets the water trickle across the white dolphin’s back. The mother dolphin surfaces in the deeper water and blasts a breath of air. The white dolphin copies her, the pfwhooosh of their breaths calling each other, letting each other know they are still there.
‘How will she know where we’re taking her calf?’ I ask Carl.
He shrugs his shoulders. ‘That’s why this might not be a good idea. The separation stress could be too much for her.’