I smirked, remembering how upset I’d been when I arrived on the island. I couldn’t imagine what fun I’d have here. I didn’t know yet the mysteries of the wild. Or my new friends, Macon and Lovie.
At the sound of footsteps, I turned to see them charging up the staircase toward me. I smiled seeing my friends.
“I won!” Lovie shouted with triumph, and panting.
Macon rested his hands on his head. “Why… do you always make it… a competition?” he puffed out. Drops of sweat rolled from his hair down the sides of his face.
Lovie hoisted herself up on the porch railing to rest, grinning with satisfaction.
“Jake! Check this out!” Macon slung off his backpack and pulled out a book. “It just came in the mail. It’s a book of animal tracks.” He opened it to a page he’d marked, already full of underlined words. “What do you think?”
“Let me have a look,” Lovie said, squeezing in between us.
We all leaned in to read the page together.
Coyotes are opportunists and scavengers. They eat rodents, insects, birds, fruits, and vegetation.
“And turtle eggs,” Lovie added to the list.
Macon pointed to one photograph. “Don’t the tracks in this picture look exactly like what we saw around Lovie’s turtle nest?”
“Yeah,” I said, impressed. “It sure looks like it definitely was coyotes that tore up Lovie’s nest.”
Lovie stroked the ponytail draped over her shoulders. “Do you think the coyotes will come back and tear up the nest again? Or the other ones?”
“If they’re hungry, for sure,” Macon said, pulling another book out of his backpack and setting it on the ledge of the porch.
“You got another book?” I asked.
“My mom said I should have guidebooks to look up things, like your grandmother does.” He snorted. “Old-school.”
“But you have internet,” I said.
Macon glowered. “Not allowed to use it. Thanks, bro.”
I made a face. “Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter. I like looking things up in books.” He fingered through the pages. “I think what we’ve got to do is arm the nest.”
“Arm it?” Lovie asked with doubt ringing in her voice.
“Yeah. You know, protect it,” said Macon. “I looked up things that could scare off coyotes. Here,” he said, pointing. “It says that loud noise works. And whistles.” He looked up. “I figure we could use noisemakers.”
“What about water guns?” I asked.
“It doesn’t say anything about water guns.”
“All animals hate water,” I said. Then I looked at Lovie. “Don’t they?”
She shrugged. “Worth a try.”
Macon closed the book and stepped back. “So, guys, what do you think?”
“Let’s have a stakeout!” I blurted out. “We can keep guard over the eggs.”
Macon’s eyes brightened. “Yeah. We’ll take shifts.”
“But Jake,” Lovie said. “Turtles usually hatch at night. Real late at night. We’ll be at home, in bed.”
“Then we’ll stay up all night,” I replied, feeling braver than I typically was.
They both looked at me like I was crazy.
“Like, every night?”
“Maybe not every night. But we can arm the nest and do a stakeout to see if our plan works. Plus, we know the date they’re supposed to hatch, right? We’ll camp out then, too. I’m sure our families will let us. They’re the ones who said we’re supposed to be spending time outdoors, right?”
“I don’t know…” Macon hedged.
“It’ll be fun,” I urged him. “You’re not afraid of a little ol’ coyote?”
“Yeah, right,” Macon said with a wave of his hand.
“Well, I am. A little,” Lovie said.
“I read that coyotes are afraid of people,” Macon said.
“Then I’m in!” I said. I looked at Lovie. “Come on. Don’t be a scaredy-cat.”
Lovie crossed her arms over her chest and squinted her eyes at me. “I suppose we could sleep in the gazebo. It’s all screened in and we could shut the door.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Like a fort. Now we have to make a list of the things we need for the stakeout.”
“Are we really going to do this? Camp out with coyotes out here?” she asked.
“That’s the plan, yeah,” Macon said as he pulled a pencil and his journal from his backpack. He ripped a piece of paper from it. “First, we need noisemakers to scare the coyote away.” He tapped his pen. “I’ve got a loud toy kazoo at the house. I can bring that.”
I nodded. “That’ll work. I could borrow some of Honey’s metal cake tins to clang together. And a pot. I could bang on those with a spoon.”
Lovie giggled. “Y’all sound like you’re making a little kiddie band, not a stakeout.”
“You got better ideas?” asked Macon. Then he added, “We need something that will make noise even if we’re sleeping. To keep them away.”
“I know!” Lovie said, jumping in. “Pinwheels. We have a whole bunch of them for the Fourth of July celebration. They don’t make a racket, but they’ll whirr around in the breeze. Aunt Sissy puts them in her flower box to keep the deer away.”
“Let’s do it,” I said, and smiled at Lovie, glad she was getting caught in the enthusiasm. “Honey brought home some of those little American flags on wooden sticks. They’ll flap in the breeze too.”
“If nothing else, we’ll at least have a very patriotic nest!” Macon said.
We all laughed at that one.
“I have some water guns,” said Macon.
“Sweet! Bring me one,” I exclaimed.
“I could bring my aunt’s walkie-talkies,” Lovie said. “They’re long-range ones and maybe they’ll come in handy.”
“Bring ’em!” I shouted. We were really getting into it.
We added sleeping bags, water, and snacks to the list. It was getting long.
“I think we’ve got all we need.” Macon held up the list.
“Wait! Bug spray,” Lovie said. “And guys, be sure to cover up. Long pants and long sleeves. The mosquitoes can be awful at night. And the no-see-ums are even worse. Those are teeny, tiny gnats that my aunt calls ‘flying teeth.’ ”
“Okay, guys,” I said, looking them in the eyes. “This is it. I’ll pick you up in my golf cart at eight o’clock. Are we all in for Operation Coyote?”
I stretched my arm out in front of me, palm down. Macon and Lovie each put a hand on top of mine and replied in unison, “All in!”
* * *
Just before sunset, or 2000 hours in military time, Operation Coyote began. I picked up my comrades and drove us to the gazebo, or as we referred to it, base camp. Our families gave us permission to camp out at the beach.
But we didn’t mention the part about coyotes.
Our fortress—the gazebo—had a perfect view of everything: the boardwalk, the empty beach, and the darkening forest. We took turns showing off what we’d brought for supplies. Macon’s bag was overflowing. He started pulling things out.
“Water guns.” Macon wriggled his eyebrows. “Already loaded with a solution of water and vinegar. I also brought this cowbell.” He gave it a jiggle, and it could really clang. “And six cans of Silly String. To eat,” he continued, pulling things out of the bag, “chocolate chip cookies. Jelly beans. Chips. Soda. Oh, and a pack of beef jerky. My favorite.” He sniffed it dramatically and tucked the package into a pocket of his pants. “A midnight snack,” he said, patting his leg.
Lovie snorted. “I thought this was a stakeout, not a party.”
Macon pushed out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Hey! We need food to survive. What did you bring?”
“Glad you asked,” Lovie said smugly, slinging her backpack to the ground and unzipping it. “Bug spray. You’re welcome,” she said, tossing it to Macon. “Walkie-talkies, a headlamp, an old coffee can filled with coins.” She shoo
k it to show how loud it was. “And for nibbles, I packed peanut butter and a bag of apples.”
Macon and I groaned.
“Hey, it’s healthy,” she shot back. “And look what Aunt Sissy gave me. Glow sticks!”
“What are we going to use those for?” I asked.
She took one slender stick out of the box and bent it in half. Instantly the stick lit up neon green. She wrapped it around her wrist. Then she took another, snapped it, and put it around Macon’s wrist. This one glowed neon yellow. Finally, she snapped a third and slipped it onto my wrist. Neon blue.
“This way we can easily see each other in the dark,” she said.
“Very cool,” I said. “Here’s what I brought.” I unzipped my backpack and pulled out a long flashlight, an empty squirt bottle, plus two metal cake pans and wooden spoons. I lifted a pan in one hand and clanged it with the spoon to show how loud it was.
“Pretty good,” Macon said with a grin.
“And here’s what I found in my dad’s room. I think it’s pretty cool.” I pulled out a silver whistle. Then, with wriggling eyebrows like Macon, I showed him my ace.
“A slingshot!” cried Macon. “Nice find!”
As Macon began testing out the slingshot, I grabbed my food. “I have some juice boxes, oatmeal cookies, and a super-size bag of potato chips.”
“This is quite a stash,” Macon said, looking at all the items we’d brought.
“Let’s set up our sleeping bags and head out to the beach,” Lovie said. “We have a lot to do before it gets completely dark.
We were arranging our sleeping bags when we heard a distant yipping sound. We froze. My skin prickled at the sound of a faint, short howl, followed by more yipping.
“Coyotes,” said Macon.
“Now what?” I whispered. My adventurous spirit had fizzled into fear.
“Gear up,” Macon commanded. He stuffed a can of Silly String in one pocket and the kazoo in the other. Then he picked up his water gun. “Ready.”
I grabbed the slingshot and my whistle. “Ready.”
Lovie put on her headlamp and grabbed the tin of coins. “Ready.”
We stood guard at the gazebo’s screen, staring out at the beach, afraid to breathe so we wouldn’t miss a sound. Nothing. Only the occasional bird cry and dog bark. After what felt like forever, Lovie finally broke the silence.
“I think it’s gone,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Macon agreed. “And I’m kind of hungry.”
“We’ll eat later,” I said. “It’s almost dark. First we’ve still got to arm the nest.”
“What are we waiting for?” asked Lovie.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said.
We grabbed our supplies and walked in single file toward the beach.
It was strange being out on the beach at night. It felt so different from the day. In the daytime, we would have to speed across the hot, dry sand to avoid scorching our feet. At night, the sand felt soft and cool underfoot, like walking in flour.
Suddenly we heard high-pitched squeaks. We stopped short and craned our necks toward the sound. It looked like birds flying overhead in dizzy, zigzag patterns.
“Are those birds?” I asked.
“No, those are bats,” Lovie shrieked. “I hate bats.” She put her hands over her head and began running toward the nest.
I yelped and ducked my head as one veered in close. “Wait up,” I called as I raced after her.
Macon walked calmly as he followed. He didn’t seem the least bit worried about them. In fact, he seemed to be into them.
“I wonder what species they are?” Macon asked when he caught up. “I read in one of my books that there are more than forty species of bats in the United States, and fourteen of them can be found right here in South Carolina.”
“Do you know if they’ll suck my blood?” I called over my shoulder.
Lovie ducked her head as one bat swooped down close to our heads. “It’ll get stuck in my hair!”
“Nope. Not true,” Macon said. “They’re not after us. The bats are chasing insects. They use echolocation. That’s like radar.”
“I know what that is,” Lovie replied a bit haughtily. She was embarrassed for acting like a baby with the bats. “Dolphins use that.”
“Yep,” said Macon. “Mr. Bat makes high-pitched sounds that bounce off an insect back to the bat’s ear. Then he swoops in and snags dinner.” He looked up into the night. “Feast on those mosquitoes, Mr. Bat!”
“Says Mr. Google,” I teased.
We finally reached the turtle nest. It was undisturbed, thank goodness. We set down our gear, then worked together in friendly silence to arm the nest as the sun slowly set around us. We put all the pinwheels and the small American flags around the perimeter of the nest. The sun had almost disappeared by the time we stood back and looked at our creation.
The soft breeze started the pinwheels spinning and the small flags flapping. The nest was a vision of red, white, and blue.
“It’s working,” I said, grinning.
“That there is an all-American turtle nest,” Lovie said with a giggle.
I put my hands on my hips and sighed. Man, I was epic proud of that nest.
“Now we wait!” Macon said.
CHAPTER 17
The Stakeout
Survival of the fittest.
WE WERE SET UP NEAR the turtle nest, sitting on towels on the sand. Even though we were covered in bug spray, the no-see-ums and ants were biting. While we talked, we kept slapping our ankles, necks, and arms. But we kept our coyote gear close at hand.
Clouds were moving in. Not storm clouds, just the wispy kind that floated across the sky like longboats. When they passed over the moon, the night was suddenly cloaked in blackness. We sat side by side at the bottom of the dune, staring out at the black sea. It felt like something was going to happen tonight.
“I’ve lived on the islands most of my life,” said Lovie, “but I’ve never seen a coyote. I’ve just heard stories about how they roam neighborhoods, eating people’s cats and little dogs.”
“Come on, really?” I asked with doubt.
“Really. Folks are up in arms. They want to kill all the coyotes.”
“That’s harsh,” said Macon.
“I don’t know,” I said, raking the sand with my fingers. It was cool to the touch. “I’ve always wanted a dog. My mom says we move around too much for a dog.” I tossed a bit of sand. “I think that’s lame. She just doesn’t want the mess. But if I ever had a dog, I’d love it a lot. And if a coyote ate my dog…” I shook my head.
“Still, killing all the coyotes? I mean, they’ve got to make a living too,” Macon said. “Nature’s nature. Survival of the fittest.”
“What do you think we’re doing here?” I asked him. “We don’t want them eating our turtle eggs. So we’re stopping them.”
“We’re trying to scare them,” Macon said. “Not kill them. Anyway, they’re definitely on the island. I read about it in the Island Community Information booklet.”
“They’re not all bad,” said Lovie. “I mean, they eat mice and rats. That’s a good thing, right?”
“As long as they don’t see us as dinner,” I said with a snort. All this talk about coyotes was making me nervous. “Let’s go over the plan one more time. If a coyote shows up, we have to act real aggressive. And loud. Wave your arms, shout, and bang the tins.”
“I’m going to shoot this vinegar water right in their eyes,” said Macon, hoisting up his squirt toys.
“That reminds me. I have a plastic water bottle I have to fill up,” I said, climbing to my feet. I started walking and realized I was alone. “Anyone want to come with me?”
“Nah, you go ahead,” Macon said.
“I’m good. But don’t go too far into the ocean,” Lovie said. “You know what they say about the ocean at night.”
“No. What do they say?”
“Feeding time for the sharks.” Lovie made pretend smacking noise
s with her lips.
I shrugged her off and walked alone across the beach toward the water. A cloud drifted over the moon, cloaking the beach in darkness. I felt a shiver of fear, and looking over my shoulder, I could hardly see my friends. Their shadowy bodies blended into the dark maritime forest behind them. If it wasn’t for the outline of the gazebo in the distance, I might not be able find my way back. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of the coyotes or the sharks.
The water of the ocean loomed large and as black as tea. It sure was dark. I stuck my hands in the shallows. And it was blood warm. How shallow do sharks go? I wondered. Taking a breath, I walked in. The gentle waves slapped at my ankles… then my calves… then my knees. So far so good.
I bent down and began filling up the water bottle. I could hear the slapping of water against my legs and the squishy sand beneath my toes. I was twisting the squeeze-top lid on when BAM!
“Yoooowwww!” I felt a blinding, hot white pain on my ankle.
Howling, I raced out of the water. Through my tears I saw Lovie and Macon racing toward me.
“What’s the matter?”
“Did a shark bite you?”
“My ankle!” I cried. “It feels like it’s on fire!” I fell onto the dry sand and gripped my ankle, lifting it in the air. “It burns so bad!” I gritted my teeth.
Macon put the light of his flashlight on my leg. “Your leg, it’s all red.”
Lovie clicked on her headlamp. “It’s not blood.”
I howled again, clutching my leg. “Jake,” said Lovie, “it looks like a jellyfish got you.”
I could barely pull myself up to look. In the narrow beam of light, I could see angry red lines raised around my ankle like it was hit by a whip.
“What do I do? It hurts! So bad!”
Everyone was as scared as I was, I could tell.
“I read something once about how to treat jellyfish stings.” Macon squatted down in front of me and said in a softer voice, “You’re not gonna like it, though.”
“Anything,” I moaned as I rolled on my back. It felt like a thousand red-hot needles were stuck all over and around my ankle.
The Islanders Page 12
