Ocean S. O. S.

by Jan Burchett

  “The dolphin is badly tangled in the fishing net,” Ben told his sister as he treaded water next to her. “The more it tries to free itself, the worse it gets. There’s no way it can escape on its own.”

  “Poor thing,” said Zoe. “Is it Fingal?”

  “Can’t tell,” said Ben. “We’ll have to go back down to check. I’ll use my knife to cut it free, but we can’t let the fishermen see us.”

  “Agreed,” said Zoe. “We’ll approach from underneath the hull — but stay far away from its propeller.”

  Together, they dived under the bottom of the fishing boat.

  Zoe checked for holes in the nylon mesh. After a few moments, she shook her head at Ben.

  Ben held the net to steady himself as he pulled his knife from its sheath. The net gave a big lurch, and the dolphin’s head appeared as it pushed its nose desperately against its prison.

  Ben tugged at Zoe’s arm. He pointed to a jagged scar running from the dolphin’s eye to just below its mouth.

  They had found Fingal!

  This isn’t working, thought Ben as he worked at the net with his knife. The more frightened Fingal becomes, the more he tangles himself up. If we don’t free him soon, he’ll run out of air.

  Cutting a net underwater would have been slippery work even without a terrified dolphin around. Each time Ben tried to break the net, Fingal would thrash. Ben had lost his grip on his knife several times. Good thing it’s attached to my belt, he thought.

  Fingal writhed again and Ben nicked his hand with the knife. A slim stream of blood trailed through the water from the cut. Ignoring the stinging pain, he attacked the net again and managed to slice through two strands.

  Fingal’s struggles were slowing down the rescue attempt. Zoe swam to where his head was caught.

  He stared at her for a moment with frantic eyes, then started wriggling again. Zoe touched his snout through the net and patted his head.

  Fingal calmed down a little. Ben cut through another strand, then another. Then he tugged at the broken threads.

  Zoe helped Ben tear at the thick nylon net. Suddenly, Fingal poked his snout through the hole. Ben and Zoe ripped the hole wider. They could feel the harsh nylon digging into their hands.

  At last, they managed to drag it over the dolphin’s head. After another tug, his flippers were free. But now the net was caught on his dorsal fin. Ben and Zoe grabbed the net and pulled hard. With a flick of his tail, Fingal burst through the hole and toward the surface.

  But now, Ben was worried. When the fishermen saw the young dolphin and the hole in their net, they might be angry enough to do something nasty to him.

  The net was rising slowly through the water, fish spilling out as the men winched it up. Zoe swam up on the other side of the boat to look for Fingal and lure him away. There he was, leaping in and out of the water, trying to attract the attention of the fishermen. Luckily, they were too busy cursing at the loss of their catch to notice him.

  Zoe waved frantically at Fingal and then dived under the water. Thankfully, the dolphin came swimming toward her.

  Fingal gave Zoe what looked like a smile, nudged her gently in the tummy, and then swam on his back.

  Zoe dived down deeper, and Fingal followed.

  Then Zoe saw Ben. He was fiddling with the net still. The cord securing his knife to his belt had gotten tangled in it. He was stuck!

  Ben struggled desperately to free his knife. If he unclipped the cord and swim away, he’d leave the knife in the nylon mesh. If he did that, then the fishermen would be sure to see the knife when they pulled the net up, meaning they’d know that the net had been tampered with.

  Ben couldn’t risk losing his knife, either. It was likely that he and Zoe would need it again before this adventure was over.

  Then Ben tasted peppermint. The GIL was running out of air — they’d have to surface soon. Ben signaled to Zoe that his oxygen was running out. He desperately began to tear at the net, holding his breath. Ben was good at that, but how long could he last?

  Ben turned when Zoe’s hand touched his.

  Zoe worked with nimble fingers, nudging Fingal away when he got too close. At last, she got the knife free. And just in time — the net shot up above the surface, sending Ben somersaulting backward through the water.

  Ben and Zoe were just about to kick away from the boat when a tremendous roar filled their ears and the water churned around them. The propeller was beginning to turn. Now that what was left of the catch was in their boat, the fishermen had started the engine.

  Whoosh! Fingal was gone, terrified by the noise and sudden swirling in the water. Above them, the boat began to move. Ben kicked away hard to avoid the blades. He thrashed to the surface and gulped the air in relief.

  Zoe swam up alongside him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” said Ben, “now that I’m finally breathing some fresh air.”

  “Where’s the blood coming from?” Zoe asked.

  Ben looked at the cut on his hand. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I just nicked myself with my knife. The important thing is that we find Fingal.”

  “We’ll be able to search for him better when we’re back in the dinghy,” said Zoe. “He can’t be very far away.”

  As they swam, Ben looked around. “You’re right, I think I can see his fin,” he said, pointing at the horizon. “And he’s heading toward us at pretty fast.”

  Zoe treaded water and checked her BUG. “That’s not Fingal,” she said, her eyes going wide. “In fact it’s not a dolphin at all. Swim for the boat!”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Ben.

  “It’s a shark!” Zoe yelled out.

  Ben and Zoe thrashed through the waves, the water pounding in their ears. Even with their super-fast flippers, they were no match for the expert underwater killer that was rocketing toward them, attracted by the blood leaking from Ben’s finger.

  Ben couldn’t stop himself from taking a quick glance backward under the surface. He wished he hadn’t when he caught sight of the shark’s tiny eyes and needle-sharp teeth.

  Ben was sure it would reach them before they could get to safety. He kicked desperately, swimming for his life.

  Zoe reached the dinghy first. Ben saw her legs disappearing from the water as she scrambled aboard. With a final burst of energy, he launched himself at the boat. He felt a surge behind him as the shark lunged for him.

  Ben grabbed the edge of the dinghy and tried to pull himself up out of the water. In his panic he lost his grip on the side of the boat and plunged back into the water. He could see the ominous gray shape of the shark circling beneath him, returning to attack. The blood from his hand was trailing out in a thin ribbon, exciting the hungry predator. Ben clawed at the side of the dinghy and kicked in desperation.

  Then, just as the shark lunged, Zoe clutched his arm and pulled him to safety.

  Ben tumbled onto the deck just as the shark smashed into the boat’s hull. He lay there, panting, while Zoe clung fearfully to the side and watched the gray body whipping around below them, battering the craft in frustration.

  “We’ve got to get away!” Ben said. “It could capsize the dinghy.”

  Shaking, Zoe climbed onto her seat, pulled off her snorkelling gear, and raised the sails. Soon, the dinghy was coasting over the waves, away from the bay. But the shark wasn’t giving up. Its gray fin could be seen copying every course change they made.

  Ben scrolled down the menu of his BUG. “It’s a bull shark,” he read from the screen. “They often attack without having a reason. So my blood must have really stirred it up.”

  “It’s coming straight for us,” yelled Zoe.

  “It’s going to ram us again!” cried Ben.

  The shark slowed just before it reached them and swerved away. “That must have been a practice run,” said Zoe. “Loo
k, it’s coming again.”

  “I’ll find a predator call to scare it,” said Ben. He scrolled through the BUG menu, his fingers typing keys quickly.

  Now the shark was almost upon them.

  “I set the limpet to give out a killer whale sound,” Ben said quickly. “I hope it works, since the bull shark isn’t frightened by many creatures.”

  The sound must have reached the shark, because it suddenly changed course. With a flick of its powerful tail, it disappeared from view.

  Zoe sighed. “Good thinking,” she said.

  “Thanks for earlier,” Ben said. “You saved my life.”

  Zoe shrugged. “Who’s going to scrub the decks if my cabin boy gets eaten?” she said.

  Ben laughed. “I’ll do it the minute we’ve found Fingal,” he said.

  “That’s not going to be so easy,” said Zoe seriously. “He was really scared by that boat engine. He could be far away by now.”

  “Remember what the lady at the rental place told us,” Ben said as he threw Zoe her life jacket.

  They both put them back on, tying the straps firmly. Suddenly, they heard an engine. “Look out,” said Ben. “There’s a cabin cruiser coming.”

  “Ahoy there!” came a cry.

  A man stood at the cruiser’s prow. The vessel came alongside and they heard the engine slowing.

  “Don’t forget, we’re just dumb tourists,” Zoe muttered to Ben.

  The man peered down at La Gaviota over the side of his cruiser. A woman wearing dark sunglasses stood next to him.

  “Do you speak English?” the man called loudly. He had an English accent.

  Zoe grinned. “Sure do,” she said.

  “We thought we would check on you,” said the man.

  “We were surprised to see you out here,” added the woman. “You’re very young to be out on your own.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” called Ben in a pleasant voice. “My sister’s an expert sailor. She has all sorts of badges.”

  “We’re just having a little sailing practice,” said Zoe.

  “I’m teaching my brother the basics, so we’re staying out of the bay to avoid the other boats,” Zoe chimed in, picking up the cover story. “He’s taking a long time to learn.”

  The woman laughed as Ben pretended to get himself tangled up in the ropes.

  “Well, don’t go out any farther,” said the man. “Stefano, our captain, told us that there’s a hurricane on its way. It’s not going to hit the coast, but it’ll pass quite close and you’ll feel the effects if you head into deeper water. You’d better follow us back to San Miguel. We’re heading in now, just to be on the safe side.”

  Zoe and Ben were silent for a moment, trying to think of what to say. “That’s really kind of you,” said Zoe at last. “But we . . . but . . .”

  “But our aunt’s not far away in her boat,” Ben said quickly. “We’ll wait and sail in with her. But thanks anyway.”

  “Your aunt?” said the woman doubtfully. “We didn’t see any other small dinghies.”

  “Are you sure?” said Ben. He slapped his forehead. “Of course! We’ve been heading for San Miguel and she said San Pedro. We’d better turn around and get going.”

  Zoe didn’t need to be told twice. Soon the dinghy was scooting over the waves. They were relieved to see the cruiser continue on its course for the bay.

  “We didn’t need that delay,” said Zoe. “But nice job, getting us out of a difficult situation. Now that they’re gone, we can search for Fingal again.”

  “First I’m going to check where the hurricane is,” said Ben. He called up the satelite weather map on his BUG.

  Zoe peered over his shoulder. “They were right,” she said. “The storm is just northeast of here now. I didn’t think it would come so close! But we’ll avoid it if we don’t go too far from shore. Any sign of Fingal?”

  “The limpet’s picking up a faint dolphin sound,” said Ben. “I’ll see if it matches his call.”

  Ben tapped at the keys. He pumped his fist in the air as the result came up. “It’s a match!” Ben stared at the expanse of blue water. “He’s out there somewhere.”

  “But how are we ever going to catch up with him?” Zoe said.

  “I don’t know,” said Ben. “Unless . . .” He tapped at the BUG keyboard again.

  “Unless what?” asked Zoe.

  “Do you remember the Mundo Marino website?” Ben asked. Zoe nodded. “I looked at it again while we were on the plane,” Ben said. “There was a lot of info from when the park was well run about how the dolphins were trained. There was something we might be able to use to get Fingal to come to us.”

  “Really?” Zoe asked eagerly.

  “The website said that if the dolphins ever escaped out to sea, then their trainers could set off a sort of pinger,” Ben said. “The dolphins were trained to come to the sound immediately. Perhaps we could do the same.”

  Zoe’s face went from excited to miserable. “You’ve forgotten something,” she said. “We don’t have a pinger.”

  “The BUG can imitate one!” Ben said excitedly. “I can set it to send out the call.”

  “How?” demanded Zoe. “We don’t even know what it sounded like.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Captain,” Ben said. “There was a sound clip on the website. I remember thinking it sounded just like the timer on the stove at home.”

  “We’ve certainly heard that a lot!” Zoe said. “But what if the frequency is wrong, or the interval between the pings is off? Then Fingal won’t recognize it.”

  “I’ll keep adjusting the sound until he does,” said Ben. “I know it’s a long shot, Zoe, but it’s our only chance at finding him.”

  “You’re right,” said Zoe. “It’s worth a try! I’ll keep the dinghy steady.” She pulled out the first-aid kit. “After I’ve fixed to your hand, that is. We don’t want to attract any more predators.” She stuck a waterproof bandage over the cut.

  Concentrating, Ben fiddled with the controls until he got the BUG’s limpet to make a pinging sound. He and Zoe scanned the waves for the young dolphin.

  After a few moments, nothing happened. “I’ll try a different pitch,” Ben said.

  He tried a new setting. Then another. And another. But there was no sign of Fingal.

  Zoe adjusted the sails. A stiff breeze was shaking the boat, so she had to work hard to keep it steady.

  “It was a good idea,” Zoe said. “But it’s not working.”

  Ben’s face was tight. “We can’t give up,” he muttered through clenched teeth. He adjusted the sound again. “Let’s try that. Now it’s time for lunch. Pass me one of those pastelitos, please.”

  They ate their pastries and fruit and washed them down with water. There was a fresh wind in their faces now, and small clouds were sailing across the sky.

  Zoe packed up the leftover food and scanned the waves, hoping to see some sign of Fingal. “He’s not going to come,” she said at last. “I’ll direct us back toward the shore. Maybe he’s returned to the bay.” She turned the dinghy toward San Miguel.

  “Look!” Ben shouted suddenly. “What’s that?”

  A gray shape was speeding toward them through the water, leaping and plunging through the waves. It dived under the dinghy, flipping up its tail, and sending a spray of water all over Ben and Zoe.

  The dolphin let out high-pitched squeaks, its scar clearly visible. “Nice job, Ben!” cried Zoe. “Your pinger worked. It’s Fingal!”

  Fingal swam around Ben and Zoe’s dinghy, leaping happily in and out of the waves.

  “He’s really happy to see us!” Zoe said with delight.

  “He’s showing us his tricks,” said Ben. “Look!”

  With his next leap, the young dolphin gave a flip in the air before plunging back into the waves.

/>   When he surfaced, he gazed eagerly at the children. Zoe clapped and cheered. This seemed to please Fingal. His following jump involved two elegant spins and a flip.

  “I think that calls for a reward,” said Ben. “On the website it said a whistle from the trainer means the dolphin’s done well. They start with a whistle and food treats at the same time. Then they wean the dolphin off the food rewards so they respond just to the whistle.”

  Ben put his fingers to his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. Fingal swam up to the boat and began to nod his head vigorously, making a loud chattering noise.

  “He’s young,” Zoe said with a laugh. “He probably still associates the whistle with food. Take the tiller while I give him a treat.”

  Zoe pulled a dolphin snack out of her backpack held it in the air. “Here, Fingal,” she called. Fingal leaped up from the water and took it cleanly from her fingers.

  Fingal danced backward across the waves on his tail. “He seems to like it,” said Zoe. “He’s showing us what he can do so we’ll give him some more. Smart boy!”

  “We’ll run out at this rate,” said Ben. “I’ll try the whistle without the treat.” He whistled again.

  This time Fingal swam close and laid his head on the side of the dinghy next to Zoe’s hand. She reached over and stroked his smooth, cold nose and the dome of his head.

  “You are a lovely boy,” she crooned. “Soon you’ll be safe and sound at the sanctuary.”

  “Keep him there if you can, Zoe,” said Ben, taking out his BUG and scrolling through the menu. “This is a great time to tag him with a tracking dart. Then we won’t lose him again.”

  Ben aimed the BUG at Fingal. But at that moment a gust of wind caught him off guard and the dart embedded itself into the wooden side of the dinghy.

  “Nice shot!” Zoe said with a laugh. “Now we’ll be able to track our boat! That’ll be useful.”