First American Edition published in 2014 by Darby Creek, an imprint of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 by Jean Flitcroft
First published in Dublin, Ireland in 2012 by Little Island as The Cryptid Files: Pacific Giants by Jean Flitcroft
All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Flitcroft, Jean.
The Pacific giants / by Jean Flitcroft.
pages cm. — (The cryptid files ; #3)
Summary: “Vanessa discovers another beast, cadborosaurus willsi, or Caddy for short, off the west coast of Canada”— Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978–1–4677–3266–6 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper)
ISBN 978–1–4677–3486–8 (eBook)
[1. Sea monsters—Fiction. 2. Canada—Fiction. 3. Horror stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.F65785Pac 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2013024086
Manufactured in the United States of America
1 – SB – 12/31/13
eISBN: 978-1-4677-3486-8 (pdf)
eISBN: 978-1-4677-5115-5 (ePub)
eISBN: 978-1-4677-5114-8 (mobi)
For Mers and Als
CRYPTOZOOLOGY
Cryptozoology is the study of strange creatures that some people believe they have seen but for which there is no scientific proof. These creatures are called cryptids. It comes from the Greek word kryptos, meaning hidden. Those who study these animals are called cryptozoologists.
The first book in the Cryptid Files series, The Loch Ness Monster, is about the most famous cryptid. The second, The Chupacabra, features a creature that drains the blood of other animals and whose Spanish name means “goatsucker.”
This book is an adventure set off the west coast of Canada, where Vanessa comes face-to-face with an extraordinary sea creature. This huge beast is part of local mythology but has been seen by so many people that it has been given a scientific name, Cadborosaurus willsi.
PROLOGUE
The creature rose out of the water just in front of her, as though commanded by her thoughts. Vanessa froze, too terrified to swim. She clutched the red-and-white lifesaving ring, and prayed feverishly that the beast wouldn’t notice her.
But the large, ugly head pivoted on its long neck. Its eyes bulged; its jaw dropped open; and then the snakelike coils appeared—huge, heavy, and powerful.
Oh, God! Please help me, Mum, Vanessa pleaded silently. Make it go away.
She watched it sink slowly down into the water again. But that didn’t help. It was bad enough seeing a sea serpent above the water, but how much worse to imagine it swimming beneath her at that very moment!
Vanessa felt a current of water rush past her legs and saw it well up around her in a smooth, circular pattern. She gave a strangled cry, let go of the ring, and swam for her life. The cold had crept into her bones and her teeth rattled in her head like boiled sweets in a jar. With each stroke she got a little weaker.
The beach wasn’t all that far. Surely she could make it.
CHAPTER 1
On 5 October 1933, the Victoria Daily Times was the first newspaper to publish a story about a “real” sea monster that lived in the Gulf of Georgia, British Columbia, Canada. The sightings were made by two witnesses, a lawyer and an official at the Provincial Library of Victoria, who saw it independently and on different dates and were considered above suspicion.
Vanessa leaned against the rail of the ferry and stared out across the expanse of gray sea. Her eyes watered in the wind and her hair whipped across her face, making it difficult to see anything. Vancouver seemed a long way behind her now, and the gulf stretched like a huge empty canvas before her. Land was just about visible on the horizon, but the thin layer of mist that had descended made it hard to guess the distance to Duquette Island.
In front of her, the seagulls circled and skimmed the choppy water thrown up by the engines. Their hoarse shrieks of delight punctuated the monotonous thud of the engines pounding away beneath Vanessa’s feet.
What freedom birds have! she thought. And what fun to fly like that! Vanessa looked around. As there was nobody else on the deck, she stretched out her arms, face to the wind, and imagined the feel of the wind under her wings, the moisture of the clouds on her face.
The ferry lurched suddenly. Before Vanessa had time to grab hold of the rail, she was thrown backward along the deck and fell heavily at the feet of an elderly man. Flustered, she jumped up and started to apologize, but the wind carried her words away and the man continued to ignore her. He stared silently out to sea, looking so frail and white that Vanessa wondered how he had managed to stay on his feet—he wasn’t even holding on to anything.
Where had he appeared from? She hadn’t seen him in the lounge earlier or on deck when she came out. He was probably a local. His yellow raincoat suggested that he was better prepared for the unpredictable weather in Canada than a tourist like her. Maybe he was feeling seasick and just wanted to be left alone.
Vanessa turned away and walked purposefully toward the stairs which led inside. It was time to join Lee—her father’s girlfriend, and now also a good friend of Vanessa’s—in the warm lounge. It would be much easier to ignore the stale smell of sick in there now that she was freezing cold. Her thin cotton jacket was drenched through. So much for the start of summer in Canada and the clear blue skies she had imagined! Gloves and a woolly hat would have been a lot more useful.
Lee was sitting exactly as Vanessa had left her, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Vanessa threw herself down on the chair beside her, and Lee looked up, surprised.
“You’re soaked, Vanessa. I didn’t realize it was raining.” Lee dropped her book onto her knee and looked out the window.
“It’s not rain as such, just very wet mist,” Vanessa replied, pushing the wet strands back off her face. “An attractive look, huh?”
“Have some coffee. It’ll warm you up.”
Lee offered Vanessa her cup and Vanessa took a slug.
“Blah,” she said, shaking her head and making a face. “It’s lukewarm.”
Vanessa leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The chairs were uncomfortable and she was restless.
“Lee, have you ever wondered why it’s called lukewarm?” Vanessa said suddenly. “Could it ever have been johnny-warm or henry-warm, do you think?”
Lee grinned at Vanessa.
“You’re bored, my dear. The rubbish you talk gets much worse when you’re bored, I’ve noticed.”
“True,” Vanessa replied solemnly. “So you can imagine how bad I am at school.”
Vanessa stretched out across a couple of seats and took out the travel guide that she had bought in Vancouver. She had tried to read it earlier, but the combination of the smell in the lounge and the hard plastic seats, which gave her dead legs, had forced her out onto the windy deck.
“It’s not boredom really, Lee. I’m just impatient to get to Duqu
ette Island. I’m dying to see what it’s like.”
“Well, it’s just another forty minutes or so,” Lee said, checking her watch. It was half past five. “Mrs. Bouche from the guesthouse says she’ll be at the ferry terminal to pick us up.”
Vanessa looked around the lounge. Most people had gotten off at the last stop—Galiano Island. Apart from herself and Lee, there were now just four women and two men left in the lounge—making seven passengers total, if you included the grumpy man on deck. Only two of them were chatting; the others sat silently reading or preoccupied by their thoughts. Were these people visiting Duquette Island, like herself and Lee, or did they live there? If so, they might know Mrs. Bouche, the guesthouse owner. One of them might even be a relation.
“Maybe the guy in the raincoat is Mrs. Bouche’s husband,” Vanessa wondered out loud. “No, her father, more like it.”
“What guy?” Lee looked puzzled.
“Oh, a man I almost knocked down when I was up on deck. He was wearing this bright yellow raincoat and just appeared out of nowhere.” Vanessa frowned. “He didn’t seem all there, actually—very tired and ill-looking.”
“And what’s he got to do with Mrs. Bouche?”
“Nothing, probably,” Vanessa admitted.
Lee opened her book again and started to read. Vanessa flicked through the pages of her guidebook.
“Oh, look, here we are—page 192. Listen, Lee.” Vanessa cleared her throat theatrically.
“‘Duquette Island is one of the remote Gulf Islands off Vancouver in Canada, with a permanent population of just 327 people. A traveler will be struck by the curly arbutus trees adorning the moss-covered rocky slopes that run down to the ocean’s edge. The island is fanned by a steady breeze and has an intoxicating scent—the rarest of finds these days: the heavenly perfume of pure, fresh air.’”
Vanessa stopped reading. “Wow,” she said sarcastically, turning some more pages.
“Go on,” Lee said. “It sounds nice.” Vanessa raised her eyebrows and grinned.
“No, that’s it, Lee! That’s all they say about Duquette. Imagine—fresh air is the highlight.”
A small frown settled on Lee’s forehead.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, Vanessa,” she said. “This was never meant to be a holiday. I’m here to work and you’re here to … to …” Lee stuttered to a halt.
“Tag along?” Vanessa offered mildly.
“You knew it was a remote island and that you’d have long hours on your own in a guesthouse. You said you didn’t mind. Remember?” A hint of panic colored Lee’s voice.
“Oh, I’m only messing, Lee. You know me: resourceful, self-contained,” Vanessa replied mischievously. “I’ll just enjoy the intoxicating perfume and the curly trees, and you can work away on your whale stuff. You’ll hardly notice I’m there. I promise.”
Lee turned away to smile. Vanessa was a thirteen-year-old who was hard not to notice. Her beautiful face and slim figure caused heads to turn, although Vanessa seemed oblivious to it. It was her uncanny ability to get herself into “difficult situations” that was the real problem with Vanessa.
CHAPTER 2
An ocean without its unnamed monsters would be like a completely dreamless sleep.
—The Log from the Sea of Cortez, John Steinbeck
The rest of the journey passed slowly. Lee read her book while Vanessa shifted restlessly on her chair and eventually went outside on deck again.
“Just going to check if that man is still upright,” she whispered in Lee’s ear as she went out.
Vanessa returned about five minutes later and shook her head.
“Gone. And the weather’s getting worse. Definitely a bit of a storm brewing.”
Lee looked at her watch again. Although it had only been two hours, this bit on the boat had felt like the longest leg of the journey from Dublin. Vanessa’s prowling definitely hadn’t helped.
“Ten more minutes, I’d guess,” Lee said.
“Lee,” Vanessa said suddenly, “I know you work for Greenpeace. But why are you here? All you’ve told me is that it’s something to do with whales.”
“Okay, well, you know that Greenpeace’s main aims are to help conserve the planet and to protect endangered species.”
“Like whales,” Vanessa added.
“Yes. There’s now a worldwide ban on commercial whaling, and that’s helping to bring up the numbers of whales. But this is an important area for whales, and there’s a research center here on Brighton Island that I’m going to visit.”
Lee smiled at Vanessa and opened her book as if she were about to start reading.
Vanessa was puzzled. Lee hadn’t really answered her question.
“Yes, but why are you here? Is there a problem?” Vanessa persisted.
Lee held Vanessa’s gaze and wondered how much she should tell her. She wasn’t used to discussing her work with young people, but there was no way Vanessa was going to be fobbed off.
She sighed. “Well, Dr. Mitchell’s research involves tagging some of the killer whales and humpbacks in this area so they can track them by GPS and observe their migration patterns and behavior.”
“And … ?”
“Apparently, quite a few of their tagged humpbacks have gone missing recently.”
“Gone missing?”
“Well, the scientists have lost the GPS signal for them, so they don’t know where the whales are. They think that’s suspicious.”
“Can’t a tag just fall off by accident?” Vanessa leaned forward, interested.
“Of course. Occasionally it happens because it’s not attached properly in the first place or it’s rejected by the whale’s body. But not in such large numbers.”
“Why don’t they go to the police?” Vanessa asked innocently.
Lee laughed. “A few tons of blubber going missing in the ocean is the least of their problems in Vancouver, I’m afraid.”
“So that’s why they asked Greenpeace in? Cooool!” Vanessa’s eyes shone with excitement. “Maybe Duquette Island’s going to be a really sinister place after all.” She made a mock ghostly sort of sound: “Wooo!”
“Not sure Duquette sees much action,” Lee said with a chuckle. “Unlikely to be much mystery with a population of 327 and thousands of curly-something trees.”
Vanessa sighed. “True.”
“Maybe I’ll be able to bring you to the research laboratory on Brighton Island on one of the days,” Lee said kindly.
Vanessa’s face lit up. She threw a punch in the air and jumped to her feet.
“I’m just going back out to see how close we are now.”
A wave of affection washed over Lee. It had been a rocky start when she had first started going out with Vanessa’s father two years ago, but they were great friends now.
CHAPTER 3
A sea serpent has been part of the local Indian folklore and legends on the Gulf islands off Vancouver for many hundreds of years. The white settlers who came to those parts in the early 1900s called it the “Sea Hag” because of the fear it inspired.
Their welcome to the island by Mrs. Bouche was a windswept and flustered one. It was clear by now that a major storm was brewing. The boats in the harbor bobbed about and clanked like warning bells.
Vanessa looked around to see if the guy in the raincoat was getting off, but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he had been one of the crew all along. If so, she guessed he wouldn’t have many journeys left in him. He had looked too frail to work at all.
Mrs. Bouche was a big woman who wore an enormous overcoat and clumpy hiking boots, and it was with some difficulty that they made their way up the hill from the harbor to her car. Despite the fact that Lee and Vanessa had their backpacks, Mrs. Bouche was struggling for breath by the top.
“In the car, in the car,” she panted at them, indicating the smallest, most battered car Vanessa had ever seen in her life.
When she opened the boot, it was full of gardening equipment and tools, and
there was no room for their luggage. Inside, much of the backseat was taken up with plastic bags.
“Sorry about that; stuff for the parish fair in a couple of weeks. You’ll have to put your bags on your knees,” Mrs. Bouche shouted over the noise of the wind. “I asked Wayne to empty the car earlier, but he must have forgotten.”
It didn’t take long for it to become evident that changing gears with Lee’s bag in the front was too awkward for Mrs. Bouche. So, after a lot of reorganization, both backpacks were jammed into the backseat with Vanessa sandwiched between them, the plastic bags under her feet.
“It’s no distance, honey,” Mrs. Bouche said cheerfully over her shoulder to Vanessa.
As the car pulled away, the heavens opened and the rain fell—although they were more like water bombs than raindrops. The windscreen wipers had only one speed, and unless Mrs. Bouche had an all-seeing eye, Vanessa thought, she couldn’t possibly see the road ahead. However, jolly Mrs. Bouche was unfazed and managed to keep up a stream of happy chatter as she drove—high and low tides, walks in Fulham Woods, the Reverend Took’s parish fair, and Wayne’s addiction to Jo-Jo’s.
Between the noise of the rain and the bags surrounding her, Vanessa could hear only snatches of the conversation up front and could see nothing at all of the scenery. Relaxing back into her seat, she let her thoughts drift. She was more resourceful than most teenagers, but could she really survive a week here on her own for most of each day? Maybe convincing Lee to bring her along had not been her best idea.
It was only ten minutes by her watch, but it seemed ages to Vanessa, before they pulled into the driveway of the guesthouse. The huge trees in the front garden swayed violently, and she could hear them creaking and moaning. Are these the famous arbutus trees? she wondered. But it was not the time to start that conversation.
Mrs. Bouche pulled the car up so close to the front door that if she’d gone any farther they would have been in the hall.
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