Storms

by Chris Vick

  ‘Why, though? He’s not exactly hard up, is he?’

  ‘Maybe that marina is costing a bit more than he planned. Anyway, a lot of folk would do it. A one-off deal for a few hundred grand. Millions, maybe.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  Goofy spluttered. ‘Well, I got news for you, boyo. You’re doing the same thing for much less.’

  ‘I’m doing it for Hannah. For the whales.’

  ‘In my experience, everyone says they’ve got a reason. But there’s no excuse, really. Not with the damage it causes. We should never have started down this road. But we have and now we need to get off it. Anyway, maybe Lancaster was doing it to pay Hannah’s school fees? Just saying. Easy to judge, isn’t it?’ Goofy was talking faster by the second. Picking gear up and throwing it in the van. He was sniffing a lot while he talked too.

  Jake had a thought. A worrying one.

  ‘Goofy. You’re not on the gear, are you?’

  ‘I took a bit, like. It’s gonna be a long night.’ He thrust his chest out. ‘I’ll dig that trench myself, no problem.’ He laughed, crazily. Jake took the shovel off Goofy, chucked it in the van, and shut the doors.

  ‘Right, that settles it. Tomorrow, soon as the rescue is over I’m selling the rest of the gear. For whatever, I can get. Or some of it. Then we’re ditching what’s left in the sea or down the bog. Getting rid. This is getting out of hand.’

  ‘Right you are. I’ll help you. You’re right, we need to get rid of it.’ Goofy looked at Jake with his crazy eyes. Crazy, and afraid. It was clear what he was saying. It was clear what he was scared of.

  ‘Where is it?’ said Jake.

  ‘Where’s what?’ said Goofy, pretending innocence.

  ‘Don’t piss around.’

  The two of them stared at each other, nose to nose for long seconds.

  Goofy sighed. ‘In there. All of it.’ Goofy nodded at the lock-up. ‘I didn’t want it in the flat, like.’

  ‘Right. Key.’ Jake held out his hand.

  ‘Sounding like the schoolteacher, you are.’

  Jake didn’t flinch. He stood still as a statue, waiting.

  Goofy put his hand in his pocket, then slapped the key into Jake’s open palm. He hung his head, looking like a beaten dog.

  ‘Got any on you?’ said Jake.

  ‘No, I swear. Suppose you think this is looking after me, don’t you?’

  ‘We look after each other.’ Jake shut the doors, locked them and put the key safely in his pocket.

  This was it now. This was final. Sell some, ditch the rest. He’d never been so sure of anything in his life.

  They got in the van, and drove to Whitesands.

  Hannah

  IT WAS DEEP in the night when they arrived.

  A full moon hung behind racing clouds. When it revealed itself, it played blue light across the bay, showing Hannah how big the waves really were. They reared like startled horses, crashing in the shallows, exploding in white clouds, swept into swathes by the wind.

  The storm-sea was ferocious, and getting closer with every wave. But, Hannah reminded herself, this was a good thing. A storm-tide had stranded the whales and a storm-tide would take them home.

  Floodlights on rigs made orange arcs, illuminating the whales and the rescue.

  None were moving, making Hannah’s heart beat fast with worry. Yet they had to be alive. The urgent efforts of the crowd told her that. If the orcas were dead, it would all have stopped. The volunteers would be standing around, heads bowed. But they were swarming, digging, carrying. Like busy ants, next to the still, gigantic, black whales.

  There were three distinct groups. The first, organised in a line leading to the shore, was passing empty buckets down and full ones back. The second group was digging the trench, leading up the beach. It was already metres deep, at least three wide, and ten or more long. Neil and Steve patrolled the length of it, keeping people away from the edges so they wouldn’t crumble. Inside, twenty or so volunteers dug furiously, carving out not just a trench but a ramp. When the sea arrived, it would flood right up to the whales.

  Buckets and barrows were being handed out and wheeled to the entrance of the trench, where the third group waited in a queue, taking the buckets of sand handed to them and tipping them into the barrows. All this was organised by the team wearing tabards: plastic vests, with the words RESCUE CREW on the front, and a large thick cross and a silhouette of a whale on the back.

  Hannah scanned the scene. Saw Jo and Dan, Phoebe and Bess lugging buckets. No sign of Jake.

  The digging round the whales had been left till last. To cause them as little stress as possible, she guessed. Two shallow trenches like moats had been started, so the live whales were resting on islands of sand. Islands that would dissolve, when the water rushed in.

  Only two whales, though. Three had been alive before …

  Had she arrived too late? Hannah ran to the whales. She saw the vet, patrolling, lurking like death. He was leaning over one of the whales with a huge syringe in his hand …

  ‘No!’ Hannah shouted.

  Before she reached him, he pulled the needle out and turned to face her.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ he said. ‘This female’s alive. I gave her a vitamin shot.’

  ‘And … the young one?’

  ‘She’s alive too. One died a few hours ago. It’s just these two, now …’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘They’re near the end, Miss Lancaster. I expect their internal organs are damaged from lack of water buoyancy. Moving them will make it worse. I doubt they have the strength to get to sea, let alone hunt and feed, and that is if they find the pod of whales that is supposed to be nearby. Even if they do find the pod, if the young one is too weak, she will re-strand, bringing yet more whales with her. Do you understand the truth of this?’

  His tone and stiff body language sent a clear message. You stupid girl. These whales will die. This is all for nothing. It’s on you.

  ‘You may be right,’ she said. ‘We’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime … You do your job, I’ll do mine.’

  She knew what to do. She knew what her job was. Emotional detachment be damned. She walked to Little One’s side and knelt. She kissed her skin. Looked at her. And knew, immediately, fully, completely, that Little One was reduced. Somehow less than before. Her body was a dead weight in the sand. Her tail fluke lay limp. Little One cried. A small, weak croak. Hannah saw the truth in Little One’s eye. It was no longer a shining pebble in a sea-pool, but a dull, dark well.

  Days out of the water had damaged Little One. She was being robbed of life, minute by minute, hour by hour.

  The vet was right. Little One was near her end.

  ‘Hold on,’ Hannah whispered. ‘Hold on, please.’ There was nothing else to say, nothing else to hope for. She knew she was speaking to herself as much as to Little One. ‘Hold on, Little One. Hold on. The sea is coming.’

  *

  Over the hours, the water made its way up the beach. Hannah spent the time whispering in the orca’s ear, stroking her skin and pouring buckets of water over her back.

  People came to try to talk to her. Mum, Phoebe, Steve. But she couldn’t engage with them. Couldn’t think of anyone else’s needs, only of Little One. And this terrifying responsibility.

  When Jake appeared, she said: ‘Go. Leave this to me.’

  ‘No.’ He came and knelt by her side, trying to hug her, but she shrugged him off.

  ‘The storms brought this on me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask for it. What if this doesn’t work?’

  ‘Then at least you tried,’ said Jake. ‘At least we tried.’

  But it didn’t matter what pep talk Jake gave her, there was a truth, blunt and heavy and real. If Little One died, Hannah would be alone. And everyone would know she was a fool. She didn’t want to think that. She didn’t want to care what others thought. She wanted this to be about Little One. But this was about her proving herself too. And she didn’t like herself for caring about tha
t as much as she did.

  Hannah put her ear against Little One’s head. Inside she could hear gurgling and beats. Currents of life, under the skin.

  ‘Please don’t die,’ she said, and felt guilty, for needing Little One as much as the orca needed her.

  *

  Time melted in the dark. How long had she been at Little One’s side? An hour? Three? Jake divided his time between digging and checking on her. She looked up at the sea. It was finding the high-tide bank now. It was rising fast.

  A whistle blew. The volunteer diggers filed out of the trench, paddling through water.

  The rescue team herded the volunteers like sheep, till they were behind a cordon, high on the shingle and well away from the water. The only ones allowed to remain were the rescue teams in their wet and dry-dive suits. The ones wearing tabards.

  Hannah watched, hypnotised, as the sea trickled over the entrance of the trench. The first fingers of water sank into the sand. A wave surged more water forward, pushing into the trench. Then another, pushing more water. The rough sand, chopped by boots and hands, now softened and flattened as the water surged forward. Then, as if a floodgate opened, the water poured in, down the trench and into the moat.

  Movement and noise exploded around her. Feet, arms, bodies, crowding around her and Little One.

  A whistle blew again, piercing her dream-state.

  More volunteers appeared, dragging the pontoons to Little One’s side.

  Little One cried out, panicked by the crowd around her.

  ‘Talk to her,’ said Steve.

  ‘It’s okay, Little One. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.’

  The whistle again. Bodies lined up against Little One’s side, leaning against her. The pontoons were dragged into position on the other side of the whale. There were two tubes with scrunched-up plastic netting between them, like a giant, inflatable stretcher.

  ‘One … two …’ Steve shouted. The whistle shrieked. They pushed Little One, toppling her on to her side. ‘A bit more!’ Steve cried. They pushed again. Little One – as though knowing what to do – rolled slightly over till she was lying over one of the pontoons. The other was visible now, underneath her, in the crater left by her body.

  Hannah dived under the shadow of the whale. Crawling in the crater, she grabbed the pontoon and dragged it till the net was stretched out.

  ‘Gently now,’ said Steve. They slowly lowered the whale back down. Little One lay on the net with one pontoon tube on either side.

  Two girls appeared, with long hoses. These were quickly stuck into valves on the pontoons. The girls both gave the thumbs-up. Steve, in turn, gave his thumb-up to the guys operating the generator, up on the bank. The two pontoons inflated, quickly.

  A few of the team leapt into the moat, armed with shovels, and set to digging at the sand.

  Little One’s tail fluke thumped. Her eye swivelled.

  A series of waves crashed in, less than ten metres off.

  Water came pouring, rushing, gushing, filling the man-made gulley and the moat, surrounding the whales and softening the sand. The platform began to dissolve. The rescue team hacked away at the edges, displacing more and more sand.

  Little One wriggled gently, and cried out. She was trying to get free, but the weight-packed sand beneath her was stubborn.

  Hannah dived to her knees. She pulled at the sand with her hands and felt the water seep through her wetsuit. Felt it rise over her hands, her waist. Little One was a giant shadow above her.

  ‘Get out of there!’ Steve shouted. ‘If that whale falls on you, she’ll crush you.’

  Little One was wobbling above her, the water was covering her. Little One’s shadow cast her in the dark. But the sand was crumbling. One last effort … The handfuls of sand fell apart in her grip as water raced round her. The water was at her neck … She was gasping.

  A splash of legs in the water. Strong hands pulling her away.

  Jake.

  She was pulled on to the bank. She saw the water doing its work. Flowing in, surrounding Little One. The pontoons were lifting her. Soon Little One was an island in a pool, with the channel ahead waiting for her.

  ‘Get back in. Now,’ said Steve. Hannah jumped into the water. It came up to her chest. ‘Stay with her,’ he said. ‘Wait till we’ve floated the female.’

  The whole team moved to the other whale. They would move them both into deep water at the same time.

  While they worked with the larger whale, undertaking the same rapid operation, Hannah waited with Little One. Catching her breath, she whispered: ‘Hold on. It’s okay.’

  Little One emitted a phoosh, then cried and croaked slowly. She was weak. Hannah sensed this weakness; a physical thing. A fading of the whale’s soul. Of her consciousness.

  ‘Don’t let go, Little One. Don’t let go.’

  Then it was time. Dan and Jo jumped in beside her.

  The larger whale was pushed first. It was amazing how the pontoons worked; how quickly and easily a many-tonne giant was pushed along to the deep. The team – twenty of them at least – got the whale to the shallows, till they were shoulder deep. The whale writhed and rolled, wanting to be free of the pontoon.

  ‘Now,’ Steve shouted, waving frantically. They pushed Little One forward. She floated easily. One push. Two.

  Ahead, they were pushing the larger whale’s pontoon down, opening the valves, deflating the tubes. The larger whale surged and rocked, breaking free of the equipment. It moved forward. Dipped in the water. Then swam, powerful and sure, into the waves. And was gone.

  A cheer rang out from the bank. Louder than the wind and roaring waves.

  Then they were pushing Little One into the sea. They pushed till they were shoulder-deep. Dangerously deep, if a big wave came.

  Why wasn’t Little One moving. Why? Why wasn’t she writhing like the older female had?

  The whale slapped her fluke. She rolled her fins. But didn’t move forward.

  ‘Go home, Little One. Please,’ Hannah cried. She called to the sea. ‘Come and take her home.’

  She turned to look the whale in the eye. And saw the dying light.

  ‘No. No.’

  Hands took Hannah, pulled her away, as the water raced and grabbed, threatening to take her too. She was pulled to the bank, above the sea. Forced to sit and watch.

  Little One didn’t swim in the breakers like she was supposed to. She froze in front of the waves, rolling from side to side. Hannah fought the hands holding her, desperate to get to the whale. Steve’s face appeared in front of her. He had her shoulders. He shook her.

  ‘There’s no point pushing her in. She has to go herself.’ His fingers dug in her arm. ‘She’ll drown if she can’t swim. Do you see?’

  Hannah did see. She nodded. The awfulness of a truth that couldn’t be shaken, moved or changed.

  Jake came to her. He put his arm round her. They watched. And waited.

  And waited.

  Tears of frustration poured down her cheeks, because there was nothing she could do now. Nothing. Exhaustion and desperation began to take her, as if they were drowning her.

  ‘Go on!’ someone yelled.

  ‘Go home, little whale!’ another shouted. The crowd joined in. As though their shouts would make a difference.

  But as the minutes passed these shouts got weaker. Less frequent. Till eventually there was no sound from the crowd. Just the roar of waves and wind.

  The vet appeared, in a dry suit with a stethoscope round his neck. He left his bag lying on the bank, and waded in. Little One shifted in the water. But only slightly, weakly.

  Hannah broke free of Jake’s arm before he could stop her. She splashed back into the water.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said to the vet.

  He turned to face her. ‘I’m going to see how healthy she is or if we should take action. To prevent her suffering any further.’

  She stared at him. Then towards the sea.

  Listening.

 
; ‘Did you not hear me?’ he said.

  ‘Shut up!’ she said. Listening. And hearing.

  ‘You don’t seem to understand, young lady.’

  ‘No. Actually shut up! Listen. Listen.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Listen!’

  It was hardly there. A faint wailing, whooping song in the wind. It came from the water and carried in the air. Weak at first, but there. Real.

  Whale song.

  Little One whistled. Her tail thumped the water.

  At first Hannah thought it was the rescued whale. But it was too loud, too strong. And there was another, joining the first. Then another. The calls of many orcas.

  The clouds rolled away, and the moonlight shone through. Offshore, she could see fins. One, two … many. Whales, calling through the water. Closer now. She felt it inside her belly.

  The songs lit a fire in Little One’s eye. The whale called, she cried. She urged herself forward.

  Others joined Hannah, undoing the valves, deflating the pontoons, letting Little One wriggle free. She slipped forward, vanished under the next wave, reappeared, metres ahead, sank into the water – and then was gone.

  Cheers erupted. Claps echoed in the wind. Whistles too.

  Again, hands pulled Hannah from the water, from the sand that was slipping beneath her feet and the pull of retreating waves, trying to suck her into the water. As though the sea wanted to take her too.

  She collapsed on to the sand, with Jake. He covered her in kisses.

  She thought of the whistles and the low songs. Remembering what she had learnt.

  A unique series of clicks, whistles, low moans. Distinct for each whale.

  ‘Her name, Jake. They were calling her name.’

  The moon broke through the clouds and shone over the bay. It showed nothing but waves. The whales were gone.