Out of Season

by Kari Jones

  “Saul, behind you,” I shout.

  He turns and looks at the water, then plants his paddle and spins his boat around.

  I struggle to turn my boat around in the kelp, but I’m too slow. The diver is only a few feet away from Saul.

  Saul leans over as far as he can and swings his paddle through the water. A dark shape slices past.

  “He’s trying to get under you,” I say.

  Saul swipes his paddle through the water again.

  “I hit him,” Saul shouts.

  The diver backs away. He surfaces, then turns and heads for me. I’m still in the kelp.

  “Head to shore,” shouts Saul, but I’m already moving, and I paddle harder than I ever have until I reach the edge of the kelp bed. Once I’m in clear water, my kayak surges forward, and in seconds I slip under the overhanging branches close to shore. The diver’s bubbles are close behind me. I could grasp them in my hand. Twigs and needles slash across my face as I race along the shore.

  “Go, Maya,” shouts Saul from behind me, so I take another stroke and another and another. Then at last Saul says, “Maya, you can stop.”

  I glance back. The diver rises to the surface. He tears off his mask.

  We stare at each other. My breath comes in ragged hunks. My fingers ache, and there’s no strength left in my arms. I want to fling my paddle away and collapse over the deck of my kayak.

  But there’s something about the way he’s looking at us.

  “What’s he doing?” Saul calls.

  The man puts his mask back on and submerges. His bubbles drift away from us.

  I wait for relief to flood my body. It doesn’t. The bubbles head away from the boat. Toward the sea otters.

  “He’s heading to Gertrude!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “We have to get there first.” Saul pulls up beside me. He shoves my kayak. “Come on.”

  I dredge up some strength and follow him. The bubbles are ahead of us.

  Strength comes from nowhere. Our kayaks fly across the water.

  We reach Gertrude first.

  Gertrude is lying in a huddle. Her head bumps shore each time a wave comes in. The sight of her wrapped up in the mesh of the bag makes my stomach lurch.

  The water’s murky here, and it’s hard to see underwater. I keep my eyes open for bubbles, but they’re hard to keep track of with the surge of the waves. There’s a lot of driftwood and roots here.

  That gives me an idea.

  “Saul, send him toward me.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it!”

  Saul leans over and swishes his paddle through the water. The bubbles stop.

  They start up again. Saul paddles up behind him and drags his paddle through the water again. The bubbles stop, then move back toward me. Saul follows. He blocks the diver from behind.

  I paddle forward, making as much noise as I can.

  The bubbles move away from me, closer to shore. My paddle catches in roots and driftwood. It slows me down. I pull my paddle loose and start again.

  We herd the diver closer and closer to shore.

  “Head for that tree,” I tell Saul.

  He changes the angle of his boat. We glide forward.

  There are roots and logs all around us. The diver’s moving more slowly now. He’s trying to find his way through them.

  “Keep going,” I call out.

  Saul nods.

  We push the diver closer to the tree. Its branches scrape at our faces.

  Finally, the bubbles stop moving.

  “He’s caught in the roots. He can’t move,” says Saul.

  The diver stands up. He takes off his mask and glares at us.

  “Don’t think this is over,” he says.

  We don’t answer.

  He tugs at his tank. It’s caught on the roots. “What are you going to do? Sit there forever?” he snarls.

  “We don’t have to,” says Saul. “Just until the police get here.”

  “The police?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “You radioed them?” I ask.

  “Yeah. As soon as I saw the poachers’ boat turn into the bay. They should be here any second.”

  The flood of relief washes over me from my toes all the way to my fingertips.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dad and the police arrive a few minutes later. Mark and one diver are in the boat. The other diver stands in the water. He’s got nowhere to go.

  Saul and I tell the whole story. The policewoman calls for a fisheries officer to come and rescue Gertrude.

  “We’ll keep that bag as evidence,” she says.

  “They probably still have urchins on board,” says Dad. The policewoman nods and speaks into her radio.

  Saul and I ride home in the police boat. I don’t have enough strength left to paddle a kayak.

  “It’s hard to believe this all happened in one day,” I say. “Poor Gertrude. I wonder what’s going to happen to the sea otters. I really screwed up.”

  I must look thoughtful, because Dad says, “Maya, telling us about the sea otters is the best thing you could do.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure,” he says, and he reaches over to take my hand. “Honey, now that everyone knows the sea otters are here, no one can hurt them, can they?”

  He’s right. When no one but me knew they were there, anyone could have hurt them and no one would hear about it. Now everyone will know if something happens to them. They’re protected by that. I smile. “You’re right, Dad. I should have thought of that.”

  He leans over and looks me in the eye. “You should have trusted all of us, eh?”

  I nod. But then I say something that’s been on my mind since all of this began. “You should have trusted me too, Dad. You should have told me about the poachers. I wouldn’t have gone out there at all if I’d known there were poachers about. You should have told me.”

  Dad looks down at his shoes. When he looks back at me, he nods.

  In the morning Dad and Saul and I paddle into the bay as the sun tips over the treetops. We spread out and check the whole bay. The sea otters are gone. I knew they would be, but I was hoping anyway.

  I meet Dad back in the middle of the bay. My face must look pretty glum because Dad says, “Gertrude will be okay, you know.”

  I laugh. “You know I call her Gertrude?”

  “Saul told me.”

  I blush, but then I think of Saul calling out to Gertrude. “Saul was awesome yesterday,” I say.

  “You should tell him that,” says Dad.

  I nod. “I will.”

  Saul paddles out from behind a rock and glides up beside us. “Sorry, Maya, no sight of them.”

  “It’s okay. I know the fisheries guys will keep an eye on them,” I say.

  “Dad and I can watch for them when we’re fishing,” says Saul.

  “Really? Fishing? You got your boat back?” I ask.

  Dad shakes his head. “Not yet, but if the police don’t find it, the insurance will cover the cost of replacing it. In the meantime, Saul and I can crew on Johansen’s boat.”

  “You can let me know where the sea otters are and how Gertrude is doing,” I say. “If they’re close enough, I’ll paddle out before school and say hello.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” says Dad. “For now, though, we’d better head back.”

  Saul and Dad and I put our paddles in the water. The sun is bright over our shoulders. The water sparkles as the three of us head home.

  Kari Jones is a college instructor who teaches students to write, but when school is out, she can often be found with her family and friends exploring the natural world and dreaming up adventures to share. Kari lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

  orca currents

  The following is an excerpt from

  another exciting Orca Currents novel,

  Storm Tide by Kari Jones.

  978-1-55469-807-3 $9.95 pb

  Alone for the first time on
the island he calls home, Simon is looking forward to a day of swimming and slacking off. His sister Ellen only wants to make sure they get their chores done. Neither Simon nor Ellen is prepared for the mysterious and potentially dangerous visitor who brings with him an unexpected storm and a riddle that may lead to treasure. Simon and Ellen have to work together to solve the riddle before the stranger—or the weather—destroys their chances.

  Chapter One

  Today is going to be great. I head down to the dock to wave goodbye to Mom and Dad. They’re going to Victoria for the day. That means that apart from my sister Ellen, who doesn’t really count, I am totally alone on the island for the whole day.

  On my way back to the house, I plan my day. I can do whatever in the world I want. I’ve lived on this island all twelve years of my life, and this is the first time I have been alone on it for an entire day. If it warms up, I’m going to swim in the water hole. Then I want to check out the spring salmon run off Rudlin Bay.

  First I need a couple of sandwiches, one for right now and one to take with me. I’m going to start the day with a hike to the midden on the other side of the island. A midden is basically an ancient First Nations garbage dump. That sounds gross, but it’s actually really cool. All the gross stuff has decomposed by now, and all that’s left are shells and bones covering a long stretch of beach. I go over there sometimes and sift through it. I have a good collection of bones from that site. But first things first, it’s time to head inside for a snack.

  Unfortunately, as I pull the ham and cheese out of the fridge, Ellen walks in.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  Ellen’s voice has this mocking edge that would normally tick me off, but the last thing I want today is to fight with her, so I answer simply, “Making a sandwich.”

  “I can see that, Simon, but why?” Ellen says. This time there’s no ignoring the you-are-so-stupid tone in her voice.

  “I’m hungry.” Duh! I don’t say that out loud. I don’t want to risk my day of freedom, after all.

  “That hungry?” she points to the huge amount of food.

  You’d think she could figure it out, but I patiently explain that I’m making food to last a while.

  “What about your chores?” she says.

  “What about them?” I ask.

  Ellen puts her hands on her hips and stands between me and the fridge. I’m uncomfortable with where this conversation is going. I don’t want to fight with Ellen today, but I can see my plans for the day disappearing if I let her tell me what to do.

  “Mom and Dad expect the chores to be done. We’re the keepers while they’re away. They’ve got enough to worry about. You are not going anywhere until you’ve done your chores.”

  I hate it when Ellen speaks to me like that. But I have to admit it’s true. Mom and Dad have a hard day ahead of them. The government’s been closing lighthouses all around here. Dad is sure Discovery Island Lighthouse Station is next. He and Mom are going to tell the people at the ministry about all the things they do: rescue boaters, keep weather records and help the biologists collect data on waves and currents. Man, I hope they can convince them that the lighthouse station should stay open. This is my home!

  “I’ll have lots of time for chores,” I say. I start spreading mustard on the bread. Ellen stands there and watches me. She looks so much like Mom right now. Mom doesn’t have to say anything. She has this look. Ellen has it too. Someday my sister is going to make one scary mother. I look back at her, trying to ignore the Mom look, but it’s useless. The look is working. I can feel it.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll do my chores first,” I say.

  “You’d better. Then you can do whatever you want.” Ellen smiles sweetly.

  Ha.

  My main job is the boat shed. I keep it tidy so we can pull the boats in quickly during storms. I was rummaging in the shed looking for my fishing rod yesterday, so I know exactly how messy it is. This is going to take forever, half an hour at least!

  I start with the ropes. I coil them properly and hang them in their spot on the wall. Then I organize the crab traps and the motor parts and oars and paddles and life jackets. After a while I start thinking that something feels different. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but something is out of place. I feel like I’ve half noticed something, but it’s taking a while to get into my brain. I look around. Everything looks the same, doesn’t it? What’s different?

  I walk back to the entrance of the shed and look outside. Nope. Everything looks right there—the rubber tire that we use as a bumper on the dock, the bucket and hose we keep for rinsing salt water off our gear. There’s a barrel of strawberries Mom planted to make the place prettier. I turn back to the shed and look around inside. Everything is in the shed that should be. Isn’t it? Maybe it’s just my imagination.

  I put this thought out of my mind and finish cleaning. When I’m done, I step onto the wooden planks leading from the shed to the dock. And I figure out what is missing.

  A chill creeps up my back. I swear, when I walked into this shed half an hour ago, there were muddy footprints on the dock. They aren’t there now.

  orca currents

  For more information on all the books

  in the Orca Currents series, please visit

  www.orcabook.com