Winter's Tide (8 page)

I
knelt by Nick's head and stared at the slightly open mouth with its neat row of teeth. And then, just above and outside the mouth, I saw his eye. Surrounded by wrinkles, it was dark blue and three times the size of a human eye. The wrinkles made the expression in the eye seem amazingly wise and sorrowful.

The same kind look I saw in Commanche's brown eyes.

And then the eye blinked. And Nick gave a plaintive, sad cry that sounded like a bird.

“What are you doing back up here, buddy?” I said, stroking the round knob of his forehead. “Why did you do this again?” I stood up, feeling breathless and panicked. “Stephanie! What can we do? He's stuck on the sand this time.”

Stephanie came around to stand beside me. I could tell she was scared. She stayed a good distance away from Nick.

And then we heard a whoosh of air, a sound like a giant sigh, coming from a spot on the top of Nick's head. Stephanie jumped with surprise.

“It's breathing!” she said.

“Steph, we have to help him!”

“What can we do? I bet he weighs five hundred pounds or more! We can't move him.”

I looked all around. The surfers had gone in. There wasn't another soul on the beach. “Maybe we can call someone. Did you bring your cell phone?”

“Yeah.” Stephanie reached in her pocket and pulled it out. “Who should I call?”

“The police, I guess. Here, I'll talk.” I took her phone and dialed 911. When the dispatcher answered, I said that we'd found a stranded whale on the beach. The dispatcher asked for my location, and Stephanie told me Grammy's address, since we weren't that far away. The dispatcher said she'd contact the Marine Mammal
Stranding Network and that someone would be here in thirty minutes to an hour.

“Meanwhile,” she said, “do you have wet towels or a bucket? You need to keep the whale wet. Keep pouring water on the whale, and put wet towels on it to keep its skin from drying out.”

“Thanks!” I hung up and got the shell bucket from the back of the golf cart. “Someone will be here in about an hour. We're supposed to keep the whale wet,” I told Stephanie. “Can you drive the golf cart back to the apartment and get some towels?”

She hesitated, and I knew she was going to say she'd never driven a golf cart before. “Listen, it's easy. Just press down on the gas and steer.”

Stephanie got back on the golf cart, tentatively pushed on the gas, and headed off slowly. While she was gone, I took the bucket down to the surf again and again, filling it and bringing it back and pouring it gently over the whale's skin. The freezing water sloshed on my hands and pants and coat. After a lot of trips, I was out of breath and had to sit down next to the whale's head to rest. I touched his large, smooth forehead.

“We're working on it, Nick, buddy,” I told the whale. “I don't know how we're going to get you back in the water.” I gazed into his large sad eye as I spoke. The
winter wind whistled as it blew over us. “But we're going to try.”

Nick blinked. How long could Nick live out of the water? As if reading my thoughts, he gave another squeaking call that almost sounded like he was saying, “Help.” The high-pitched call sounded like it came from a tiny bird, not a twelve-foot whale. And then he made a series of soft clicks.

My throat began to throb. What must it be like for him, to be stuck on land like this? As fast as he could swim in his world, in the water, he was completely helpless on land. And the calls and clicks. Was he trying to communicate with the rest of the whales in his group? I looked out to sea, straining to see a glimpse of fins that would show that the rest of his group was out there waiting and looking for him. I imagined being able to drag him back into the water. I imagined him leaping from the waves with gratitude, then swimming away to freedom, to rejoin his group.

If I saw this whale out in the water while I was swimming, I probably would be terrified. But out of his element, Nick was weak, barely able to move.

The wind blew and I shivered. Since I'd been down here, no one had walked by. My fingers were so red, raw, and cold from dumping water on Nick that I couldn't feel them. I balled up my hands and hugged
them under my arms. The wet from the sand was seeping through my jeans.

I looked again into the whale's wise and kindly eye. I thought I could see his suffering. Was he in pain? As if in answer, he gave a quick, rushing breath. I thought my heart would burst.

Then Stephanie and Mom screeched to a stop in the golf cart and jumped down. A pile of towels lay behind them in the golf-bag storage area.

“I can't believe the whale is back up here!” Mom cried. “I wonder what's wrong?” She grabbed the pile of towels and handed some to me and some to Stephanie. “Let's get these wet, so we can lay them over it.”

We ran down to the water and dunked the towels. My running shoes sank into the soft sand and then a freezing wave snaked over them, getting my feet wet. We carried the dripping, heavy towels back up the beach and carefully spread them over the rubbery skin of the whale.

I thought I heard the whale sigh. The sound of that sigh tore through me.

“Let's go inside now,” Mom said. “It's freezing out here.”

“No! I'm not leaving Nick!”

“Diana, you told them where the whale was, didn't you? They'll have no trouble finding it. They know what to do.”

“No, I'm staying here. She told me to pour water over him! I'm going to keep doing that until they get here!” I grabbed the shell bucket and ran back down to the edge of the water. I filled the bucket and lugged it back up and then poured it gently over Nick's head. Then I went back down to the water and filled it again. I had to do something. This was something I could do. Again and again, ignoring Mom's pleas to stop, I filled the bucket and poured water over Nick, until I had soaked the whale from head to tail.

Finally, I sat down again in the sand beside Nick's head. The wind was making my eyes tear, and my hands and arms were red and cold. I was shivering violently. But I didn't care.

Mom had a few big, dry beach towels, and she came and wrapped one around me, one around Stephanie, and then sat down close to me. Stephanie came and sat next to Mom.

Again, the whale sighed.

“It's hard to watch a creature suffering like this, isn't it?” Mom said.

“Why do things like this happen? This is why I don't believe in God,” I said. I remembered that night last spring, sitting in the sea grass with Cody, watching the mare and her foal on the beach. The mare had been injured and in terrible pain. It was almost intolerable to watch. Tears came to my eyes as I remembered.

“We don't know why this whale beached itself,” Mom said. “But I know what you mean. Last night, when we were in the hospital talking with Grammy, I was thinking about how much pain Grammy was in and how hard it was to see that.”

“I wanted to leave,” I said.

Suddenly Stephanie got up and, without a word, walked away from us until she was out of earshot. She stood, facing away from us, the towel wrapped tightly around her.

“I wonder if we upset Stephanie with our conversation,” Mom said, looking after her. “I'm glad that you want to stay and help the whale,” Mom went on. “We need to be like that for Grammy too. We need to be strong enough.”

I didn't want to talk about this anymore. Mom had been listening to Dr. Shrink too much. And what was the deal with Stephanie?

Suddenly, a police car and an old white truck appeared down the beach. They got closer and closer and stopped a few yards away from Nick. Three men and a woman, all wearing bright-orange weatherproof suits, jumped out of the back of the truck and headed toward us. One of the guys looked around our age. Both cab doors slammed as a man and a woman climbed out. That man, who had a gray beard, gave a whistle as he approached Nick.

Nick moved his head slightly, then whistled faintly back.

“That's encouraging. The animal is responsive,” said the man.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, anxious for them to know what good shape Nick was in. “He's been breathing and whistling and moving his tail and everything. We've been keeping him wet, like we were told.”

“Great,” said the man. “Thanks for calling us, and thanks for doing such a good job keeping the whale wet with the towels. I'm Dr. Eric Leland from the Marine Mammal Stranding Network.” He held out his hand, and Mom and Stephanie and I all shook it. Then he introduced the others who were there. “Most of us are marine mammal researchers, and we volunteer for the network. And this is Dr. Bob Cohn, our veterinarian.” He pointed to a stocky guy with a beard and mustache, who nodded and said, “Hi.”

Dr. Leland turned to his colleagues. “Looks like a short-finned pilot, a year or two old. The whale is breathing, making echolocations, and moving his flukes. But the animal is in poor body condition. It looks emaciated.”

“This is the second time Nick's stranded himself,” I said. “We already pushed him back in the water once today.”

“Really?” Dr. Leland said, giving me a closer look.

“Yes,” said Mom. “It was about a quarter of a mile that way down the beach. My daughter and some surfers were able to push it back out to sea. Why would it strand itself a second time?”

“We don't know for sure,” Dr. Leland said. “We do know that animals sometimes strand themselves when they are sick or injured.”

“He has a nick on his top fin,” I said. “That's why I named him Nick.”

“When we study wildlife, we don't normally give animals names,” said Dr. Leland. “Anyway, that's an old injury to the dorsal fin. It has nothing to do with what's happening today. It could mean this guy survived a shark attack or something.”

“Really?” I said. Surviving a shark attack! Imagine!

Dr. Leland shrugged. “Maybe.” The group gathered around the whale's head, discussing the breathing sounds and the whistling. A cold afternoon wind picked up, and a cloud moved in front of the sun.

“It's going to be dark in a couple of hours,” Dr. Leland told the others.

“Let's go ahead and get some blood,” said Dr. Cohn. He went to the truck and came back with a syringe, and some test tubes. He and one of the volunteers went to Nick's tail. He felt around on the tail fin until he
found a spot that satisfied him, then he inserted the needle. Soon dark blood snaked up the plastic tubing, and Dr. Cohn began filling the test tubes with it.

The boy our age came and stood beside us. He was thin, with pale, freckled skin, expressive greenish eyes, and red hair.

“Why do they take blood?” I asked him.

“They'll use that iSTAT machine to analyze it.” The boy pointed to a machine that Dr. Cohn was holding. It looked like a large white television remote with a small screen at the top and a panel of buttons down below. “They'll be able to tell the condition of the whale, like if it's sick. I'm Jeremy, by the way. I'm a volunteer.”

“Hey. I'm Diana.” Then, I asked, “How long will that take?”

“Just a coupla minutes,” said Jeremy. “It'll show if there are really bad health problems.”

My heart leaped to my throat. “What do you mean, ‘really bad health problems'? You guys are going to save Nick, aren't you?”

“Sure, if we can,” Jeremy said. “It's just that usually whales don't beach themselves unless there's something really wrong.” He and the others headed back toward the truck, where they unloaded a large blue stretcher and brought it over beside Nick. All working together, the group rolled Nick to the right and slid
the stretcher underneath him. Then they walked to the other side, rolled Nick to the left, and pulled the stretcher the rest of the way under so that he was completely restrained on the stretcher. He blew out breath and flicked his tail weakly.

I got as close as I could to Nick's head. I watched his big, sad eye. Some grains of sand were stuck on his eye, and I reached over to brush them away.

“Diana, come wait over here with me,” Mom said.

“But he has sand in his eye!” I said. “I want to get it out!”

I took a few reluctant steps away from Nick. “Do you need me to pour more water on him?” I asked Dr. Leland.

“Sure, but just stay near the head. Don't get too close to the flukes,” Dr. Leland said. “You never know what can happen with those.”

I grabbed the bucket and raced down toward the water. The tide had gone out, and it was a long walk. Just seeing all these people surrounding Nick was upsetting me. I had a terrible feeling.

While I was getting the water, I looked out to sea, again searching for a group of fins, weaving back and forth out in the water. Was Nick's family out there waiting for him? My heart started to beat faster, and I raced back with the bucket of water. Nick was suspended on
the stretcher, his fins wrapped close to his body. The stranding crew stood watching Nick now, their arms crossed over their chests, talking in low voices. His blowhole opened, and he blew a rapid breath, and then gave a thin bird-like call.

I darted forward and gently poured a stream of water over Nick's head, then sat down near Jeremy, watching Nick's eye.

Meanwhile, Dr. Cohn was looking at the screen of the iSTAT machine. Dr. Leland joined him, looking over his shoulder.

“There are electrolyte changes and indications of shock,” Dr. Cohn said. “This animal is in acidosis. It's also dehydrated.”

Why weren't they in more of a hurry to get Nick back in the water? I couldn't understand what was going on. Were they planning to send Nick to a rehabilitation facility? Some of the nature shows I'd seen had dolphins that had been saved and sent to places like that.

Just then, Mom came up and knelt beside me. “Diana, Stephanie and I are going to go back to the apartment. We need to be home in time for hospital visiting hours.”