Chapter Six

Dylan was wearing thick rubber boots and gloves and a bright-orange life jacket. Attached to the life jacket was a yellow rope. Grandpa had tied the other end of the rope around one of the rocks. They had all the gear they’d need. It had taken them half a dozen trips to get everything in place.

Dylan looked over the edge of the cliff. Below him, no more than thirty feet away and fifteen feet down, Oreo lay on the rocks. The receding tide had left the orca and the rocks he was trapped on even farther from the water.

Even from this distance Dylan could see that the little orca was hurt. There were slashes of red visible on his tail fin. He’d been cut. Dylan wondered how much worse it might be in the places he couldn’t see—like Oreo’s belly, which was pressed against the sharp rocks.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Grandpa asked.

“We have no choice.”

“We could wait until the tide goes all the way out and then climb up to him from the beach.”

“You said that wouldn’t be for another hour. Can he…can he…can he live another hour?”

“All I know is the sooner he gets helped, the better. The sun is starting to shine on the cliff and soon it will be directly on him,” Grandpa said.

“Then I should go now.”

“I’ll lower you down, and remember I’m right here if you need me.”

Dylan knew.

“Stay off to the side of his body and away from his mouth.”

“Orcas don’t hurt people,” Dylan said.

“No telling what a scared, trapped animal will do.”

Dylan nodded. Learning about the animals of the island was part of his homeschooling this year. He’d learned about bears, deer, eagles and sea lions, but orcas were his favorite.

He knew that orcas lived in families and cared for each other. That they were smart and communicated with sounds. That some pods—like this one—ate fish, and other pods ate seals and other whales and dolphins. He knew there had never been a person killed by an orca in the wild. But he also knew they had between forty and fifty-six very large and very sharp teeth in a powerful jaw. And he knew that if he was scared, Oreo must be terrified.

“We have an audience,” Grandpa said.

“We do?” Dylan asked hopefully.

Grandpa gestured toward the open ocean. For an instant Dylan thought he meant other people. There was no boat, but three members of the pod were “standing,” extending their heads far out of the water. He’d been focusing so much on Oreo that he’d temporarily forgotten about the pod circling just beyond the rocks.

“Do they know we’re trying to help?” Dylan asked.

“They’re pretty smart, so I hope so.”

At that instant Oreo cried out, and the pod started calling to him. A series of high-pitched sounds went back and forth. Dylan hoped they were telling Oreo that help was coming.

Dylan started down the rocks. The loose end of the rope trailed behind him, Grandpa holding the other end tightly in case Dylan slipped. At a birthday party the previous year on the mainland, Dylan had done some rock climbing in a special gym. This was different. Here the rocks were wet and slick. And sharp. Carefully he found places to put his feet and places to hold with his hands. He knew he had to go slowly. A few more steps down, and he was there.

Oreo rotated his eye so that he was looking up at Dylan. Dylan could see the fear in his eyes. Did Oreo see the fear in his? He had never been so close to an animal this big. Oreo was just a young orca, but he was much bigger than Dylan.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m coming to save you,” Dylan said.

Saying those words made him feel better, even if Oreo couldn’t understand them.

“Here come the sheets!” Grandpa yelled.

Grandpa lowered a blue bucket. It slowly bumped down the rocks until it was low enough that Dylan could reach out and grab it. He placed the bucket beside him and pulled out the first sheet. It was blue and green and from his parents’ bed. It had been soaked in seawater and was heavy and awkward to unfold. Dylan could see blood from one of the cuts near Oreo’s tail. He started to spread the sheet, and Oreo cried out. Dylan stopped. He was shocked. Oreo began shaking, and he moved his tail up and down. He opened his mouth, and those white, sharp teeth practically glowed. Was this hurting the little orca? Dylan didn’t know what to do. He just froze in place.

“You have to keep going!” Grandpa called.

“But I think it’s hurting him.”

“You’re not hurting him. He’s just scared. Besides, if you don’t cover him, he’ll be a lot worse off. Spread the sheet.”

Dylan hoped his grandpa was right —but even if he wasn’t, what choice did Dylan have? He started to spread the sheet again, and this time when Oreo cried out, Dylan didn’t stop. He covered up the tail and then pulled the sheet over Oreo’s back and up toward the dorsal fin. As he’d covered the tail, he’d seen blood from one of the cuts being absorbed by the sheet.

“It’s okay,” Dylan explained to Oreo. “I’m doing this to protect you from the sun. I’m here to help you—it’s going to be all right.”

Dylan took a second sheet and draped it over the dorsal fin, tapping it down so that it was pressed against the skin. The little orca reacted again but not as badly. Dylan took out a third sheet, being careful not to cover the breathing hole on Oreo’s back and keeping the sheet away the orca’s mouth.

The bucket was now empty. But it wouldn’t be for long. There was water pooled in the rocks just below them. He dipped the bucket, filled it with water and pulled it up. He poured the water onto the whale. It showered down Oreo’s dorsal fin and onto his back and sides.

“Does that feel better?” Dylan asked Oreo.

Oreo answered by opening and closing his mouth.

“That’s perfect!” Grandpa yelled. “Keep going!”

Bucket by bucket, Dylan poured water from the little pool onto the whale. He knew this was keeping Oreo’s skin moist, cooling it down and keeping the sheets wet so they’d stick to and protect the skin. All he had to do was keep doing this. For the next six or seven hours.