Storm Tide (2 page)

As soon as I'm close to the house, I yell “Ellen!” as loudly as I can to be heard over the wind.

“I'm right here. You don't have to yell,” she says from the kitchen doorway.

“I need you to come. I saw a tent and called out, but there was no answer. Someone may be in trouble.”

She gives me a don't-make-fun-of-serious-things look and turns back to the kitchen, but I grab at her sleeve. “Ellen, remember, we're keepers today. Someone might need our help.”

She looks into my eyes, checking that I'm not teasing her, then says, “For once you're right. We should look. Just give me a second. I'll get a sweater.”

When Ellen is in her room, the VHF radio cackles.

“Discovery Light, Discovery Light, this is Discovery Keeper. Over.

It's Dad. I pick up the receiver and say, “This is Discovery Light. Hey, Dad. Over.”

“Simon, I'm glad we got you.” Dad's voice cracks over the line. “The wind has picked up quite a bit here. We'll be delayed coming home. We may be quite late. Is everything okay? Over.”

I consider telling Dad what's going on, but I don't want to worry him. It's probably nothing anyway. I'm sure the person camped by the lighthouse is just a hiker passing through.

“Sure,” I say. “Everything is okay. Over.”

Chapter Three

Ellen stands right where the tent had been not five minutes ago and stares at me. “Weirdo,” she says.

I have to admit, she's got a point. There's no tent here. Was I dreaming? I don't think so. I could swear there was a tent parked here just a few minutes ago. Didn't I shout out?

“It was here. It was. I'll prove it to you.”

“Sure,” snaps Ellen. “You're just doing this to get back at me about the chores. I know you.” She's ready to stomp off back to the house, but I know the truth. Now I'm spooked. Disappearing muddy footprints are one thing. A disappearing tent is another.

“It was here. Really. Wait! Ellen, let me prove it to you.”

I swivel my head around. There must be some evidence a tent was here a few minutes ago. The grass is chewed up from us walking over it every day, so I can't see exactly where the tent was. But there must be some way to prove I'm not going crazy or trying to get back at her.

The truth is, I'm beginning to wonder. Am I going crazy? What about the footprints? Same thing, I think. First they were there, and then they just…weren't. I need to prove that the tent was there. For myself, not just Ellen.

I get down onto my hands and knees and crawl around. Ellen stands with her arms crossed over her chest and glares at me. Her hair whips across her face in the wind, but she doesn't move. Any second now, she is going to say
hmph
and leave, but there must be something here. Something. If a person that messy had to pack up that quickly, they must have left something on the ground.

I sweep my hands over the grass and dirt, back and forth across the place where I think the tent was. My hands and knees are getting dirty, but I'm not finding anything.

I widen my search. There is a flat area right under the tower. I stand up and walk around it, looking carefully.

It's strange what you notice when you really look. There is a lot of old bird doo and signs of other animals here. I find tiny holes from mice or moles and itsy-bitsy pieces of leaves that ants have left behind. There are spiderwebs in the low branches of the shrubs. Any other day, this would fascinate me, but today I'm frustrated. I can't understand what is going on.

I keep my eyes open for a color or texture that isn't natural. Nature's colors are soft, and so are its shapes. Bright red or yellow or blue is usually plastic. A sharp edge is usually man-made.

Ellen isn't even bothering to scowl anymore. She's laughing—at me.

“Weirdo. Why would you want to pretend there was a tent here?” she says. But I know, know,
know
that I saw what I saw, so I keep looking.

Ellen walks away, but she doesn't go far.

I'm on my knees with my head close to the ground when at last I find something. Sunlight glints off something shiny. I keep the spot in my sights as I stand up and walk to it. A tent peg lies at the edge of the spot I thought the tent was pitched. Next to the tent peg is a curious stone. I pick it up. It has numbers carved into it on one side and a flower like a rose on the other.

“Ellen, look.” I'm almost jumping, I'm so excited. “Look, a tent peg. It must belong to that tent. Dad never lets anyone camp here. See? And this too, whatever it is.” I hold the peg and the stone up for her to look at, but she is distracted.

“Simon, look. What's that?” Ellen points out to the bay.

“What are you looking at?”

“Out there. What is it?”

We peer out at the bay. The wind is getting stronger and stronger on the headland. It's hard to keep our hair out of our eyes. But there is something out there in the water. What is it?

Chapter Four

“Simon, it's a head. Someone's in the water!” says Ellen.

She's right. Where the bay ends and the rocks begin, a head is bobbing around in the waves. Then I see a small rowboat listing badly in the middle of the bay.

“They've fallen out of their boat,” I say. I turn to look at Ellen. Her eyes are big and round, like mine feel. We are thinking the same thing.

Ellen whispers, “We're the keepers today.”

“We have to help him,” I whisper back.

Without talking, we spin around and run to the boathouse. I stuff the tent peg and stone into my pocket.

Thank goodness it's not too windy in the bay, because Mom and Dad have the big motorboat. Ellen and I are going to have to row. We've been in the rowboat a million times, in the bay and all around the island, but rowing is a lot of work. Just what we need. We'll have to stay inside the bay and out of the wind.

“Take these.” Ellen hands me life jackets and our life-saving ring. I put on a life jacket and throw the rest of the stuff into the boat.

“Some rope too,” I say, grabbing the rope off the wall. I'm glad I'd done my chores in the shed. We can actually find things. Together, Ellen and I push the boat into the water and settle onto the seats.

The first three or four strokes are fine, but as soon as we are away from the boat shed and the protection of the shore, I realize it's way windier in the bay than I'd thought. I grunt as I pull on the oars. Ellen stands up, one hand on the gunwale, and pulls the hair off her face. Salt spray lands on my arms.

In a rowboat, the person rowing is facing backward to where they are going, and the person not rowing faces toward where they are going. When Ellen and I go out together, I usually row first and she navigates, then after a while we switch.

“I can't see the head anymore,” she shouts to be heard over the wind. “The wind is picking up way faster than I'd expected. Maybe we should just turn around.”

I nod my head because already I am finding it hard to keep the boat moving in the direction I want to go. Turning around seems like an excellent idea.

Until I try. As soon as I sweep the oar to change the angle of the boat, I know it's going to be impossible. The boat tilts dangerously to the left, and water slops over the side. It slides around the bottom of the boat, wetting my toes.

“I can't turn around. The wind's too strong.” My voice sounds panicky.

“Aim for the far shore,” Ellen says, and she slides in beside me. I let her have the starboard oar, and I put all my weight into pulling the port one.

I can't believe we've been this stupid. You'd think living here all our lives, we'd know better. But that's the thing with wind and waves: you often can't tell how strong they are until you're in them. We pull and pull on the oars, but as hard as we pull, we can't escape the waves. I look over my shoulder.

We're being pushed out to sea.

“Pull harder,” I yell at Ellen. Both of us tense and pull, tense and pull. Slowly, the bow of the boat shifts, and then our angle swings around. Water spills over the gunwales, but we stay upright. Now we're heading toward the far shore. There's no time to take a breath. We have to keep rowing, or we'll lose our angle and head back out to sea. Up and down the waves we ride. Up and down and up and down.

I've given up finding the person in the water when Ellen yells, “Look, there!” The man—we can see he has a beard—is on the surface, but is clearly struggling. I watch out of the corner of my eye, since I don't dare turn around. He keeps disappearing under the water for long periods.

“We can't reach him,” says Ellen, and I nod. But I see him surface again. For a second, I look right into his face. We lock eyes, and I feel a jolt of the man's terror all down my back.

With a new burst of strength, I pull my oar to change the angle of the boat. It is just enough to send us past the man.

“What are you doing?” Ellen yells.

I ignore her and pull again. The boat shifts more, and we hurtle along a wave, heading right for the man in the water.

“You hold the boat steady,” I call to Ellen. She opens her mouth, but doesn't say anything. I hand her my oar and slide across, reaching under a seat for the lifes-aving ring. I check the rope on the ring, then tie the other end of the rope to my seat.

“One, two, three,” I say, and I fling the ring overboard. It lands far from the man. I brace myself and pull on the rope to bring the life-saving ring back in. I try again. This time I risk crouching over so I can get a better angle. Again, the ring lands too far from the man. As I sit back down, a wave sloshes over the gunwale, soaking Ellen and me. The wind is getting worse.

“One last try.” I grit my teeth. If I mess this one up, this guy's going to drown. This time I sit low, my knees resting on the bottom of the boat. I swing the rope as hard as I can and hope.

The ring lands right on top of the man's head. For a second it looks like it is going to slide off, but then it sinks over his neck.

“Hurrah,” says Ellen in a strained voice.

She keeps pulling on the oars while I pull on the rope. I have to go gently so the ring won't come off the man's neck. He's heavy, and I have to lean back to pull him closer. After a minute of pulling, I've got him alongside the boat.

“Is he alive?” asks Ellen.

Chapter Five

“I can't tell.” I reach over to grab him under the arms so I can hoist him in, but the boat lists too far. We almost go over. Quickly, I pull back.

“You'll have to brace on the other side,” I yell at Ellen. She slides over so that all her weight is on the opposite side of the boat. She leans as far over the other side as she can while still holding on to both oars.

I try again. This time I manage to get my arms under the man without tipping the boat, but he is heavy. I almost drop him. I try a third time, and slowly his head and then his shoulders slide out of the water. I can hold him above water, but I can't pull him up any farther.

“Ellen, let the gunwale dip further,” I yell. She leans her weight back toward the center of the boat. With a huge groan and all the strength I can find, I pull. The boat lists dangerously, but I lift the man until I can pull his head and shoulders into the boat.

“Quick,” yells Ellen, as the boat takes on water. Together we grab at the man's coat and slide him on board. He takes up most of the bottom of the boat. Ellen turns his face out of the water so that he can breathe.

“Get into the seat,” shouts Ellen. “Grab an oar.” She doesn't have to say it twice. If we don't get this boat under control, we're all going over.

We tense and pull, tense and pull, tense and pull. The boat bounces on the waves. We can't gain control. “There's too much water in here.”

Ellen hands me her oar and fumbles for the scoop under the seat. She finds it and starts bailing water. There is a ton of water in the boat, but she gets most of it out. Now the boat is easier to control. When she returns to the seat, I let her take an oar.

Tense and pull, tense and pull, tense and pull. These are my only thoughts, my only actions. I'm too tired to think about the man at the bottom of the boat.

It feels like hours later when we finally reach the shelter of the land. The wind and waves drop away. I let go of my oar and fall forward. Every muscle in my body screams at me as I let the boat drift onto the shore. It crunches onto the rocky beach, and Ellen and I crawl out. With the man on the bottom, the boat is as heavy as a yacht, and Ellen and I struggle to pull it up so it won't float away with the tide. Both of us collapse back onto the beach.

The beach never felt so wonderful. Every rock reminds me I am safe. “Aghhh…” is the only thing I can say as I lie there breathing.

Then Ellen says, “What's that noise?”

I sit up. “Noise?”

“Listen.”

There are seagulls, as always, screeching overhead. The trees creak in the wind, and the sea scratches at the rocks on the beach as it surges. But these sounds are always here. Then I hear something else.