The Shark Rider (13 page)

They entered the ship's science lab. A computer, two microscopes, a box-like instrument, and a stack of petri dishes sat on a long bench on one side of the small room. Above a sink hung beakers, small nets, and some sieves. Beneath the bench were two stools and a small freezer. On the other side of the room were some bookshelves, a cramped, square, open workspace, and a printer. All of the equipment was strapped to the wall with bungee cords. Tristan stared at the bungee cords, thinking,
That can't be good
.

“This is the ship's small but very practical lab,” Meg explained. “We can process most types of samples here. We don't have a flow-through seawater system like on our new ship, but we can still take water samples and analyze them for many parameters. We can also preserve samples and ship them to the institute for further, more detailed analysis.”

The scientist moved to another door going toward the bow. “Up forward is the main salon and galley. There's one head on this deck, and above is the bridge and captain's cabin. Your cabins are on the deck below, along with another head, and some storage. The engine room is aft. Now, let's go see the captain.”

Hugh whispered to Tristan, “Head?”

Sam chuckled. “That's the bathroom.”

They went through a narrow corridor and another hatchway into a larger, more open room—the main salon. Rectangular tables with bench seats sat along the back and sides facing a window-like opening into the galley. The galley's cramped cooking area was no bigger than the inside of a minivan. Up front, steep stairs went to the deck above, as well as the one below. On either side of the room were doors that led outside. A stubble-faced older man sat at one of the tables. Beside him was a fidgety twenty-something woman with her hair under a bandana. She wore a spotted apron that seemed to scream:
Please wash me!
A chart was laid out on the table in front of them.

“'Bout time,” the man said, scowling. “What were you doing out there, playing hopscotch or something? Can't believe I've got to ferry a bunch of kids around to study some dead fish. Fish die all the time. It's especially good when they end up in my stomach.”

“Coach Fred, campers, I'd like you to meet Captain Hank,” Meg said. “Don't worry, his bark is worse than his bite.”

“Don't bet on it,” the captain muttered. His short, dark hair was peppered with gray like the stubble covering the lower half of his lean face. His skin resembled well-worn and creased leather, a testament to years spent at sea in the tropics.

Impervious to the captain's gruff manner, Coach Fred sat down next to the man. “Nice to meet you, Captain. Let me introduce the team. This here is Ryder
Jones, Tristan Hunt, Samantha Marten, Rosina Gonzales, and Hugh Haverford.”

Captain Hank barely acknowledged their presence, but Meg nodded to each of them in turn and said, “And this is Sarah. She's a critical part of the operation—the steward. She's the ship's cook.”

Sarah said hello and then jumped up and scurried into the galley. The captain waived a mug at her. She returned to fill it with a thick, dark liquid that Tristan guessed was some gruesome form of coffee.

“Go below and find a cabin—two beds in each,” Meg told them. “Store your gear and then meet on the stern. As soon as the first mate, Charlie, is back, we'll be leaving the dock.”

The captain scowled. “Better be soon.”

Ryder and Rosina dashed below, clearly wanting first pick of the cabins. Hugh, Tristan, and Sam waited to descend to the lower deck.

“I didn't realize we'd be living on a . . . a boat,” Hugh groaned.

Sam grinned. “Don't worry. I go out with my dad all the time. It's great.”

Hugh looked at her like she'd just told him how much she likes swimming with sharks. Tristan didn't think he was going to be so in love with the boating life either.

They went below. Sam and Rosina were in one cabin. Hugh and Tristan were in another. That meant Ryder would end up bunking with Coach Fred. Tristan was sure that was not what Ryder had hoped for when he rushed below.

11

SEASICK

O
N THE SHIP
'
S STERN DECK, A YOUNG MAN, PERHAPS
in his early twenties, scampered about readying for departure. He had brown hair twisted in dreadlocks tied back in a thick ponytail. His holey gray T-shirt hung loosely over a pair of baggy, frayed shorts, which were held up with a piece of twine. The young man's scruffy clothes and wild hair were in stark contrast to his movie star good looks. He had a chiseled chin, a straight, narrow nose, and eyelashes that were so dark and long they looked fake.

“Hey, y'all watch your step now,” the dreadlocks guy told the teens as they gathered at the stern. “And don't go tripping over Abbott—that furball's always in the way. Safety briefing once we get underway.”

It took a moment for Tristan to connect the dots.
The guy was Charlie, the first mate, and Abbott was the cat he nearly tripped over. The cat now sat nearby watching as if supervising Charlie's work. Its thick fur was orange-and-white striped, and there were tufts at the tips of its large, pointed ears. Given its size, Tristan thought Abbott the cat was more like Abbott the not-so-small dog.

The teens stood on the deck awkwardly, not sure where to go or what to do. Tristan was mostly just trying to stay out of the way and not stub his toe or trip over anything else. With a belch of black smoke from the stern, the ship's engine rumbled to life and the deck began to vibrate. This seemed to rouse the cat, as it lazily stretched its limbs and strutted off toward the bow.

“Is that, uh, normal?” Hugh asked worriedly. “I mean the smoke and all the shaking?”

The first mate shrugged. “More or less.”

Although the smoke soon cleared, the deck continued to rattle disturbingly. The smell of diesel permeated the air. Charlie untied the dock lines, and as the
Reef Runner
pulled slowly away, he hauled in several giant, orange rubber balls that had been hanging between the ship and the dock.

Tristan glanced at Hugh. Hugh's gaze was fixed on the dock like he wanted to leap for it before it was too late. Ryder was at the side of the ship watching the water rush by. Tristan figured he was probably wondering if anyone had ever surfed in the ship's wake. When he looked to Sam, Tristan was surprised to see
that both she and Rosina were staring kind of dopily at the first mate.

Coach Fred and Meg then joined them on the stern. Charlie explained where the lifejackets and life rafts were, and what signals the captain would sound if there was an emergency, like a fire, if someone fell overboard, or, in the worst case, if they had to abandon ship.

“Watch y'all's toes onboard,” he went on. “Lots of cleats and other toe-stubbers around. When we get outside the harbor, keep one hand on the ship at all times. She can be a little pitchy. Yep, think that covers it. Okay, see y'all later.” And with that, the first mate hurried toward the bow and out of sight.

Tristan couldn't help but notice how Sam and Rosina watched him go, thinking:
What's up with that?

“We're off,” Meg announced. “We'll head south and then work our way back north to Virgin Gorda. Tonight we'll be anchoring in Deadman's Cove off Peter Island. Trip there's not too long. Let's go inside so I can catch you up on things.” She lowered her voice. “Besides, I'm looking forward to hearing what you all can do.”

Tristan glanced around before going inside. It was beginning to get dark, and he watched as small clusters of lights flickered on along the shore and on the low brown hills of the island they were passing. He then followed the others into the main salon. They sat down around the chart still laid out on one of the tables.

Meg showed them their location off Beef Island just to the east of Tortola. “We'll be entering Sir Francis
Drake Channel here and heading south to Peter Island. Deadman's Cove is pretty protected, so it should be a calm anchorage for the night.”

“Dr. Gladfell,” Coach Fred said brusquely, as if beginning an official interrogation. “What are the positions of the mortality events so far?”

“Well, Mr. Coach,” the scientist replied, very businesslike. “They are the starred locations on the chart.” She smiled at the teens, raising her eyebrows good-naturedly at Coach's so-serious tone. Tristan decided he was going to like the scientist. She pointed to several stars on the west coast of Virgin Gorda and on the small islands to the south. “There's no clear pattern in time or space in the die-offs. In addition to fish, we've seen some other animals affected and sponges that just seem to disappear. There's been some coral bleaching, but we think that may be due to climate change and unrelated to the fish kills. It's all very puzzling. We've never seen anything like it here.”

Tristan felt the motion of the ship change.

“Must be turning into the channel,” Meg told them. “Might get a little bumpy till we reach the islands to the south.” She then began to describe in more detail each of the sites and what had been reported or found.

Tristan tried to pay attention to what the scientist was saying, but when the ship began to roll he seemed to lose all ability to think. The deck had become one giant seesaw. It rose steeply on one side and dropped on the other. Then the other side rose while the opposite side fell. Coach Fred grabbed the chart as it
skated toward the edge of the table. Sam slid across the bench. Tristan and the others grabbed onto whatever they could. Obviously enjoying the ride, Sam giggled. Hugh and Rosina, however, turned a color that reminded Tristan of several-months-old, moldy Cream of Wheat. He once left of bowl of it under his bed by mistake, so he knew what he was talking about. Even Ryder had gone a little pale. Tristan felt okay, though he didn't dare move as the ship rolled from side to side.

“Time to get your sea legs, campers,” Coach Fred announced way too merrily.

“We can finish this in the morning,” Meg said, noting the color and expression on Hugh's and Rosina's faces. “Maybe some fresh air for you two.” She helped the two teens up and ushered them to a side door leading outside. Sam followed. Tristan got up and immediately fell back down. He then lunged from one handhold to the next, making his way unsteadily after the others. Ryder said something about needing to unpack before heading below to his cabin.

“Take a seat here,” the scientist suggested, helping Rosina and Hugh onto a deck box along the outside of the ship. “Let me get something that might help.”

“Just kill me now,” Hugh groaned.

“No, me first,” Rosina added right before she ran to the side and fed her lunch to the fish.

Hugh joined her at the rail, tossing his cookies too.

“Don't worry, you'll get used to it,” Sam told them a little too perkily.

They both shot her looks like daggers.

Tristan hadn't felt bad before, but once he saw the other two lose their lunch, he began to feel queasy. “Uh, gotta go, sorry guys.” He staggered back inside.

Meg was on her way out carrying bottles of water and two of the biggest pink pills he'd ever seen. Tristan heard her say, “Here, try these. If you can keep them down, it should help.”

Tristan fell onto a bench in the main salon. Meg came in, and Sam soon joined them.

“Two survivors out of five isn't bad,” Coach Fred noted.

For now, Tristan thought. He tried to think of something other than the rolling, heaving deck or what he just witnessed outside. For some reason, the camp's computer model came to mind along with a question he'd been thinking about. “Do you think what's going on here has anything to do with, you know, the stranded dolphins in the Bahamas?”

The scientist paused thoughtfully. “Hard to say, really. It's possible, given the regional currents, but that's quite a distance for something to spread. I would also expect there to be a more regular track or pattern in the impacts if whatever this is was spreading with the currents. We've had fish kills here before due to an algae bloom and an oil spill in a marina. But this is different. The one thing I can tell you—word is getting out, and people are worried. Overfishing has significantly reduced the fish population here, and this could prevent any sort of recovery and destroy the region's reefs and tourism industry. We need to find out what is
causing these strange die-offs before it's too late. That's why I contacted Director Davis.”

She leaned in closer, whispering, “So, what
can
you do?”

Coach glanced around and then spoke quietly. “The captain, first mate, and steward don't know about your
skills
. And we'd like to keep it that way.” He then nodded to Sam and Tristan.

“I can echolocate and communicate with whales and dolphins,” Sam whispered eagerly. “After last summer at camp, I worked on it at home in Maine. Of course, I couldn't tell anyone, except Mom and Dad. But I went out with Dad on his lobster boat to look for whales. We even saved a whale that was caught in some derelict fishing line. Dad cut the line off with his knife while I told the whale to stay calm and that we were there to help. Since then, my dad's really warmed up to the whole Sea Camp thing.”