Feb 13, 2018 6 min read

The story so far: Aaron and his fellow kayakers are enjoying nature at its most magnificent when something bumps their kayak – hard. Aaron’s first thought: Could it be sea wolves?

• Chapter 5

Gunshots at dawn

It was a huge steller’s sea lion, rolling big, panicky black eyes at us. It went blouaugh!, slapped its tail, and plunged back down; the water boiled up between us.

We braced for the killer whales – or sea wolves – in silence, holding our breath. But they didn’t come. I figured they must have dived beneath us as they chased the sea lion. Later we saw their spouts off to the south, like plumes of mist.

“Wow!” Dad said. “I bet that sea lion weighed 1500 pounds!” He was an encyclopedia of facts and figures.

“I’ve seen killer whales fling sea lions like mice, turning the water bloodred,” Willie said.

“Aye,” said Roger. “They’ll fly right up a beach, snatch a sea lion or harbor seal, and wiggle back into the surf. But I’ve never heard of one attacking a kayaker.”

“Well, pard, kayakers have gone missing,” Willie said, dipping his felt hat into the cold water and flopping it back on his head. “Nobody knows if they were attacked by orcas or not, but great whites will attack kayaks. They look like sea lions from below.”

“No great white sharks around here,” Roger said. “Water’s too cold.” He pulled his red bandana from his head, dipped it in the water, and put it back on. The ponytail he had worn last year was gone.

“Okay, dudes, biology class is over,” Cassidy said. “When do we hit the beach?”

“I have to go to the little girl’s room,” Lisa said, grinning.

We beached an hour later on the leeward side of a small, rocky island. It was dense with dark spruce, and Sitka cedar scented the air. On the windward side, we explored the most beautiful tide pools I’d ever seen. Colorful starfish – or sea stars – stuck to the rocks as if glued there, and sea anemones waved exotic flowery tendrils, sticky to the touch.

Cassidy pried a large mussel from a boulder, then pulled the bivalve shells apart to expose the glistening meat. He bared his teeth as if he were about to eat it raw. “Yuck!” said Lisa. “You’re gross!”

“Hey!” Willie said. “Mussels tonight on the menu!”

He came scampering back with a bucket, and we all chipped in at prying mussels from the rocks for dinner.

That evening we ate another great Wild Man Willie special: fresh mussels steamed with garlic and scallions and lemon juice, all poured over linguini, and sea salted and peppered to taste. As our cook fire sizzled and snapped, we watched the sinking sun set a fleet of thin clouds afire, like blazing islands in a sea of blue.

“Willie?” I said. “You said kayakers have gone missing, but nobody knows why. You think it’s got anything to do with . . . well . . . smugglers?”

“They don’t want nothin’ to do with us if we have nothin’ to do with them, pard,” Willie said, dead serious.

Suddenly Cassidy threw a heavy arm around my throat, locked me in a choke hold, and rubbed my skull with his knuckles. “You got smugglers in your head, dude!”

Air shut off to my lungs, and my eyes watered. I grabbed his wrist and yanked. He let go, and I gasped for breath.

“What’s gotten into you, boy?” Willie snapped. His eyes burned like embers in the dusk.

“It’s cool,” I said, but it wasn’t. I was shaking, and my Adam’s apple hurt. I wanted to strike back at Cassidy, but it really wasn’t in my nature. I just simmered in silence.

“Sometimes you’re so immature, Cassidy,” Lisa said. He just stared at her. As usual, you couldn’t read what was going on behind those eyes, and it was scary.

Roger tried to break the tension by telling a bad joke, then Willie reminded us we had to wash the dishes before it got too dark.

“Wash your own dishes, dude,” Cassidy said.

Willie glared; it looked like his face would burst.

“I can wash dishes, no sweat,” Dad said. I couldn’t believe it. Last year Dad and Cassidy were always in each other’s faces – in fact, one time Cassidy even knocked him down. Now here Dad was, standing up for him.

Cassidy grinned. “I’m cool, dude.”

We gathered the dirty silverware and plates and scrubbed them in a patch of sand near the water. Nobody said anything. I was still steaming.

Finally I said, “‘Night,” and started back to our tent. I wanted to be with Lisa, but not with Cassidy around. It burned me up; I literally felt hot, though it was a cool evening.

I brushed my teeth and wiped sand off my feet, and by the time I crawled into our tent, the crescent moon had set and the sky was packed with stars, so close you felt you could fling out a net and catch them like fish.

Dad was still up chewing the fat with Roger and Willie by the dying fire. I wondered, with a pang, what Lisa and Cassidy were doing. They were always giving each other a hard time, but I guessed it was just a kind of flirting, really. I wished I had an easier way with girls. With Lisa, at least.

I closed my eyes, and Lisa’s image burned a hole in my mind.

I fell asleep listening to the distant sound of waves. Again, I dreamed about the fishing boat, and the man with the wolf eyes coming for me. There was something familiar about him. I finally realized, in the dream, that he reminded me of Cassidy, only thirty years older and thirty pounds heavier.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I woke at dawn to the sound of gunshots thundering and echoing between the islands, cracking the morning wide open. Dad and I sat bolt upright in our sleeping bags.

NEXT WEEK: “Gooey Duck” divers