Storms

‘You pamper that girl,’ said Dad.

The phone rang in the hall. It hadn’t rung three times before Hannah answered.

‘Hannah Lancaster? This is Steve.’ She could barely make out his voice through the crackle and shrieking wind. She put a finger in her other ear.

‘Our people are down here now,’ he said. ‘Sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve come off the beach to get a signal.’

‘Oh. Right. Great. I’m coming down.’

‘You haven’t told anyone about this, have you?’

‘No. Why?’

‘We don’t want crowds – they get in the way. We need to keep the media away too, as long as possible.’

‘I’m coming down. I can help,’ she said.

‘We have all the help we need. But if you want to come and watch …’ Steve’s voice drowned in white noise. ‘You’re breaking up …’

‘How are the whales?’ The line was dead.

‘Is everything okay?’ said Dad. He was right beside her. So was Mum.

Hannah dodged past them, grabbed the bucket, shoved the blankets and notebook and camera inside it, and left.

‘Wait,’ Dad shouted through the open door, holding Beano by the collar. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

Hannah (#ulink_9597e435-2ddc-5324-9d95-e8e0b5c4e73d)

HANNAH STOPPED RUNNING and stood on the sand, watching.

The whales were the same. Limp, giant statues. The sea had retreated to mid-tide, as though it had dumped the whales and run off, leaving them to die.

The rain had stopped. Two girls in hi-vis orange jackets stood inside a fence of yellow netting that had been erected round the whales. Outside the cordon, a small crowd watched as rescuers in waterproofs poured buckets of seawater on to blankets and towels that had been laid over the whales’ bodies.

Hannah counted. Three with towels and blankets draped over them, and four without. That meant three alive, four dead.

Little One was one of the three. Hannah’s heart sang. She ran to the cordon and dropped her bucket, ready to climb over, to go and see the young whale. But a young woman stepped in front of her.

‘Sorry, Miss. Marine-rescue team only.’

‘I’ve done training, I’m not qualified yet, but … is Steve here?’

The girl pointed. Steve stood behind the whales talking into a brick of a radio phone. Hannah waved. He gave her a quick smile. Hannah looked at Little One. The whale’s head moved, slightly, its eye rolling around, and – she was certain – seeing her. Its tail lifted and dropped. The whale moaned. A low cry of despair that reached inside Hannah and tore at her heart.

She stepped towards the fence, ready to climb over.

‘Hannah,’ said Steve, walking over.

‘What’s going to happen?’ she said.

‘We don’t know yet,’ said Steve. His face was pale, his forehead creased with stress.

‘Can I come in? I want to see the young one. When I found them I knew they weren’t all dead, because she cried out to me.’

‘You understand how this works, right? How serious this is.’

She did. She understood too well.

An older, serious-looking man was examining the whales. He had a stethoscope and a large oilskin case. He was a vet at a stranding, there to sort the living from the dead, the healthy from the sick, the ones that had hope from the ones that didn’t. Inside the bag would be vials, some full of vitamins and minerals, others loaded with poison ready to be injected.

Hannah swallowed hard. She wanted to be a marine biologist. She’d see plenty of dead, and dying, whales in years to come. She had to get used to it.

Steve got close, so no one would overhear. In the low tone of a doctor delivering bad news he said, ‘That animal is not in good shape. Even if we refloat it, it won’t leave its mother, who is dead. And if it did, it wouldn’t survive out there,’ he pointed at the raging sea.

‘No. No … you can’t.’ Hannah wanted to be strong, but she felt like the wind might knock her over.

Steve shook his head. ‘We’re set up for seals and dolphins. We don’t have refloat equipment for whales. If the tide is high enough in the next day or so, we might be able to dig a channel, and get the healthy adults out. But the highest spring tide is what deposited them here …’ He shrugged. ‘Emotion can’t get in the way. We’ll do what we can, but in the end putting these whales down may be the kindest thing we can do.’ He looked deep into her eyes. To see if she got it. To see if she’d be a pain about this.

‘That’s it, is it?’ she said, looking past him, at Little One She felt anger rising like a tidal surge. ‘Dig a ditch, see if the whales swim out, and if they don’t, kill them?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ said Steve, through his teeth.

‘Why? You don’t want people knowing the truth?’

‘Hannah, sweetheart,’ Dad appeared at her side, getting a hold on her arm, trying to pull her away.

She twisted her arm out of his grip. ‘Don’t “sweetheart” me, Dad.’ She turned back to Steve.

‘You don’t have the equipment, right?’

‘No.’

‘Who does?’

‘Sorry?’ He gasped, exasperated by her naivety. He waved at one of his team and held a finger up. A sign: One minute. Soon as I get rid of this girl.

Hannah leant over the fencing and poked him in the chest.

‘There’s a team in Massachusetts, north-east USA, who rescue stranded pilot whales all the time. Their pontoons will be big enough for the smaller orcas. Get them.’

‘Get them from America? You have no idea …’

‘Get their equipment too.’

‘That would take days and cost thousands.’

‘How long can we keep these whales alive?’