Page 5 of When We Are Falling
He walks away and I watch him for a few moments, processing the news, my chest tight. The immediate impact on our business and the long-term damage to the local ecosystem could be bad. Really bad.
Liam steps closer, his usual cheerful demeanor gone. “What are we going to do?”
“Let’s go inside and see if we can get any more details about what’s happened. We’ll need to call our clients and cancel today’s trips, at the very least. Then we’re going to help with the cleanup. I’m sure Patrick’s already been in contact with the mayor. He’ll call a meeting of the Valiant Hearts soon enough.”
Patrick is the fire chief here in Harbor’s Edge, and generally considers himself the leader of our little volunteer disaster relief group, the Valiant Hearts, created in Danny’s honor. I just let him get on with it. I’m not going to start butting heads with the guy over who gets to be the big shot. He’s got his thing, and I’ve got mine.
After checking the radio and relevant government websites and socials, which have nothing but bad news, and taking care of our bookings for the day, I turn to Liam, a grim determination settling over me. “We need to see this for ourselves. Let’s take the boat out.”
“Agreed. It’s not going to be pretty, but we need to know what we’re dealing with.”
Soon enough, we’re on theFreedom, heading toward the site of the spill, Bandit sitting on the deck with a mournful expression. The further out we go, the more the air changes, the salty freshness of the ocean replaced by an acrid smell, the pristine waters around Harbor’s Edge marred by slicks of oil, black and viscous, spreading like a plague across the surface.
I grip the wheel tightly, scanning the horizon. The sight of seabirds struggling in the water, their feathers coated in oil, makes my stomach churn. We pass by patches of oil washing up on beaches, staining the sand with a dark, ugly smear, locals already gathering to see the disaster unfold.
“This is worse than I was thinking.” Liam shakes his head. “I knew it was going to be bad, but seeing it up close…”
I know what he means. This is our home, our livelihood, and it’s being damaged right before our eyes.
“Damn it.” Slamming my fists into the wheel. “This is going to affect everything. The wildlife, tourists, our business.”
Fuck. The cleanup effort is going to be long and difficult. Not what we need heading into peak tourist season. We turn the boat around and head back toward the marina, a deep sense of frustration tightening the muscles in my neck and shoulders. We’re halfway back when Bandit barks excitedly at the bow, his nose sniffing the air.
“What is it, boy?”
Bandit barks again, more urgently this time. I slow the boat, following his gaze, and spot a small seabird struggling near the boat, its feathers slick with oil. It’s a Common Tern, and if we don’t help it, it’s going to die.
“We can’t save them all, but we can help that little fella.” I grab a long net with an extendable handle that we use for our fishing charters.
Liam moves to help, grabbing my arm while I reach out with the net. The bird flaps weakly, clearly exhausted, but I manage to scoop it up, and Liam helps me bring it aboard.
“Easy there, buddy.” I strip off my T-shirt and wrap the bird in it to keep it calm and contained. It’s a younger bird, small and delicate, its once white and gray wing feathers coated in a sticky, black mess. The bird’s eyes beneath its partial black cap are wide and frightened, and it shivers slightly.
Bandit watches, eyes wide, but he makes no move to interfere with the bird. Dogs are the best, and Bandit’s the Best of the Best.
“We need to get it to the marina and try to clean it.” Liam’s voice is grim.
We head back, the engine roaring as we speed toward the docks. Once we’re berthed and on dry land, Liam quickly looksup what to do on his phone. “We need a sink or bucket and some dishwashing soap. Dawn is best.”
“The admin office is closed.” I peer through the dark windows, the bird held to my chest. “The guys are probably at the mayor’s office, asking what the hell is going on and when it’s going to be fixed.”
“Let’s take it to the Tavern. Blake will have what we need.”
Bandit runs beside us as I carry the bird to the bar, and we wait outside while Liam goes in. A few minutes later, he returns with Blake, carrying a bucket of warm water. She’s got a bottle of Dawn dish soap in her hands, a concerned expression on her face.
We set up on the boardwalk, and Blake carefully pours in the soap, our hands touching as we handle the fragile bird. I glance at her, the green of her eyes gripping me, not letting go. “Hold it steady.”
“Got it,” she replies.
The bird should be thrashing and biting. Any healthy tern would give us a run for our money, but this one’s all tuckered out and barely lifts its head to acknowledge us.
Together, we gently wash the oil from the bird’s feathers, the water turning black as the soap cuts through the grime. I’m acutely aware of Blake’s presence beside me, the warmth of her shoulder against mine.
“You’re almost done. Well done, guys.” Liam is crouched beside us, watching the clean up process, Bandit by his side, eyes just as round as they were on the boat.
We work for a few more minutes until the last of the oil is gone. The bird looks up at us, cleaner and calmer now, and I stroke the black feathers on his head before picking it up. “You’re going to be okay, little guy.”
Blake meets my gaze, her eyes softening. “You guys did good.”