Hard Tide

7. Ari

CHAPTER 7

ARI

Today, I was counting nurdles. Yes, nurdles. Those tiny little plastic pellets that Torres had spat across the beach the first day I’d seen him. Erin had been right—there were trillions of the damn things.

Three days ago, I’d signed up to assist with the Say No to Nurdles! campaign, a project run by the California-based Making Waves Initiative. They were trying to build up a global picture of nurdle pollution, and anyone could volunteer to count the pellets and submit their data online. I hated those little plastic bastards already, and I hadn’t even swallowed any. Worse, they tended to congregate below the high-tide line, so I had to sit on damp sand rather than finding myself a nice dry spot farther up the beach. Mental note: buy a waterproof cushion.

One, two, three, four…

The campaign website asked counters to measure out a one-metre-by-one-metre square—the campaign was international, so metric measurements were used—then mark the corners with pegs and the sides with string wound around the pegs. Super-keen participants could buy a set of Say No to Nurdles! pegs with tiny flags on the top—all profits went toward the project’s costs—but I was using pencils I’d found in the general store. Once you’d measured your square, you had to note its location using latitude and longitude or the What3Words app—the website gave handy guides on both—and then you got counting. Branded notepads were available too. Once you’d either counted all the nurdles in your square or died of boredom, whichever came first, you recorded the numbers on the website. An app was coming soon, apparently.

Rinse and repeat.

Yawn.

But Torres was a supporter of the campaign—I’d found an old post on his i********: page extolling the benefits of counting nurdles because “only by truly understanding the problem can we pressure plastics manufacturers to stop polluting our oceans.” So he could hardly criticise my presence.

The beach was almost empty today, possibly because the weather was miserable. I’d felt several spots of rain when I first arrived, but it had dried up temporarily, and now the clouds were just menacingly grey. Torres was with his buddies again today—Peralta and Kealoha—plus a couple of other guys I didn’t recognise. I’d dutifully taken pictures of them all. If the Twilight team identified them, would they feed the names back to me? Lila had been vague on the flow of information. My task was narrowly defined, and it seemed that she worked within a rigid set of rules. Probably lived by them too. I’d met her three times before I left Vegas, and although she’d been polite, she seemed to have a stick permanently stuck up her ass. Or, more likely, an Apple Pencil. She struck me as the efficient type. And even if the information was meant to be provided, it wouldn’t surprise me if Jankowski held it back out of spite.

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…

Torres paddled in the distance, gesturing to Peralta. Discussing whose turn it was next? Apparently, there was a whole lot of etiquette about who got to catch a wave, and I didn’t understand any of it. In the end, Peralta went first and did some fancy tricks that included getting airborne before gliding onto the beach to a smattering of applause from the few groupies who’d braved the inclement weather. The usual suspects—a big-breasted blonde who seemed determined to share her assets with the world, a brunette who had more energy than decorum, and an obviously fake redhead. I’d seen them all outside Haven’s Rest at various points. Didn’t they have homes to go to? Jobs?

Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight.

At the far end of the beach, a family played in the sand near the water’s edge, building a sandcastle. Mom and two kids, a girl Haven’s age and a younger boy. It should have been a happy day, but the mom didn’t look pleased to be there. Twice, I’d seen her on the phone, pacing up and down as she argued with someone, and occasionally, a few words drifted in my direction. You promised you’d be here. What am I meant to tell Bennie and Shiloh? I wondered who’d skipped out. The kids’ father? Asshole. One day, hopefully a sunnier one, I’d take Haven to the beach, but Maxwell Suker definitely wouldn’t factor into that plan.

Fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five…

Hell, these nurdles were a real problem, weren’t they?

A man bundled up in a coat walked a dog close by. The dog carried a stick in its mouth and did absolutely nothing that it was told. At one point, it ran up to the groupies and shook water over them—a bright spot in an otherwise dull day. Poppy, come back. Now the mutt was in the sea, paddling frantically toward the surfers, her head bobbing among the white foam. Torres finally caught a wave, and I watched as he swerved across the face of it before ending up at the front of the board with his toes hanging over the edge. Was that intentional, or was he having balance issues? No, he’d done it on purpose. He waved at the groupies as he hopped off the board onto the sand.

Dammit, I’d lost count.

Fortunately, I’d piled the nurdles into a small mound, so it wasn’t difficult to start again, but I still cursed under my breath for getting distracted. Torres was just a pretty body stuffed into a wetsuit. A wetsuit that clung to every muscle, and those thighs… s**t!

One, two, three…

Dunes topped with grass bordered the beach—probably how Seagrass Point got its name—and a teenage boy flew a kite with a younger girl. Brother and sister? The kite was shaped like a butterfly with streamers fluttering out of its ass, and the girl squealed in delight as it swooped and turned. The boy handed the strings over to her, and she promptly crashed it into the sand. Oh well.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…

Torres was already paddling out for another try, and today, his wetsuit was neon orange. Didn’t he know how to do subtle? Even out of the water, he tended to choose bright colours. The complete opposite of my fashion choices—I went for bland, dull clothing to blend into the background. But Haven would love one of those funky shirts they sold in the surf store. I’d have to find the time to pick one up before I headed home. Plus a gift for Nana too, because she’d certainly earned it.

Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty—

Who had screamed? My gaze darted toward the girl with the kite, but she was happily skipping along behind her brother. The groupies? No, they were clustered around a phone, probably watching a Zach Torres replay. And the scream had been one of fear, not excitement. The surfers were all accounted for, no accidents or spills, and Poppy the dog was wrestling with a lump of seaweed. Which left the mom and two kids, but where were they? The lumpy sandcastle showed where they’d been, one turret collapsed and a bucket and spade abandoned in the sand.

Then I saw it.

A hand.

In the water.

And I ran.

Where the hell was the mom? And the other kid? I scanned the beach, but they were nowhere in sight.

“Help! Help me!”

Could anyone hear? The wind whipped my words away, and the groupies were screeching again. My heart hammered as I sprinted across the beach, too terrified of a kid drowning to be scared of the water. Call it immersion therapy. Quite literally. With nobody else around, I had no choice but to get my feet wet.

All around, the surf boiled white, but the spot where I’d last seen the child was calmer than the surrounding water. Perhaps I could just wade out a little way? How deep was it? I stuck a toe in, sweat trickling down my brow and mingling with the salty spray.

There! The child spluttered to the surface, farther out this time, and I saw it was the girl. She tried to yell but swallowed a mouthful of water and went under again.

“It’s okay, I’m coming. Help! Somebody help us!”

The ocean was lapping around my knees now, and the next wave nearly knocked me off my feet. Ouch! I yelped as I stubbed my toe on a submerged rock. Sheer determination kept me upright, and I began to float as I waded forward. s**t, s**t, s**t!

“Help!”

The girl flailed again, and I dove forward. You can do this, Ari. When I fell into the lake, I’d been a child, but I was bigger now. Stronger. If Poppy could do the doggy paddle, then surely I could manage it too? I tried and went under, the water stinging as it rushed up my nose. Gasping, I flailed frantically as I popped to the surface and sucked in a breath. How did I get so far from the beach?

Something hit my thigh, and I was about to freak out when I realised it was the child. I grabbed for her and caught an arm, then hung on for dear life, hers and mine. I couldn’t scream for help anymore. A wave broke over my head and I choked, trying for one last lungful of air before I sank under again. My nightmares came to life as I kicked with my legs, but I didn’t know which way was up. Was I pushing us to the surface or down into Neptune’s grasp?

I caught sight of the girl’s face, her eyes open, blonde hair floating in the water. Was she already gone? She was a dead weight, but still I refused to let her go. My vision blurred, and her face morphed into Haven’s. I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t.

Finally, finally, my head broke the surface, but I only had time to gulp one mouthful of air before I submerged again. The beach was so far away now. I spotted figures at the water’s edge, but it was too late. Too late…

My energy was ebbing fast, my lungs burning. The current pulled me down, and a strange sense of calm washed over me. I couldn’t fight the ocean; I knew that now. So why even try?

The last thing I felt before everything went dark was a band tightening around my chest, squeezing, squeezing. Neptune? Damn, he was strong.

I closed my eyes and let him take me.