Free Hunting the Dragon by Peter Dixon Page A

flapped ineffectually as the little dolphin tried to surmount the net. Then Billy twisted out of Rocha’s grip and dove off the skiff.
    In three strokes he was at the pup’s side and hurling the small dolphin over the corkline. He turned to help the mother, but she dove away from him and down the curtain of mesh. Billy peered underwater. In the cauldron of darting tuna and sprinting dolphins he saw the vague outline of the mother in the net. She had jammed a pectoral fin in the webbing and was hanging there seemingly lifeless, as if she had given up the fight to escape. He clawed down the net after her. She was deep and his ears felt the pain of pressure. He pulled apart the nylon strands holding her fin and shoved the dolphin upward. For a moment she drifted, then with a beat of her fluke she shot for the surface to breathe. Billy’s need of air was so great he feared he’d black out before making it to the surface.
    He burst out of the water beside the dolphin and attempted to shove her out of the net. She was too big and heavy. Billy pushed down on the corkline and then slid a shoulder under the dolphin. “Go on! Your pup’s out there!”
    With a knee on the corkline he was able to drop the net and at the same time partly lift the dolphin. That was enough to encourage the mother. With a wild beating of her tail, the dolphin escaped the net and swam to her pup.
    Billy was exhausted. He treaded water trying to catch his breath and glanced at Lucky Dragon . A flash of reflected light caught his attention and he saw the captain peering at him through binoculars.
    Something brushed against his shoulder and Billy spun in fright to see a small female dolphin attempting to wriggle over the net. He called to her, “Come on, jump!”
    She ceased her struggle and looked at Billy. He was struck by the liquid purity of her eyes. Was she asking for help? He bore down with all his weight on the corkline, sinking it a few inches. The dolphin seemed to understand. Without the slightest hesitation, she wriggled over the barrier. Turning toward Billy, she paused to stare at him. He heard the familiar chattering clicks as she sounded on him, and he reached out to touch her. His movement sent the dolphin leaping away and she fled across the water. He stared at her until Rocha’s cry snapped him back. “Billy! Shark!”
    He saw the boatman waving frantically for him. Driven by terror, Billy sprinted for the skiff. In seconds he was muscling over the gunwale. Billy stood and looked down. The jaws of a six-foot mako were savaging one of the dolphins trapped in the net. Blood gushed, staining the water, drawing more sharks, and they slashed at the dolphin in a brutal feeding frenzy. Billy felt a surge of rage that dominated reason. He wanted to grab a gun or harpoon, or something deadly, and kill the sharks taking the lives of the dolphins. He turned to Rocha and fought for words to express his feelings. All he could say was “Why?”
    The boatman shrugged and turned away to start the engine. Without looking at Billy, he spun the wheel and started back for the clipper. As they floated alongside the clipper, Rocha said, “Now we gotta help unload the net. And Billy, be cool.”
    They tied off the skiff and climbed a boarding ladder hanging off the aft deck. Halfway up, a loud splash turned Billy’s attention to the water. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a dolphin landing in the sea. It was dead and badly mangled. Moments later a shark lunged out of the water and in a single bite devoured half of the dolphin. Billy felt sickened and dizzy. He clung to a rung and fought to keep from throwing up.
    Rocha reached for him, pulled Billy over the railing, and led him along the deck. Where the net came cascading down from the power block, a dozen fisherman worked furiously untangling tuna and dolphins from the red nylon webbing.
    Dead or alive, the dolphin were untangled and cast over the side to the waiting sharks. The old fisherman from