Chapter 2

Rachel took one look at the layer of chicken poo that was coating on the bed of the truck and said, "Uh-uh. See you guys when we get there." She squeezed in the front between my mom and dad. Me, Marco, and Jake hopped in the back.

Marco squatted like he didn't want any part of his body except the soles of his shoes to touch anything. "Two things, Cassie. What is all this crap back here? And second...if it is crap, don't tell me."

I smiled. "At least its dry."

Jake ignored Marco's gagging noises and smiled back at me as the truck bounced out onto the road and Tobias followed overhead. "So Cassie, why is this such a big deal?" he asked. He wasn't being a smart alec, he was honestly curious.

"Well, like I said, mantas don't just beach themselves. They just don't. They don't even go into shallow water unless they absolutely have to, like if there's a food shortage or they need to visit a cleaning station."

"Cleaning station?" Marco asked.

"Yeah. Wrasses and other little fish will eat the parasites off of a manta if it shows up at the right place. The manta gets cleaned up and the cleaners get fed." I couldn't keep from grinning as I explained it - that sort of symbiosis was one of my favorite parts of nature. Two totally different species working together peacefully...it was beautiful to me, almost like poetry without using words.

Marco laughed. "Nice. The Manta Ray Car Wash. We wash, wax, and detail, all in under thirty minutes."

"Yeah," I laughed back. "But anyway, mantas are smart fish. They wouldn't beach themselves any more than a shark or a marlin would. So it doesn't make any sense."

Jake nodded thoughtfully. "You think its weird? Like, /weird/ weird?" I knew by the way he said it that he was continuing our earlier conversation about what the Yeerks might be up to.

Marco looked doubtful as the truck swung onto the access road that would bring us to the beach. "I know what you're getting at, but I don't see how. Or why."

Our truck stopped directly behind a news van, and the guy in it didn't like being blocked in. "You mind, guy?" he said nastily to my dad. "Some of us are working, here."

My mom handled it. "So are we. We're zoologists who might be able to help save that creature. You just want to take pictures. Which is more important?" she jogged onto the sand without waiting for an answer and we all followed.

"Dude, Cassie...your mom is so E.R. right now. I gotta save this manta's life, stat!" Marco joked.

Rachel agreed. "Cassie's mom only gets excited over two things - an animal in trouble and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream."

"Aw, we're not even going to be able to see it," Jake complained as we saw the wall of bodies on the beach. The cops had shown up and were trying to hold everybody back...but like I said, a beached manta ray is not an everyday thing. People wanted to see.

Rachel had her hand shading her eyes, seaching the sky. "Come on, Tobias...where did he go? At least he could tell us what's happening."

I got as close as I could to the nearest cop and I waved and shouted. "We're interns with the vets at The Gardens," I told him. "We can help. Can you get us through?" I felt a little ashamed at how easily the lies were coming to me nowadays, but I smothered the feeling.

"All four of you?" he called back doubtfully.

"My mom already went through," I said impatiently, like I was in a big hurry and I didn't have time to waste with him. He thought about it for a second, shrugged, and waved us forward. He called out for people to make way, and we were able to shrug our way to the police sawhorses and beyond. "Thank you," I said to the cop distractedly as my brain tried to comprehend what my eyes were seeing.

"Wow," Marco said without any of his usual sarcasm. "That is one big old fish." Rachel just whistled.

The manta ray had managed to get himself several yards past the water line onto the beach. "He didn't just beach himself...he must have actually jumped. It doesn't make any sense!" I knew I kept repeating that, but I just couldn't believe it. I'd never in all my time seen an animal try to commit suicide...but that was exactly what it seemed this one did.

Not that the rescuers were making it easy for him to do that. Several volunteers had dug a trench leading straight to the weakly-flapping manta's gills. Two heavy-duty water pumps were pulling seawater from the ocean and rushing it down the trench, giving his gills plenty of oxygen. That was good, but even with the buckets of water the people were dumping all over its body, the manta's layer of protective mucous that covered its fine scales was already looking cracked and dry. "They have to get him into the water fast," I muttered.

"How?" Jake asked. He gestured, like that was all he needed to say. It was.

Twenty-five feet doesn't sound like an awful lot. But when you see that sort of size packed onto a living creature, it's pretty astounding. It's the length of five teenagers standing on top of each other. It's big. Trust me, it's really big. The base of its tail was almost twice as big around as a baseball bat. Its eyeballs were the size of tennis balls. Those eyes were afraid. People will tell you fish don't have the intelligence to feel fear, but looking into those eyes, I knew that was nonsense. The manta ray was terrified.

(Sorry I'm late,) Tobias called down. I looked up and saw two large birds sillouetted against the sun. (I stopped to get Ax; I thought it would be best, since we don't know what we're dealing with.)

My mom was one of the people pouring water over it and patting its head, right behind the modified fins that look like horns and gave the manta its nickname: devil ray. She saw us and waved us over. We all jogged to her side. Every step that brought me closer seemed to intensify the knowledge of just how enormous the fish in front of us was.

"We're going to try to slide it back into the water," my mom said, chewing her bottom lip like she does when she thinks something's a bad idea. "All of those hands pushing on it...it's going to damage the mucous membrane and probably some of the cartiledge. Its going to really hurt this poor guy. But we don't have any other choice. Some geniuses are talking about a crane and straps. I asked them if human hands are going to hurt it, what do they think nylon straps are going to do?"

"Michelle?" my dad called. He was talking to a group of large men he'd apparently drafted for help out of the crowd. "Where do you want us?"

"All in front," she called back. "Just stay as far away from the gills as you can, and make sure the wings are supported. If we tear any of its wing cartiledge, he's a goner."

As the guys got into position around the suffering ray, my mom turned to us. "This is going to hurt him, and he's going to thrash. I need you guys to try to hold the tail still. Gently, if you can." Marco looked at her like she was crazy and she saw it and smiled. "It's not a stingray, Marco. The worst it can do is whip somebody...which is why you four will be holding the tail. I hope you don't mind getting wet."

We all sort of nonchalantly looked to Jake, who just as nonchalantly nodded. We went around behind the ray and got our hands under its tail. Jake said in a low voice, "I know of a way we can keep him calm without holding the tail too tight. Okay?" He had a slight grin on his face.

As the big men started pushing on my mom's count of three, we all began to acquire the manta ray's DNA pattern.