Page 87 of Instant Karma

Sometimes it doesn’t end well—for the animal or for the people.

“Get back!” I yell, my heels kicking up sand. My cry startles everyone who has gathered around the animal. A sea lion, I can see now. My breaths are ragged, but my mind is suddenly full with the sight of the creature. It’s just like Quint’s photos, and now I can tell the difference between an animal that is healthy and strong, and one that’s dehydrated and starving and probably on the brink of death. I think something might be wrong with its eyes. They seem cloudy and there’s some thick yellowish liquid beneath one. Its body is quivering as I approach.

“Is it dead?” asks a little girl, getting ready to prod it with a stick.

I snatch the stick out of her hand and she makes an outraged sound, but I ignore her. “I’m with the sea animal rescue center,” I say, pointing to the logo on my yellow shirt. Immediately, I have authority. I have the respect of everyone around. Suddenly, I’m the expert in this situation, and I can see relief in some of the parents’ eyes when they realize that someone else has assumed responsibility.

At which point, I freeze.

Now what do I do?

Quint,my mind eagerly supplies.Quint will know what to do.

My arms are still outstretched, standing in front of the sea lion like a protective… mama… lioness? Egad, I don’t even have the right vocabulary for this situation. Pureeing fish guts all day doesn’t lend itself to a full bank of knowledge about these animals, after all.

“Don’t touch him,” I say to the crowd, all the while scanning the beach for signs of Quint. But it’s so crowded. He could be anywhere.

“It’s a boy?” someone asks, to which someone else replies, “How can you tell?”

“I can’t—I don’t know. But I do know that, while these aren’t violent animals, they can lash out when they’re scared. Please, just back up. Give him some space.”

No one argues.

I spot a lifeguard stand, and I remember that part of the local lifeguard training involves knowing how to handle beached animals. Sometimes they even have kennels kept in their storage units for animals that need to be taken in for rehabilitation.

“You!” I point the stolen stick at the girl who had wanted to poke the sea lion with it. She jumps back a foot, her eyes wide. “You’re in charge. Keep everyone back at least ten feet, okay?”

Her expression brightens, then floods with a sense of duty. It’s the same expression Penny gets when she’s charged with an important task. The girl gives me a determined nod.

I hand the stick back to her and turn to her mom. “I’m going to see if that lifeguard can help us. Can you call the rescue center? They can send a truck to come get it.” I wait until she’s started to dial the number that’s printed on the back of my shirt before I take off running again. My legs are aching and my side starts to get a stitch, but soon I’m standing at the base of the lifeguard chair.

It’s empty.

“What the heck?” I roar. Are they even allowed to leave their posts? It takes another few seconds of scanning the beach, seconds that feel like hours, before I notice the signature white tank top and bright red shorts. The lifeguard isnear the surf, yelling at a couple kids who have swum out past the buoys. I race over to him. “I need help!”

He looks up, startled, and I’m surprised to recognize a senior from school, though I don’t know his name. “There’s a beached sea lion,” I say, pointing. “It needs to be taken to the animal rescue center. Do you have a kennel?”

His eyes dart past me, but we can’t see the animal from where we are. The crowd around it has gotten too thick. I really hope that kid is doing a good job of keeping everyone at bay.

He looks back to check that the kids in the water have started swimming back toward the shore, then nods at me. “I’ll be right there. Don’t let anyone touch it.”

I scoff and point to the logo on my T-shirt again. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

The first thing I notice when I get back to the sea lion is that its eyes are closed. Terror crashes into me.Is it dead?

“I didn’t let anyone touch it,” the little girl says, still gripping the stick like a warrior.

“Here!” her mom shouts, shoving her cell phone under my nose. “They want to talk to you.”

I take the phone. Sweat is dripping down the back of my neck. I crouch down a couple of feet away from the sea lion, relieved when its eyes flicker open, still cloudy. It’s probably my imagination, but it feels like the animal is happy to see me again.

“Hello?” I say into the phone, my voice strained.

“Prudence?” It’s Rosa.

“Yeah. Hi. There’s a sea lion washed up on the beach, just north of—”

“I know, I know,” says Rosa. “Listen. There’s no way a recovery vehicle can get in there. With the traffic going into downtown right now, it would take hours.”

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