Earthquake Terror (12 page)

The water brushed her chin. For a moment she panicked, feeling the water surround her. I want Mommy! she thought, but she knew Mommy wasn’t there. No one could save her except herself.

She tipped her head back so her face was toward the sky; her hair floated on the water. She remained motionless on her hands with her body stretched out for a long moment, slowly believing that the water was not going to hurt her.

She took a big breath and held it. Eyes closed, she bent her arms until her elbows touched bottom. As the water swirled over her head, Abby crawled forward. Right arm, left arm, right. Her legs dragged behind her across the gravelly river bottom.

She straightened her arms and put her head up for air. The water level was below her shoulders. When she bent her
arms and began to crawl again, her head stayed above water.

She moved her right arm forward, and then her left. The gravel scraped her skin, but she could do it! She could crawl out of the river!

“Watch me!” she wanted to shout. “Mommy! Daddy! Look at me!” She did not shout, because there was no one to hear her, but the thrill of accomplishment propelled her forward, even without an appreciative audience.

Right arm. Left arm. Just like the Marines. Abby crawled triumphantly out of the river and lay, panting, on the shore.

She was too cold to rest. She longed to be home, wrapped in the patchwork quilt that always lay on the end of the sofa. She wanted Daddy to pick her up in his strong arms and carry her to the sofa. She wanted Mommy to tuck the quilt around her and hand her a cup of steaming cocoa. She wanted Jonathan to sit beside her and read her a story—one of her favorites like
Go, Dog, Go
or
Martha Speaks.

Wearily, Abby forced herself back up on her forearms and dragged herself across the shore toward the dark cabin.

When she got there, she pounded on the door with her fist. There was no answer. She was not surprised, since there were no lights on inside. She really didn’t care if there were people here or not. All she wanted was a warm, dry place to sleep.

She stretched her arm up, barely able to reach the doorknob. She tried to turn it.

The door was locked.

Abby huddled beside the empty cabin. “Mommy!” she yelled.

She listened, hearing the slap, slap of the river licking the shore. She did not call again.

Her stomach growled. I want toast, Abby thought, and some applesauce, and my chocolate cupcake. Jonathan promised I could have cupcakes.

She shivered again, her teeth chattering.

Maybe the cabin had a back door that was unlocked. Slowly, she crawled to the corner of the cabin, turned, and made her way along the side of the building. The ground was covered with pebbles; her arms hurt when she leaned on them and her legs, dragging behind, got more scrapes.

There was no back door.

Frustrated, exhausted, and scared, Abby curled into a tight little ball, as close to the cabin as she could get, and fell asleep.

F
ive miles downstream from the old fishing pier, the icy water surrounded Jonathan, pushing him down as it chilled his body. Unconscious, he sank slowly.

Moose swam steadily nearby. As the water washed over the boy, the dog changed direction. Instead of continuing north, toward shore, he turned and swam east, straight against the current.

He kept his muzzle pointed up and paddled hard, forcing his head into the air. He looked toward where Jonathan had been. He saw only the river, rushing relentlessly toward him.

The dog dived under the surface. Nose down, he searched the water for his friend.

Jonathan dropped, unresisting, toward the bottom of the
river. His arms and legs hung down and his eyes were closed.

Moose saw the boy beneath him and dove deeper. He clamped his jaws on Jonathan’s shoulder, sinking his teeth through Jonathan’s T-shirt and into the boy’s flesh, just far enough to get a good grip. Then, using every bit of strength he had, he swam upward, pulling the boy toward the surface.

Pain shot through Moose’s chest as he went too long without air. He struggled on, his neck aching from the weight he dragged.

He did not make it. The boy was too heavy for the dog. Moose had to let go or be sucked under himself. He opened his mouth and released Jonathan.

The boy started to sink again.

Moose pointed his muzzle up, inhaling deeply when he burst above the surface. As soon as he had air, he dived under again. This time he swam deeper, until he was below Jonathan.

When he was completely under the boy, Moose swam upward. His head hit Jonathan’s chest. Moose pushed, paddling furiously. He moved his paws as if he were climbing a ladder, and forced Jonathan’s body up until Jonathan’s head broke the surface. Jonathan gasped instinctively, gulping air. He choked and coughed as the oxygen rushed into his lungs, but he did not regain consciousness.

Moose swam out from under Jonathan, filling his own lungs with air.

Without the dog beneath him, holding him up, Jonathan’s head splashed back into the river.

As the boy sank for the second time, Moose dove under
again. He swam beneath Jonathan, placed the top of his head on Jonathan’s chest, and again pushed up. Swimming frantically, he forced the boy’s head toward air.

They didn’t have as far to go the second time. Jonathan surfaced before Moose was completely out of breath.

Again, the boy inhaled.

With Jonathan’s face out of the water, Moose brought his own nose into the air, filling his lungs quickly. Immediately, the boy’s face plunged forward into the river again.

The dog swam on, diving under every few seconds, and shoving his head against Jonathan’s chest, forcing the boy’s head back above water.

Each time he had his head under Jonathan, Moose faced north. As Jonathan surfaced, he was propelled forward, toward shore.

Each time Jonathan’s head emerged from the river, he choked. He coughed and sputtered, swallowing large gulps of river water.

When Moose pushed him above the surface for the fifth time, Jonathan coughed again and opened his eyes. He felt something solid beneath his breastbone. Something was under him, shoving him up.

This time, Jonathan lifted his head unaided, gasping for air. His arms thrashed wildly, pushing at the river.

The pressure left Jonathan’s chest and Moose’s head popped above the surface a few feet from Jonathan’s face. Jonathan realized Moose had been under him, pushing him out of the water.

Jonathan bent his knees and pushed, kicking his legs like
a frog. His toes tingled, as if his feet had fallen asleep from being in the same position too long. Jonathan kicked harder; the blood began to circulate again in his legs.

He raised one arm over his head and stroked toward shore. As the other arm came up, he quit frog-kicking and began to flutter his feet, settling into a steady swimmer’s crawl.

Moose dog-paddled beside him, his snout pointed straight ahead, as if knowing the crisis was over for now.

Jonathan’s chest hurt. River water streamed from his nose, and his head pounded with a dull aching throb. Even without touching it, he knew there was a large bump on his head. Several times he coughed hard, expelling water, but he kept swimming.

When he could breath evenly again, without coughing, Jonathan treaded water for a moment and looked toward shore. Land was still a long way off, and he was tired. Tired and cold.

I won’t give up, Jonathan thought, as he began swimming again. I’ll keep trying as long as there’s breath in my body.

He didn’t know if he would make it or not, but he did know one thing. He knew one thing for certain.

Moose had saved his life.

A
bby woke crying. Her legs hurt. Her back ached. Her damp clothes clung to her shivering body, and her stomach
grumbled. It took several seconds to realize where she was. When she knew, she cried harder.

Until now, the worst days of Abby’s life had been her regular visits to Children’s Hospital. She hated the needle they always stuck in her arm, to withdraw blood, and all the strangers in white coats moving her legs and giving her orders. Bend your knees, roll over. Do this. Do that.

But this, Abby decided, was even worse than the hospital. At the hospital, at least they fed her. Now she was so hungry she would even eat cooked carrots without gagging.

Abby rubbed the tears from her cheeks and shifted position, trying to get comfortable. She wanted to go home, and sleep in her own bed. She wished Mommy and Daddy would hurry up and come and take her home.

The horrible truth suddenly occurred to her: Mommy and Daddy can’t come and get me because they don’t know where I am. They think I’m in the camper and when I’m not there, they won’t know where to look for me. No one knows where to look for me. Not even Jonathan.

Abby lay still, absorbing the knowledge that her whereabouts were unknown to the rest of the world.

I will have to help myself, Abby decided. But how? Without her walker, there was no hope that she could make it to a town.

Maybe she should have done what Jonathan told her to do, and stayed on her Charlotte boat. Maybe she should crawl back to the river and look for her boat and try to get back on it.

If Jonathan sent someone to help her, they would be looking for her on the tree, in the water. They wouldn’t look behind this empty cabin.

The thought of going back into the cold, dark river made Abby shudder. What if she didn’t make it to her boat? What if the water went over her head before she found something to hang on to?

She decided to wait until daylight. If no one had found her at the cabin by morning, she would return to the river. She would crawl into the cold, dark water and look for her Charlotte boat.

A
National Guard helicopter rose at dawn and headed south, toward the Tuscan River. A pilot and two medics were on board.

As they neared the river, they saw total destruction below them. Great crevices had opened in the Earth’s surface. Half the cars on a freight train had been knocked off the tracks and lay with their bellies in the air, like helpless turtles.

“This is a wild goose chase,” the pilot said.

“We agree,” one of the medics replied. “But we need to go. If we don’t, one of us will have to tell Mr. Palmer that we didn’t bother to look for his kids.”

“You have to feel for that guy,” the second medic said. “I can’t imagine losing one of my kids, much less both of
them at the same time. I wonder how his wife is taking it.”

“There’s the bridge,” the pilot said. “What’s left of it.”

The medics looked down where Magpie Island used to be, and shook their heads. Below them, they saw only the rushing water of the Tuscan River.

“I expected the tops of trees would still stick out of the water,” the pilot said.

“Maybe any trees still standing after the earthquake were washed out by the river. That water is moving.”

They continued to look down. Uprooted trees, a telephone pole, and the shingled roof of a small shed floated in the water behind the downed section of the bridge, trapped against the steel girder that now angled into the river.

The Tuscan had flooded farther upstream, too, washing out several homes. A child’s wooden swingset, with the slide pointing straight up, floated past the broken Magpie Island bridge.