Earthquake Terror (5 page)

When Abby hesitated, he added, “You can lick the tuna off the sandwich bag.”

Abby brightened. Her favorite treat was a chocolate cupcake but whenever she started licking the frosting or crumbs off the wrapper, Mrs. Palmer said it wasn’t polite to lick the wrapper, and made her stop.

Abby opened her sandwich bag, turned the bag inside out, and enthusiastically licked all the tuna salad off.

Jonathan broke his sandwich in two and gave one half to Moose.

“I’m sure that’s the only big oak tree we passed,” Jonathan said. “Our camper will be just beyond that. Once we get there, you don’t have to walk any more. And when Mom and Dad come, they’ll take us home and they’ll get you a brand new walker, even better than your other one.”

Abby opened her bag of broken cookies and started licking
the crumbs. “When we get to the camper, I’m going to take a little nap,” she said.

It was the first time he had ever heard his sister voluntarily suggest that she go to sleep. Usually, she insisted she wasn’t tired, even while she rubbed at her half-closed eyes.

“I’ll rest, too,” he said, “and listen to the ball game.” Maybe cheering for the Giants would keep his mind off the fact that he and Abby were alone in an isolated campground, and he had no clue how soon his parents would arrive to take them home.

When they finished eating, Jonathan said, “Let’s go, Abby.”

“No. I’m tired. I want to stay here.”

“After we get to the camper, you can rest as long as you want. You’ll be more comfortable on your bed than you are here, and you’ll have Raggedy to sleep with.”

When they got back to the camper, he would feel safe again. He would get out the first aid kit and put some disinfectant on Abby’s scrapes, and on his own scratched arms and legs. He could get Abby settled in her bed, lock the door, ice his knee, and wait for Dad to come for them.

“I’m thirsty,” Abby said.

“You can have a drink of water as soon as we reach the camper.”

“I don’t want water.”

“Milk, then.”

“I don’t want milk, either.”

“Okay. You can have whatever you want.” Jonathan was determined not to argue.

“What if I want coffee?” Abby said and then giggled. “What if I want a pineapple milk shake?”

“There’s no ice cream in the camper. I’ll make some lemonade.”

“You said I can have anything I want and I want a pineapple milk shake.”

He knew she was just being ornery. She loved lemonade. “You can have a pineapple milk shake when we get home. You can have three pineapple milk shakes, all in one day.”

“Okay. I’ll have lemonade now.”

Jonathan cleared more branches from what used to be the trail and hoisted Abby over yet another fallen tree. Moose clambered over, too.

“We’re almost there,” Jonathan said. “When we get to the oak tree, we curve to the right and our camper will be there waiting for us.”

“When we get there, can I have a chocolate cupcake?”

“Yes. And you can lick the wrapper all you want.”

Lemonade and chocolate cupcakes. Jonathan could imagine what his mother would think of such a snack. She always urged them to eat apples or bananas if they were hungry, and when they were thirsty, she suggested water or orange juice.

Well, this was an emergency and if sweet food would keep Abby happy until their parents returned, that’s what he would give her. He might have a chocolate cupcake himself. He might even lick the wrapper.

Near the oak tree, there were fewer branches down. The original trail was almost clear and Jonathan’s spirits rose. He
had
thought
they were going the right direction but now he was sure of it.

Anticipating the end of their struggle, he walked faster.

Moose ran forward until the leash was taut and then doubled back, as if urging them to hurry. Abby clutched Jonathan’s arm and managed to keep up with him. They followed the trail as it curved to the right. Around the bend, they stopped.

The trail was completely blocked by roots. An enormous redwood tree had been torn from the ground. Clumps of dirt clung to its roots, which stretched twenty feet across and twenty feet high. There was no way they could climb over this; they would have to go around it.

“Wait here,” Jonathan said. “I’ll find the best way for us to get around this tree.” He helped Abby sit on the ground and then, climbing through underbrush and fallen branches, he made his way around the huge root system. He wondered how many years the redwood had stood in this spot. He marveled that any force, even an earthquake, had been strong enough to uproot it.

He shoved through some huckleberry bushes, wishing that he had worn jeans instead of shorts, and long sleeves rather than a T-shirt.

Moose hung back, watching him.

“Stay,” Jonathan said. He let go of the leash, needing both hands free to push his way through the brush.

“Hurry!” Abby’s small voice sounded scared. He knew she didn’t like to be left alone.

“I am. I’m almost there.”

He reached the far side of the roots and looked ahead to see how far they were from the camper. A prickle of horror ran down the back of his neck and into his arms and legs.

The redwood tree had landed on their camper.

Bile rose in Jonathan’s throat. He swallowed fast, trying not to throw up. He stepped closer, staring at the wreckage.

The edge of one black tire stuck out from under the tree. The rest of the camper was flattened like an aluminum can in the recycling bin. Even with the camper underneath it, the tree was only a few inches off the ground.

Their supplies and equipment were smashed inside the camper. All the things he had counted on to help them while they waited to be rescued were gone. He and Abby had no food and no water. They had no beds, no extra clothing, no first aid kit.

Nothing.

Mentally, Jonathan walked through the camper, remembering the contents. Sleeping bags and pillows, my Yahtze game, long forks for roasting marshmallows, folding chairs to use around the campfire, Mom’s books, Dad’s wood carving tools, Abby’s doll, my radio, Moose’s basket.

My homework! Jonathan smiled. It would be the most unusual excuse ever for not turning in an assignment: “A huge redwood tree fell on top of my homework.”

How can I make jokes, Jonathan wondered, when I’ve just lost everything I need to survive this disaster? But he knew that if he didn’t joke about his homework, he would be hysterical with worry.

Moose plunged through the huckleberries and ran to the
camper. With his nose to the ground, he sniffed all the way along the side of the tree. Whining, he turned and sniffed all the way back again, the leash dragging behind him.

“It’s gone, Moose,” Jonathan said. “Everything’s gone, even your dog food.”

Jonathan picked up the leash. He patted Moose’s head. What am I going to do now? he wondered.

Jonathan wanted to run. He wanted to vault over the fallen trees and run like the wind and leave this shuddering, destructive, unpredictable piece of Earth far behind him.

Just me and Moose, Jonathan thought, closing his eyes. We could run across the bridge, run off the island, run to safety. We’ll run to town, find Mom and Dad, and never again think about a camper smashed in an earthquake.

“Jonathan?” Abby’s shout drifted over the redwood’s roots.

Jonathan opened his eyes, knowing he could not run.

“I’m coming,” he yelled.

“Did you find the camper?”

“Yes!”

He stared at a small strip of yellow awning that was visible along the trunk of the tree. Mom always said the awnings made the camper look cheerful, “like a clump of buttercups, blooming outside our windows.”

Yes, he thought. Yes, I found the camper. But it isn’t going to do us any good.

M
oose whined again.

Jonathan leaned against the tree trunk, wondering what to do. His head pounded, the scratches on his arms and legs stung, and every muscle in his body ached from the strain of lifting Abby over the fallen trees. He tried to figure out some kind of plan.

He knew he had to have a specific course of action in mind before he told Abby about the camper. Otherwise, she was sure to come unglued and, as tired as she was, she’d probably never stop crying. He felt like crying himself.

The thick redwood bark was cool against his back. He closed his eyes, pretending his parents were there to tell him what to do.

First things first, Dad always said. Decide what’s most important and then do that before you do anything else. Most important, Jonathan thought, was to get rescued but he didn’t know what he could do about that.

First things first. Food. Water. Shelter. Food wasn’t crucial yet, since they had just eaten and he still had the two smashed sandwiches that were meant to be his parents’ lunch.

Water
was
important. Abby was already asking for something to drink and his own mouth felt dry as dust. He thought of the gallon jugs of bottled water his dad had carefully packed in the camper.

“Probably more than we’ll need,” Dad had said, “but the worst thing that could happen would be to run out of water.”

Not the worst thing, Dad, Jonathan thought. The worst thing is to have an earthquake that smashes the entire camper, water jugs included. Jonathan licked his lips, tasting the salt of his perspiration.

He still had two juice packs, intended for his parents. I’ll save them as long as I can, he decided, in case we don’t get rescued right away.

There was plenty of water in the river but, even though it ran swiftly, it was probably too polluted to drink.

He wished he knew whether Mom and Dad had made it to town before the earthquake hit. If they did, Jonathan should wait by the camper, and help would get there soon, or at least as soon as possible.

But what if they didn’t make it? What if the road was blocked by fallen trees and Mom was still sitting in the car while Dad walked to town? Even worse, what if one of the
trees had landed on the car? Jonathan shuddered. Maybe Mom and Dad needed help just as much as Jonathan and Abby did.

The longer he waited, the more thirsty and tired he and Abby would be. Before too long, they would be hungry, as well. He did not want to stay here and wait for help that might never come.

I need to follow the road, Jonathan decided. I’ll hike the route that Mom and Dad would have driven. If they made it off the island, I won’t find anything, and I can turn back when I reach the bridge, and wait with Abby for help to arrive.

If I
do
find them—well, if that happened, he would decide what to do then. He could always hike off the island by himself, if he had to. He could cross the bridge and walk to Beaverville, the closest town.

Either way, Abby would have to wait where she was. He could go ten times faster alone than he could go with Abby.

She won’t want to wait, Jonathan knew. She’ll cry herself into a snit if I leave her alone for long. He would have to leave Moose with her and hope that Moose would not take off after a squirrel or a chipmunk.

Maybe he could rig up some kind of shelter, so that Abby would have a special place to wait while he was gone. If he made a game of it, like playing house in the woods, she could lie down in the shelter and sleep while he walked to the bridge and back. He knew she was tired. She might sleep the whole time he was gone. With luck, Moose would stay with her and sleep, too.

His plan decided, Jonathan started back around the roots.

“We can’t use the camper,” he told Abby, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “This big tree smashed it.”

Abby’s bottom lip quivered but before she could cry, Jonathan hurried on. “Aren’t we lucky that we weren’t in it, when the earthquake came? And we’re lucky now, too, because you don’t have to walk any farther. We’re going to make a little house right here in the woods.” He glanced quickly around, and then pointed at the last tree they’d climbed over, a large maple. “That tree trunk is going to be one wall of our house.”

“The camper’s smashed?” Abby said.

Jonathan nodded.

“What about my Raggedy?”

She had left her favorite doll, the one she slept with every night, in the camper. “Raggedy is still in the camper,” he said, “but I can’t get her out because the tree is too heavy.”

“I want Raggedy!”

“My radio was in the camper, too. I can’t get my radio out, either.”

Abby nodded and was quiet, as if she didn’t mind losing her doll as long as Jonathan also lost something important.

“It’s going to be fun to build a little house in the woods,” Jonathan said, forcing himself to sound cheerful.

“How are we going to make a house? We don’t have a hammer.”

“We don’t need a hammer. We’ll use small trees that fell during the earthquake. And we’ll make beds out of pine branches.”

Abby looked doubtful. “What about my chocolate cupcake?”
she said. “You promised I could have a chocolate cupcake.”

“You can have it later.” Much later, Jonathan thought.

“I’ll have it for dinner,” Abby said.

Dinner, Jonathan knew, would be another squashed sandwich and a bag of cookie crumbs, but he didn’t say that.

“I’ll have chocolate cupcakes for breakfast tomorrow, too,” Abby declared.