White Cave Escape (15 page)

“How did he find us?” Petra asked her uncle.

Daryl chuckled, wonderingly. “He just came tearing out of the woods and ran over to the fire trucks, barking like a maniac. Then he turned around and bolted straight back into the forest. It was the craziest thing. We went after him, but he wouldn't let us catch him…kept just ahead of us, barking like a fool the whole time. Then he ran over to this one tree and started nosing around. That's when we saw a hand coming up right out of the ground.
That
gave us quite a start, I can tell you!”

“It was Craig!” exclaimed Petra, “digging his way up through the roof of the Bat Cave!”

Daryl nodded. “We hauled Craig out of there and it was a few minutes before anybody noticed that Hobart was digging his way down into the hole. We looked up just in time to see his tail disappear. And you know what happened after that.”

Petra shivered. She remembered.

“What happened to the bear?” she asked.

“Hobart must have chased it deep into the caves. All I know is, he came back all tuckered out but very pleased with himself, just as we were carrying Tony and that other boy out of the cave.”

“Colin,” said Petra. “His name's Colin. Where's the bear now?”

“Probably still holed up down there. I hear the rangers are going to try and tranquilize it tomorrow. They'll check the animal for injuries, give it some antibiotics, and release it far away from the burn site.”

“Good,” said Petra. “He'll have a healthy forest to live in again. Poor bear—it's not
his
fault that he was so cranky. I'd feel the same way if somebody burned
my
house down!”

A paramedic poked his head inside the ambulance. “Daryl, the other ambulances are ready to roll, but the boys won't let them leave until they know if Petra is going to meet them at the hospital.”

Petra grinned. “Of course I'll be there. They're my best friends. Besides,
somebody
has to keep an eye on them. Those guys could find trouble at a knitting convention for retired safety inspectors.” She hopped down from the stretcher and headed for Uncle Daryl's truck.

“Let's go!” she called over her shoulder. “We'd better get to the hospital before Tony accidentally demolishes the ER!”

epilogue
New Beginnings

“So, Uncle D, where are we going?” asked Tony, leaning over the seat of Uncle Daryl's pickup.

Five weeks had passed and the summer had ripened into long, languid days washed with brilliant blue skies. Breezes rich with the smell of purple clover and new-mown hay unfurled through the open window as the red and black Ford growled along the narrow country road. Daryl smiled into the rearview mirror at the three boys crammed into the back seat.

“It's a surprise,” he said.

“Aw, come on…give us a hint!” wheedled Craig.

“We're going to see a friend.”

“But we don't know anybody who lives way out here,” protested Petra, gazing out the passenger window at the remote, rural landscape flashing by outside. She shifted her shoulder out from under Hobart's drooling jowls. The amiable Newfoundland sighed loudly and slumped forward to rest his chin on the dashboard instead.

“What's that place?” asked Shawn suddenly, pointing through the front windshield as the truck crested a hill. Below them, in the distance, a patchwork quilt of paddocks and pastures sprawled out from a loose collection of barns and buildings. As they approached, several pens and wire-mesh enclosures came into view. They seemed to house a bewildering assortment of animals.

“Is that some kind of zoo?” Petra wondered aloud.

“It's a bit out of the way for a tourist attraction,” murmured Shawn as they drew closer.

The answer came when Daryl pulled through the front gate. A wooden sign hung from the chain-link fence. It read: Atlantic Wildlife Rescue and Rehabilitation Refuge.

“What does
that
mean?” asked Tony. Daryl didn't answer, but pulled up in front of the main building and shut off the engine. The kids tumbled out of the truck. Just as they did, a man in a ranger's uniform came out of one of the barns. Seeing them, he hurried over and shook Daryl's hand heartily.

“Daryl! Good to see you again!”

“You too, Paul,” replied Daryl, returning the handshake with a warm grin.

“Have you brought me some volunteers?” the ranger asked, winking at the kids.

“I'm sure they'd be happy to lend a hand,” said Daryl. “But we really came to see how your new recruit is working out.”

“Ah, yes,” said Paul, nodding. “The boy. You know, that kid has been putting in some real long hours around here. Far more than required, actually. He definitely has a way with the animals. He's in Barn Three if you'd like to say hi.” Paul waved them in the general direction. “Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to run. There's a stray moose calf causing a bit of a ruckus over in Sackville.” Paul hopped into a green truck. The truck was hooked up to a rather battered-looking livestock trailer. Truck and trailer rattled through the gate with a cheerful honk of the horn.

Petra turned to Uncle Daryl with her hands on her hips. “Okay. Explain,” she ordered.

Uncle Daryl chuckled and began leading them along a well-worn path. “Paul runs this place. He and his volunteers rescue lost and injured animals and look after them until they can be returned to the wild.” Uncle Daryl nodded towards a cage holding a raccoon with a bandaged paw. “Sometimes when we're fighting forest fires, we find animals that have been hurt or disoriented by the blaze. This is where we bring them.”

Shawn paused briefly by a high, wire-mesh cage. A great horned owl sat perched on a stump. It swivelled its head around, fixing Shawn with a hypnotic, unblinking stare. Next door to the owl, two crows cawed accusingly at them as they passed. Across from the crows, a timid red fox peeked out at them from inside a hollow log.

“Here we are,” said Daryl, pointing at a red barn with a white number three painted on the door. Petra looked at her uncle questioningly. “Well, go on in,” urged Daryl. “I'll wait for you back at the truck.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode back down the path.

“What's this about?” wondered Shawn.

Petra shrugged. “No idea.”

“Come on,” said Craig, pushing the door open. “Let's check it out.”

“Are we sure there are no bears in here?” asked Tony.

After the bright sunshine, the barn seemed dim and shadowy. They stood still for a moment, waiting for their eyes to adjust. An earthy, musky smell filled the air, mingled with the sweeter aroma of hay. There was a rustling noise and a voice called, “Who's there?”

Shawn moved towards an open stall door. He peered inside. Sitting on a bale of straw was Colin. In his arms was a fawn.

The others crowded into the stall behind Shawn.

“Colin!” Petra started to exclaim, but the older boy put a finger to his lips. He nodded at the wide-eyed wild baby on his lap.

“Oh—sorry!” whispered Petra. Quietly, Colin reached down and picked up a bottle of milk. He offered it to the fawn and the young deer sucked at it enthusiastically.

“So…what are you doing here?” Colin asked, his eyes wary.

“What are
you
doing here?” demanded Tony. Colin looked down at the fawn. “Making things right,” he said. “As much as I can, anyway.”

“I thought they threw you in the slammer,” said Tony, suspicious.

“
Tony
!” hissed Petra.

“
What
?” said Tony.

“It's okay,” Colin said to Petra. “They didn't throw me in the slammer,” he told Tony. “Although maybe they should have. The judge sent me to counselling instead…and then he sent me to work here.”

“Wow,” said Petra. She reached out and touched a finger to the velvety neck of the fawn. “Do you like it?”

A smile spread across Colin's face. “It's the best job in the world,” he said simply. The fawn finished its bottle and began nuzzling hungrily in Colin's armpit for more. Chuckling, Colin set the little creature gently down on its spindly legs and got to his own feet. The fawn tottered off to another corner of the stall and nosed around busily in the straw. The young people watched it in silence for a minute. Colin said quietly, “I've decided to study wildlife biology in school. I want to be a ranger like Paul and work with wild animals that need help. I—I want to try and make things better than they are,” he said, glancing at Petra. The fawn wobbled back over to Colin and butted up against his knees. Colin reached down and rubbed the baby's wide, fuzzy ears.

“Looks like you're making quite a difference already,” Petra told him.

“So what happened to the other guys?” asked Craig. “The bozos with the ATVs?”

Colin's eyes crinkled with wry amusement. “The judge assigned them to a different work detail— they're replanting trees over the entire burn site. They should be finished in another year or so.”

“
Sweet
,” said Craig with a wicked grin. “I hope the mosquitoes and blackflies are out in full force.”

“Count on it,” said Colin with a knowing smile. “Those Hillsborough hills are famous for breeding the most bloodthirsty insects for miles around.”

Shawn cleared his throat. “I, uh, didn't get a chance to thank you after the fire,” he said awkwardly. “We probably wouldn't have gotten out of those woods without you.”

But Colin waved this off. “Naw,” he said, “if I hadn't shown you the White Caves, I get the feeling that you would have just done something else…like build a hang-glider out of bubblegum and shoelaces or something.”

Petra's laughter pealed through the barn. “Yep, that would be Shawn, all right!”

Shawn felt himself blushing scarlet, but before he could say anything in his own defence, Petra had hooked her arm through his elbow and was towing him back out into the sunshine.

“Come on, Colin,” she called over her shoulder. “Give us the grand tour…then tell us what we can do to help.”

“Yeah, great idea!” exclaimed Craig. “I want a closer look at that owl—he's got claws like a velociraptor!” He hurried out after Petra and his brother.

“You…you guys want to
help
me?” asked Colin, looking at Tony uncertainly. “Really?”

“Sure,” said Tony, clapping a surprised Colin on the back. “That's what real friends do, you know. Just one thing, though…”

“What's that?”

“Don't ask me to clean up any porcupine poo,” said Tony, shuddering. “Blech!”

“Fair enough,” laughed Colin. “I've got a better job for you, anyway,” he added, looking at his watch.

“Really? What?” asked Tony.

“It's time to feed Big Bertha.”

“Big Bertha?” gulped Tony.

“Bertha…our black bear,” said Colin, with a wicked grin.

Tony went rigid. “B-b-b-b-b…?” he stammered.

“Buddy,” said Colin, throwing a friendly arm around his shoulder, “after all we've been through, this will be a walk in the park. I promise.”

And whistling happily, Colin picked up a bucket and strolled outside…where his friends were waiting for him.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

The places in this book really do exist. As a child, I spent much time exploring the beautiful woods and trails of Hillsborough, New Brunswick. The old gypsum quarries were an awesome (albeit dangerous) playground. My friends and I played hide-and-seek among the piles of white boulders, and rode our bikes and ponies through the abandoned gravel pits. We ranged along the rugged clifftops and slid down their white, scree-covered slopes. Today, these hills and quarries are known as the White Rock Recreation Area.

The White Caves were formed at the end of the ice age when melting glaciers washed away large deposits of gypsum. They are part of a delicate ecosystem and should be treated with care and respect.
Never
go into a cave without permission and
always
seek the advice and guidance of a knowledgeable caving expert. Professional guides keep both visitors and the caves safe from harm. NEVER, EVER draw or write on cave walls. This is called graffiti, and it is a very damaging form of vandalism. In this book, I also use some creative licence when describing the interior layout and features of the cave. The “White Cave” in this story is really a composite of different caves found in the Hillsborough and Albert County area.

Happy adventuring!

—Jennifer McGrath Kent

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am deeply indebted to the following people for their contributions to the creative processes that went into the writing of this book: Richard and Kathy Faulkner of Baymount Outdoor Adventures for guiding me so expertly through the White Caves and for being a wealth of information; Harold McQuade and Orienteering New Brunswick for providing me with detailed maps of the White Rock area of Hillsborough and for giving me the opportunity to become well and thoroughly lost in those same woods; Deborah Carr, who cheerfully volunteered to wander around with me in the Pits of Despair; Will Lawrence, friend, fellow X-Grad, and volunteer firefighter, for recounting his experiences of forest fires with the Maitland Fire Department; Kimberly Bauer, for her unflagging support of local authors and literacy in New Brunswick schools; the Canada Council of the Arts for their ongoing support of Canadian artists and authors; my wonderful and witty editor, Penelope Jackson, for her eternal patience and encouragement; and, of course, my family and friends for their support, patience, and enthusiasm.
Thank you, all!