Earthquake Terror Read online

  AN EERIE CALM . . .

  Jonathan noticed again how quiet it was. No magpies cawed, no leaves rustled overhead. The air was stifling, with no hint of breeze.

  Moose barked. Jonathan jumped at the sudden noise. It was Moose’s warning bark, the one he used when a stranger knocked on the door. The dog’s eyes had a frantic look. He was shaking.

  “What’s wrong, boy?” Jonathan asked.

  Jonathan looked in all directions. He saw nothing unusual. There were still no people and no animals that would startle Moose and set him off. Jonathan listened hard, wondering if Moose had heard something that Jonathan couldn’t hear.

  Abby stopped walking. “What was that?” she said.

  “What was what?”

  Jonathan listened. He heard a deep rumbling sound in the distance.

  OTHER BOOKS BY PEG KEHRET

  Abduction

  Cages

  Don’t Tell Anyone

  The Ghost’s Grave

  I’m Not Who You Think I Am

  Nightmare Mountain

  Runaway Twin

  Searching for Candlestick Park

  Stolen Children

  Terror at the Zoo

  The Pete the Cat Series

  Spy Cat

  The Stranger Next Door

  Trapped

  PEG KEHRET

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

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  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Cobblehill Books, an affiliate of Dutton Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc., 1996

  Published by Puffin Books, 1998

  Reissued by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2006, 2011

  Copyright © Peg Kehret, 1996

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE COBBLEHILL EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Kehret, Peg.

  Earthquake terror / Peg Kehret.

  p. cm.

  Summary: When an earthquake hits the isolated island in northern California where his family has been camping, twelve-year-old Jonathan Palmer must find a way to keep himself, his partially paralyzed younger sister, and their dog alive until help arrives.

  [1. Earthquakes—Fiction. 2. Survival—Fiction. 3. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 4. Physically handicapped—Fiction.]

  I. Title

  PZ7.K2518Ear 1996

  [Fic]—dc20 95-20462 CIP AC

  ISBN: 978-1-101-66169-7

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  For Nancy McGriff, Kathy Schultz, Beth Elshoff, Desiree Webber, Terri Street, Chapple Langemack, Ruth Shafer, James Fox, Linda Hoke, Linda Mapes, and all of the others who give time and talent to produce awards for children’s books.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The deserted campground seemed eerie, like a ghost town. It’s too quiet, Jonathan thought. Where is everyone?

  Even though the purpose of a camping trip was to get away from the city, it seemed unnatural to hear no boat motors, no radios, and no human voices except for his family.

  On previous camping trips there had always been a few other people around, even late in the year like this. Today the only sounds were the cawing of an occasional magpie and the dry leaves crackling underfoot as Jonathan and his golden retriever, Moose, walked along the trail.

  Apparently the Palmers were the only family in Northern California who chose to visit Magpie Campground that day. Of course it was a Tuesday, which made a difference. Campgrounds were always busier on weekends. Still, Jonathan thought, it was weird, and he walked faster despite the heat.

  The weather seemed more like July than October. Maybe everyone else chose to stay in their air-conditioned homes and watch the World Series game on television. Jonathan would have preferred that, too, but his parents had insisted he come along on the overnight outing. Today and tomorrow were planning days for teachers, so Jonathan did not have school.

  “Wait for us, Jonathan.”

  When he heard his mother’s voice, Jonathan stopped. He rubbed the toe of his tennis shoe into the dusty trail, dislodging a stone. Wait for us, Jonathan. Wait for us, Jonathan. Jonathan looked back at his parents and sister. Sometimes it seemed he spent his entire life waiting.

  Moose tugged impatiently at his leash.

  Jonathan picked up the stone and tossed it into the trees. A squirrel chattered its displeasure.

  “Sorry,” Jonathan said.

  Moose sat and scratched his ear with his hind leg. His tags jingled. Jonathan did some leg stretches to keep limber and then glanced down the trail again.

  Mr. Palmer had stopped, too, and was looking behind him.

  The whole family waits for Abby, Jonathan thought. We have already wasted half the morning, waiting for Abby. He wondered if his parents ever got as frustrated by it as he did. If so, they didn’t show it. No matter how long it took Abby to maneuver her walker, they encouraged her to move around by herself, while they waited.

  Grandma Whitney said it would be simpler for all of them if Abby used a wheelchair. Abby preferred to crawl. She placed her forearms, from elbow to wrist, on the floor and pulled herself forward, with her legs dragging behind. Because her arms were strong, she crawled quickly and with surprising grace. “Her Marine crawl,” Mr. Palmer called it.

  Mr. and Mrs. Palmer let Abby crawl only at night, between bathtime and bed, when she was tired and cranky. The rest of the time they insisted on the walker, refusing a wheelchair altogether. They said Abby’s leg muscles would grow stronger if she used them and weaker if she didn’t.

  Jonathan did some knee bends and thought about how vacations used to be. Before Abby’s accident, the Palmers climbed mountain trails and slept in sleeping bags under the stars. He remembered two camping trips where he and his parents had hiked for an entire da
y, with baby Abby in a backpack.

  He remembered how good it felt to rest on a rock, high on a hill, and look out over the treetops. He used to push himself to keep up; he sometimes got short of breath.

  His sister was born when Jonathan was six, and she had her accident two years later. Now it took more than an hour just to stroll the short, level trail that wound along the riverbank from their campsite to the lake. Now they slept in a small trailer because Abby needed a real bed, with a mattress, not a sleeping bag on the ground.

  The Palmers never came to Magpie Campground during the popular summer months anymore, when the lake was a favorite destination for swimmers, and fishermen clogged the riverbanks. It was too difficult for Abby to get around when the trails were crowded; other people were not as patient as her family.

  It isn’t Abby’s fault that her legs are partially paralyzed, Jonathan reminded himself. She can’t help it that she isn’t able to walk alone. He watched as Abby lifted the metal walker and put it down, then leaned on it to balance herself while she stepped forward.

  Jonathan’s mother walked behind Abby. When Mrs. Palmer saw Jonathan watching, she smiled and waved at him, a signal that he could proceed.

  As soon as he reached the lake, Jonathan took the leash off Moose. The big dog immediately splashed into the water, jumping and running along the shore. Jonathan found a piece of driftwood, yelled, “Moose! Fetch!” and threw it into the lake. Moose swam to it, grabbed the driftwood in his mouth, and swam back to shore. He shook the water off his coat, dropped the driftwood at Jonathan’s feet, and looked at Jonathan expectantly, as if to say, Well? Aren’t you going to throw it again?

  Jonathan tossed the driftwood again and Moose plunged after it. Jonathan took off his shoes and socks and waded in ankle-deep, curling his toes around the small stones that covered the lake bottom. The cold water felt good on such a warm day, with the sun beating through his T-shirt. Jonathan removed his Giants cap and put it on backward, so the bill would protect the back of his neck while he looked into the water. He was glad his mother had insisted he rub sunscreen on his face and arms before they left the camper.

  Behind him, he heard his parents and Abby emerge from the trail.

  “Jonathan’s in the water,” Abby said. “Be careful, Jonathan!” she yelled.

  Abby’s parents had taken her many times to the public swimming pool near their home, thinking that water exercises would help her leg muscles. Many people can move their arms and legs better in the water, they told her. They can do things in the water that they can’t do otherwise.

  But Abby had panicked in the pool. No matter how reassuring her parents were, each time she felt the water around her, she grew fearful and refused to let go of the side of the pool. After a few weeks, her parents gave up and quit taking her.

  “Come on in, Mom,” Jonathan called. “The water feels like a warm bath.” It was a long-standing joke between them, dating from a day when three-year-old Jonathan, shivering and blue with cold, had begged to remain in the lake longer, insisting that the water was as warm as his bath.

  “Go ahead,” Mr. Palmer said to his wife. “I’ll help Abby.”

  Mrs. Palmer sat on a driftwood log, took off her shoes and socks, and rolled up her jeans. While Mr. Palmer helped Abby move her walker along the edge of the water, Mrs. Palmer ran toward Jonathan.

  “You lied!” she yelled, as her feet hit the water. “This water is freezing.”

  “A warm bath,” Jonathan replied.

  “My feet are turning blue.” She pointed to her right. “Look. I see ice cubes floating over there.”

  Jonathan laughed.

  She was only six feet away from him when she went down. Cold water splattered Jonathan and, for a moment, he thought she had done it on purpose—flung herself, clothes and all, into the lake, to swim. He almost belly flopped beside her but the look on her face made him stop short.

  “Mom?”

  A second ago she joked about ice cubes and now she was sprawled on the lake bottom, with only her head above the water, grimacing in pain.

  Jonathan rushed to her side. “Dad!” he yelled.

  Mr. Palmer splashed toward them, leaving Abby on the shore.

  Mrs. Palmer sat up.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” Jonathan asked. He held one hand out to help her up, but she didn’t take it.

  “My foot just went out from under me,” she said.

  Mr. Palmer reached them.

  “Jack,” Mrs. Palmer said softly. “I think I broke my ankle.”

  Mr. Palmer bent and put his hands under her arms, gently lifting her out of the water until she stood on her left leg, keeping her right knee bent. Carefully, she touched her right toes to the lake bottom. She winced and Jonathan saw that she was biting her lower lip to keep from crying out.

  “Don’t try to stand on it,” Mr. Palmer said. “Jonathan, get on the other side of her.”

  “What happened?” Abby cried. “What’s wrong with Mommy?”

  Jonathan quickly moved to his mother’s side.

  With one hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and the other around her husband, Mrs. Palmer managed to hop out of the lake on one foot. Each time she moved, a soft “uuh” escaped from her tightly closed mouth. Slowly they made their way to the driftwood log. Jonathan and Mr. Palmer eased her down until she sat, with her right leg extended in front of her.

  The ankle was already swollen.

  “We need to get you to a doctor,” Mr. Palmer said. “Fast.”

  “Fast is not a choice,” Mrs. Palmer said. “It’ll take us an hour to get back to the car and then it’s twenty miles to town.”

  Jonathan saw beads of sweat on her upper lip, and when she wiped them off, her hand shook.

  Abby struggled toward them as if she dragged an anchor behind her. Her walker sank an inch into the sandy lakeshore each time she leaned on it and she had to yank upward to lift it enough to move it forward again.

  Jonathan watched her approach. Her face was flushed from the heat and the effort. In this emergency, Abby seemed unbearably slow. He turned to his father.

  “You could take Mom to town alone,” he said. “I’ll help Abby on the trail and we’ll wait in the camper until you get back.”

  “We can’t leave you out here by yourselves,” Mrs. Palmer said. “There isn’t even a telephone.”

  “I take care of Abby at home,” Jonathan said, “while you go grocery shopping. This won’t be any different. And Moose is with us.”

  “We would get to the car faster alone,” Mr. Palmer said. “Maybe I can carry you.”

  “Mommy can use my walker,” Abby said.

  “It isn’t high enough for Mommy,” Mr. Palmer said. “Thank you, anyway, Abby.”

  “Go on,” Jonathan said. “Abby and I will have lunch and after we eat we’ll walk back to camp. By then she’ll be ready for a nap.”

  “Well . . .” Mrs. Palmer said.

  “You’ll probably be back before she wakes up.”

  “The sooner we get someone to examine that ankle,” Mr. Palmer said, “the better. And Jonathan is perfectly capable of taking care of Abby.” He knelt and put his wife’s sock and shoe on her left foot. He put the other shoe and sock in his backpack with their lunch, and gave the pack to Jonathan.

  “The first aid kit is in the car,” Mrs. Palmer said, as she wiped the perspiration off her face. “I believe I’ll take some aspirin as soon as we get there.”

  Jonathan’s mother rarely took any kind of medication. He knew her ankle must hurt badly.

  “Be careful,” Mrs. Palmer said. “When you get back to the camper, wait for us there. Don’t go anywhere else.”

  “We won’t,” Jonathan said.

  “Lock the door after you get there.”

  “I will,” Jonathan said.

  “If any other people arrive, wait until we’re back to talk to them.”

  Jonathan nodded.

  Mr. Palmer folded his arms across his chest. “Aren’t you going t
o tell them to wash their hands before they eat?” he said.

  “I don’t like leaving them here alone.”

  “Neither do I, but it’s the best choice. Let’s go.” He helped his wife up off the log, keeping one arm around her waist while she balanced on her left foot.

  Mrs. Palmer put her hand on Abby’s cheek. “Abby, you do what Jonathan tells you while we’re gone.”

  “I want to go with you,” Abby said. Her lower lip trembled.

  “I know you do, sweetie,” Mr. Palmer said, “but this time it will be best if you and Jonathan wait for us here. We’ll hurry.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart.” Mr. Palmer made an exaggerated X across his chest with one hand. Then he picked up his wife and carried her across the sand to where the trail entered the woods.

  Just before they started down the trail, Mr. Palmer stopped and looked back. “It will probably take about three hours,” he said. “Even if Mom has to stay at the hospital, I’ll easily be back before dinner.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jonathan said. “We’ll be okay.”

  Moose loped toward Mr. and Mrs. Palmer.

  “Moose!” Jonathan shouted. “Come back.”

  The dog stopped, looking first at Mr. and Mrs. Palmer and then back at Jonathan and Abby.

  “Stay with Jonathan,” Mr. Palmer said.

  “Here, Moose!” Jonathan called. As the dog ran back to Jonathan, Jonathan yelled, “Good luck, Mom!”

  “I want to go with them,” Abby said.

  “Shh,” Jonathan whispered. “We don’t want Mom to worry about us. She has enough problems without us along to worry about.”

  “She’ll worry about us if we stay here, too,” Abby said.

  Jonathan wondered if his dad could carry his mom all the way to the car. How much did she weigh? He thought it was about one hundred and thirty pounds. That was a lot for anyone to carry on a hot day. Probably Dad would have to put her down and have her hop part of the way. It would be slow going, even without Abby.

  He watched until his parents disappeared into the trees. If Mom had to break a bone, why couldn’t it have happened at home, instead of out on this island, miles from medical help? There was no telephone service here; there wasn’t even any electricity.