by Peg Kehret
“We could?” Abby’s eyes grew round.
Quickly Jonathan said, “But we weren’t, and the earthquake is over now.”
“Where’s my walker?” she asked. “What happened to my walker?”
Jonathan stood up. His legs felt wobbly, the way they always did when he got off his skateboard after skating for a long time.
“I’ll get it,” he said, but when he looked around, he did not see Abby’s walker. He didn’t even see the trail where she had been standing when the walker was jolted out of her hands. Toppled trees crisscrossed the earth like spilled toothpicks.
Not all of the trees had fallen, but even those that remained standing had lost limbs. The ground was littered with branches of all kinds.
“I want my walker.” Abby was near tears again, looking frantically in all directions. “Where is my walker?”
“It’s under one of the fallen trees,” he said. “I’ll find it.”
Jonathan began to lift the downed branches, looking under them. In some places, branches were layered three or four deep. Many were too large and heavy to lift; all he could do was dig through the leaves and try to see what was underneath.
“Do you see it?” Abby asked.
“Not yet. But it has to be close by. We were standing right here when the earthquake started.”
“No, we weren’t. We were over there.” Abby pointed about twenty feet from where Jonathan was searching.
He hesitated. She might be right. He couldn’t swear which direction they had rolled on the ground, or how far he had crawled, trying to find protection under the fallen tree. And it was impossible to tell where the trail had been. The woods looked the same in every direction: devastated.
He climbed over a pile of branches, making his way toward where Abby pointed. As he continued his search, his mind raced, wondering exactly how much damage the earthquake had done. What about Mom and Dad? Had they made it into town already or were they still in the car when the quake came? What if the road was blocked by downed trees before they got to town? Mom couldn’t walk and Dad couldn’t carry her through this kind of mess. What would they do?
“Do you see it?” Abby asked.
The earth shuddered again.
“It’s come back!” Abby yelled.
Moose barked.
Jonathan crouched, covering his head. It was a single jolt this time, an aftershock. It lasted only five seconds, but that was long enough to send Jonathan’s blood racing through his veins. He wondered how many more aftershocks there would be.
When it ended, he waited a few seconds and then, when nothing else happened, he stood and continued his search. He pushed back another pile of branches, bent down, and looked through the tangle of leaves.
“Here it is!” he cried, as he spotted a metal leg sticking out from under a small tree. He lifted the tree and kicked the walker free. It was badly bent, with one leg twisted at a right angle to the others.
When she saw the walker, Abby gasped. “It’s broken. I can’t use it that way.”
“Maybe I can straighten it.” Jonathan stood on the bent leg and pulled on the top of the walker with all his might. Instead of straightening, the metal leg snapped off.
Abby looked more frightened now than she had during the earthquake. “What will I do?” she whimpered. “How will I walk?”
Jonathan knew she was dependent on her walker. When she went to sleep at night, it always stood beside the bed, where she could see it as soon as she opened her eyes. When she ate, her walker waited beside the table, where she could reach it.
He felt a rush of empathy, thinking what it would be like to be unable to swing your legs out of bed in the morning and walk unaided to the closet for your clothes. In the same instant, he realized how frustrating it must be to inch slowly along the trail to the lake while your big brother jogs impatiently ahead.
“I want Mommy!” Abby wailed, tears spilling onto her cheeks.
So do I, thought Jonathan.
Another aftershock began, stronger this time. Jonathan felt as if he were standing on a giant accordion whose sides were moving in and out. He dropped to the ground and covered his head until the movement stopped.
I want Mommy!” Abby repeated, louder this time.
Jonathan could tell she was on the verge of losing all control. He said, “Mom and Dad will come back as soon as they can.”
But when will that be? he wondered. What condition is the road in, between the bridge and Beaverville? Even if the earthquake had been confined to Magpie Island, it meant that Dad could not drive back to the campground. He would have to leave the car and hike from the bridge to the camper.
Mom, of course, was not likely to return at all. She would either be in the hospital or at home, a fact which Jonathan decided not to share with his sister.
There was no way to know how much of the road was blocked by fallen trees. It might be hours before his father returned. Or it might be days.
Jonathan had never felt so alone. He wished he had not offered to stay behind. He didn’t want to be in charge of Abby, not in an earthquake.
Abby wailed louder.
“It won’t do any good to cry,” Jonathan said. “You’ll just give yourself a headache.”
He knew he sounded cross but he needed to think, and Abby’s yowling did not help.
Her wails subsided, becoming long, jerky open-mouthed breaths. She lifted the hem of her T-shirt and blew her nose on it.
If I were alone, Jonathan thought, I would hike the road to the bridge and make sure Mom and Dad made it off the island.
But he was not alone.
Dad had said, “Jonathan is perfectly capable.”
Jonathan took a deep breath, consciously trying to calm himself. Mom and Dad were counting on him; they believed he could take care of his sister. He wondered what they would do in this situation.
I need to do two things, he decided. First, keep us safe. Second, don’t let Abby panic.
He had already kept them safe once, by lying under the fallen tree while other trees crashed down around them. He might even have saved their lives. He had thought fast in an emergency, and had done the smart thing. Compared to that, it should be a breeze to keep a six-year-old from crying.
“When we get to the camper,” Jonathan said, “I’ll play Go, Fish with you.”
Abby closed her mouth, blinking at him through her tears.
“Four games of Go, Fish,” Jonathan said.
“I can’t go back to the camper without my walker.” She wiped her tears on the back of her hand.
“I’ll help you walk. You can hold onto my arm and we’ll go slowly.”
Abby thought a moment. “Ten games of Go, Fish,” she said.
“Six.”
“Okay. Six.”
He took both her hands and pulled her to her feet.
“The trail is gone,” Abby said. “Which way are we supposed to go?”
Jonathan looked around. She was right. He wasn’t sure where the trail used to be. It would be difficult enough to get Abby back to the camper without her walker; it would be disastrous to go in the wrong direction.
Sweat trickled down the back of his neck.
The sun. That’s how he could tell. The sun was on his back earlier when he ran ahead of Abby and his parents, on his way to the lake. The sun was directly overhead while they played sink-the-ships. By now, it would have moved farther west so it would be on his back again, as he returned to the camper.
He glanced down at Abby’s frightened face.
“I know which way to go,” he said calmly. “East. Away from the sun.” He offered Abby his arm and she clung to it. He stepped forward, with the sun filtering through the trees on his back. Abby stepped with him, her eyes sweeping the trees ahead.
They had gone only a few yards when a huge fallen tree blocked their way. The side of the trunk was up to Abby’s waist.
“We’ll have to climb over it,” Jonathan said. “It will take too long to go around.” Seeing the loo
k of disbelief on Abby’s face, he added, “I’ll help you. Put your back next to the tree. Rest your legs against it.”
Abby did. Jonathan quickly climbed over the tree, turned and leaned across it. Putting his arms under Abby’s arms, he clasped his hands across Abby’s chest.
“The Great Abby Elevator will now pull you up and over,” he said. “Just go limp, like your Raggedy Ann doll.”
He felt her tense muscles relax. He pulled up and back, until she was sitting on top of the fallen tree. She turned sideways and Jonathan lifted her legs, one at a time, so that they lay on top of the trunk.
Abby turned some more and slid on her bottom across the tree trunk until her legs dangled down the other side. It was easy, then, for Jonathan to steady her while she slid down again.
When she was safely on the ground, Jonathan guided Abby to a standing tree.
“Lean against the tree,” he said, “while I clear a path for us.”
Abby put her stomach against the tree and leaned forward. “Hi, tree,” she said, wrapping her arms around it. “Would you like a hug?”
While Abby talked to the tree, Jonathan cleared six feet of path. Then he helped Abby walk forward to another tree. Again, Abby leaned against the tree while Jonathan pulled fallen branches off the trail, making a path wide enough for them to walk side by side.
Slowly, they made their way through the woods. Since Jonathan had to clear most of the trail of fallen branches, they stopped frequently. Clear another six feet; help Abby walk. Clear and help Abby; clear and help Abby.
Moose jumped easily over most of the fallen trees, and went around the others.
“When we get to the camper,” Jonathan said, “we’ll stay there. There’s plenty of food and water. Even if it takes Mom and Dad awhile to get back, we’ll be okay. We can listen to the radio while we play Go, Fish.”
He could stand to play six games of Go, Fish if he listened to the ball game at the same time. He wondered if the Giants and A’s had felt the earthquake at Candlestick Park. Probably not. San Francisco was almost one hundred miles away and he didn’t think earthquakes covered that much territory.
He would get Abby safely into the camper and then he could listen to Game One of the World Series while she took a nap. There might even be a newsbreak, telling about the earthquake. He would learn how strong it was and whether it did any damage beyond Magpie Island.
“I’m tired,” Abby said. “My legs hurt.”
“We can’t stop now. We have to get back to the camper.”
The earth shuddered again. Another aftershock. Moose whimpered. Abby and Jonathan clutched each other and waited for it to pass.
He wondered how long they had been walking. It seemed hours. Abby was slow when she had her walker; it was far worse now. They climbed over several more fallen trees. Each time, it was harder for Jonathan to hoist Abby up and over. Each time, his muscles strained and he grunted from the effort.
His right knee was swollen and discolored where he had landed on it after being tossed in the air. I need an ice pack, he thought. I need to put my foot up and stay off that leg.
Jonathan wondered again what the road into camp was like. Probably crews with chain saws would have to come and cut through fallen logs before Dad could drive the car back into camp. How long would that take? At least the bridge to the mainland, arching high above the Tuscan River, would be clear of trees.
Abby stopped. “I can’t go any more.”
“I think we’re almost there. See that big oak tree up ahead? We passed that when we first started down the trail this morning. I remember because it reminded me of the oaks in Grandma’s yard.”
Was it only this morning? It seemed days ago that they had started out, the five of them, for an ordinary picnic lunch at the lake.
“I can’t walk. My legs hurt.”
“Then I’ll carry you. Piggyback.” Jonathan bent over. “Put your arms around my neck,” he instructed. Abby did.
Jonathan tried to straighten up but he couldn’t lift her off the ground. His back ached as he strained to raise his shoulders. Sweat trickled from the back of his neck into the corners of his mouth.
He tried three more times, but she was too heavy, and he was too weary.
Another aftershock rumbled beneath them. It was a small shake, not even enough to make Jonathan lose his balance.
“Make it stop!” Abby cried.
Even small shakes, Jonathan thought, create fear, because we don’t know until it’s done that it is small. Every tiny tremor might be the start of another big one.
“Let’s eat the rest of our lunch,” Jonathan suggested. Maybe food and a short rest would give both of them new energy.
At least he didn’t have to worry about saving any food for later; there was plenty to eat in the camper. Dad always said Mom packed enough to feed an army.
They sat on a log and Jonathan opened the backpack. He handed Abby a sandwich bag.
“It’s all smashed,” Abby said. She held the flattened sandwich bag by two fingers, as if it were something rotten. The sandwich looked as if someone had used a rolling pin on it. Tuna salad oozed out from between the slices of bread and clung to the plastic bag.
“I must have squashed the backpack, when we were under the tree,” Jonathan said. “Sorry.”
The grapes were a mush of stems and juice.
Abby wrinkled her nose. “Yuk,” she said.
“I’m going to eat my sandwich anyway,” Jonathan said.
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.