by Peg Kehret
“Pull yourself up,” he shouted. “We’re almost to the top.”
Before she could respond, the tree roots shifted.
“Jonathan!” Abby screamed, as her feet slipped off the roots. Her legs dangled helplessly.
The huge root mass tipped sideways, and then rolled back.
Below them, Moose barked his warning bark, deep and loud.
“Hang on,” Jonathan yelled but the aftershock was too strong. The fallen tree lurched upward and sank back down again so swiftly that both Abby and Jonathan lost their grips and tumbled to the ground.
Jonathan hit first. Abby landed beside him. Clods of dirt from the roots rained down around them.
Jonathan lay still, waiting to see if the aftershocks would continue. When they did not, he said, “Are you all right?”
Her answer was a whimper. Tears rolled down her face.
Beside them, Moose shook the dirt out of his coat.
“I don’t think I broke anything,” Jonathan said, as he slowly flexed his arms and legs. “What about you?”
“I’m getting wet,” she whispered.
Only then did Jonathan realize that he was lying in an inch of water.
She’ll drown, Jonathan thought. I have to get her out of here or she will drown.
Jonathan pulled the alder trees away from the side of the redwood. First they were a house, then they were steps, and now they were going to be boats.
“It’s my turn to be teacher,” Jonathan said as he selected the two biggest alders. “Today you’re going to have a riding lesson, only instead of a pony, you’ll learn to ride a tree.”
It might work, Jonathan thought. If she lies on her stomach and puts both arms around the tree trunk, she should be able to hang on and keep her head above water.
Abby scowled and stuck out her bottom lip. “It’s still my turn to be teacher,” she said. “We didn’t finish the song.”
“You can have a turn next. You can have two turns, but this is important, so listen carefully. We have to hold on to something that won’t sink. Like these tree trunks.” Jonathan pointed to the alders whose branches he had removed. “We each get to choose one of these trees for our own. Which one do you want?”
Abby looked at the trees. “I don’t want one.”
“Listen, Abby. The whole island is flooding and you need a tree to ride on in the water.”
“Why is there a flood?” she said. “It didn’t rain.”
“The earthquake caused the flood.”
“I don’t want to be in a flood. I want my cupcake. You promised me that if I kept walking, I could have lemonade and a cupcake.”
“I didn’t know the camper was going to be wrecked. Now, which tree do you want? If you don’t choose, I’ll choose for you.”
Abby pointed to the tree closest to her. “That one.”
“Good choice. This is now your very own personal tree.” He dragged the tree over to where Abby sat. She patted it.
Jonathan thought it was large enough to support Abby but he would need a bigger tree, something that would keep both him and Moose afloat.
He spotted one about twenty feet away.
“I pick that one,” he said. He tried to pull the tree closer to Abby but it was too heavy. Instead, he dragged her tree next to the one he had chosen and then helped Abby walk to it. His tennis shoes squished as he sloshed through the water.
“Watch me. This is what you need to do.”
Jonathan lay on his stomach on top of his tree, with his armpits on the tree trunk. “Keep your arms around the tree, like this,” he said. “No matter what happens, don’t let go. The tree is your friend and will help you stay above the water.”
Abby said nothing.
“Do you understand?”
“My shoes are getting wet.”
“We’re going to ride the trees now,” Jonathan said. “We’re each going to lie on our own tree. You lie down on yours and I’ll lie on mine and we’ll hold tight. The trees will be our boats, if the water gets too high.”
“What’s my tree’s name?”
“You get to name it. It can be anything you want. You can name my tree, too.”
“My tree is Charlotte and yours is Wilbur.”
“All right,” Jonathan said. She could name it Dracula, for all he cared. “Lie down on top of Charlotte,” he said.
“I can’t. My tree is too low.”
Jonathan put his hands under Abby’s armpits and eased her down into a sitting position. Then he helped her lie flat along the length of the tree, with her cheek resting on the bark. As he did, he was acutely aware that she would not be able to get up off the tree by herself. He would need to stay with her.
“Put your hands on Charlotte’s trunk and hold on.”
Abby did.
“No matter what happens,” Jonathan said, “don’t let go of your tree. It isn’t just a tree any more. It’s your boat.”
The water covered his shoes now.
“I want Mommy and Daddy to come back.”
“They’re trying to come, but it’s going to take awhile. The road is blocked and the bridge is out.”
“Out where?”
“It broke. The bridge fell down.”
Abby raised her head and smiled. “That’s what happened in London,” she said, and she began to sing. “London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.”
She’s so little, Jonathan thought. She’s so little and helpless and she has no idea how much trouble we’re in.
“London bridge is falling down, my fair lady.”
The water was ankle deep and Jonathan feared it might be a long time before they were rescued. The road toward the bridge on the other side of the island was probably blocked by fallen trees. It could be hours before anyone knows the bridge is gone.
If he and Abby floated away from Magpie Island, even a helicopter might have trouble spotting them. And if it did spot them, how would it land in a river?
Maybe he should put Abby on his tree and try to stay together. But he needed to keep Moose with him and he was afraid their combined weight would be too much to allow the small tree to float. No, he decided. Best to each take a tree.
Abby’s tree moved.
“You’re floating already,” Jonathan said.
Abby quit singing. “This is fun,” she said.
Some fun, Jonathan thought grimly, but he’d rather have Abby think it was a game than to have her screaming in terror.
“My boat is moving,” Abby said. “Charlotte is swimming in the water.”
“Hang on,” Jonathan said. “Wrap your arms around Charlotte and hang on.” Fear rose in his throat. The water was moving too quickly; it was getting deep too fast. At this rate, the entire island would be underwater long before anyone had a chance to rescue them.
Would Abby hang on? Would she be able to, even if she tried? He needed a way to tie Abby to the tree, so she couldn’t fall off.
Jonathan looked at Moose’s leash. If he unleashed the dog, he could use the leash to strap Abby to the tree. But what about Moose? If they were about to float down the river on these trees, as Jonathan expected, he needed a way to pull Moose back to the tree, if Moose fell off. And if they somehow made it to shore, he would need the leash there—to keep Moose from running after a wild animal or bolting in fear if there were more aftershocks.
Jonathan’s head pounded. He was tired of making decisions. It was too hard to know which action to take when the choices might mean life or death.
If he strapped Abby to the tree, she would not be able to get off, even if she needed to. What if she floated close to shore and had a chance to grab a tree branch and pull herself to safety? Abby’s arms were strong; it was only her legs that didn’t work right.
If she were strapped to the tree, she might not be able to save herself, if she had the chance.
He left the leash on Moose.
He lay stomach-down on his tree and put one hand on the ground, ready to wrap it aroun
d the tree as soon as the water was deep enough. He put his other hand on Abby’s tree, just above her head, and gripped the bark with his fingers. If he could keep the two trees together, he would be able to keep Abby from panicking.
“Charlotte is going to float down the river,” Abby said.
“So is Wilbur. We’re both going for a boat ride.” Jonathan tried to sound excited and happy but his voice came out strained. His tree moved beneath him; he, too, was now afloat.
Abby started to sing. “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.”
Jonathan closed his eyes. Please, God, he prayed. Please let someone find us soon.
“Sing with me,” Abby said. “Do a round, like Mommy does.” She began the song again.
Jonathan rested his cheek against the bark on the tree and, at the appropriate time, joined his sister’s song.
“Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
Some dream, he thought, as the trees bobbed in the rising water. This was worse than any nightmare he’d ever had.
Moose stood beside Jonathan’s tree. The water was up to the dog’s belly.
“Come on, Moose,” Jonathan said. “You’ll have to share my tree.”
He sat up, straddling the tree trunk, and, using both hands, hauled Moose on to the tree. Moose’s paws slipped off and Moose splashed back on to the ground.
Jonathan tried again. This time, he kept his arms wrapped around Moose’s middle. “Sit,” he commanded. “Sit on the tree.”
Instead of sitting, Moose lay down with his nose toward the top end of the tree and his tail toward Jonathan. Quickly, Jonathan moved forward and lay with his chest on Moose’s back. He could hold Moose and hang on to the tree at the same time.
Once it reached them, the water rose fast. One minute their trees rested on the ground and then, only a short time later, they were floating in water so deep that when Jonathan put his right hand down, he could no longer feel the forest floor.
His left arm curved around the bottom side of his tree with Moose’s leash around his wrist.
With his right hand, Jonathan clutched Abby’s tree, trying to keep it from floating away from him.
“Hang on tight,” he reminded Abby. “We might not be able to stay together, so no matter where your Charlotte boat goes, hang on to it.”
Abby’s head jerked up and she looked at him. “I want to stay with you,” she said, clearly close to tears again.
“I’ll stay as close as I can.”
“I want Moose on my boat.”
“No,” Jonathan said. “Moose has to stay with me.” Abby would never be able to manage the dog on her own. Moose weighed more than she did.
The sun painted the sky gold and then pink and, finally, a deep orange as it dropped below the horizon.
Their trees bumped the redwood’s roots, bounced backward, bumped again. Each time, they hit higher. Eventually, they floated around the roots, and over the trunk. The camper was no longer visible. Even the bright yellow awning had disappeared beneath the water.
“I’m scared.” Abby’s voice was a tiny whisper.
She’s too little to do this, Jonathan thought, and too weak.
The song leaped into his mind: Itsy-bitsy Abby, climbed up the waterspout. Down came the rain and washed poor Abby out.
No! She won’t get washed away, Jonathan thought. I can’t let her be washed away.
But no matter how fierce his determination, Jonathan knew, deep down, that what happened now was beyond his control.
“I want to go home,” Abby said.
The water rose swiftly.
All around them, small trees and branches bobbed like plastic toys in a giant bathtub. At first the trees seemed to float in a random pattern but as the water deepened, they moved in a single direction.
Jonathan realized the trees and branches and other debris were floating toward the setting sun.
Once again, Jonathan pictured Magpie Island on a map but this time he saw it in context with its surroundings. He saw the Tuscan River, not only as it flowed around the island, but as it continued its course due west to the Pacific Ocean.
If he had guessed correctly that the earthquake had created a natural dam which caused the stream across the island to overflow, it meant that he and Abby were not in the small section of river that flowed into the lake where they had played sink-the-ships. They were in the Tuscan itself, the wide, deep river that flowed past Beaverville and Kendra, the two small towns that stood between the island and the coast.
Maybe this is good, Jonathan thought. If we can stay on our trees while we float past the towns, surely someone will spot us from shore.
“I have to go potty,” Abby said.
“Go in your pants.”
“What?” Astonishment made her voice shrill.
“You heard me,” Jonathan said. “We can’t leave our boats. And even if we could, there isn’t any bathroom. If you need to go, you’ll have to go where you are.”
“You want me to wet my pants?”
“They’re wet anyway, from the river.”
Abby was quiet.
In spite of his growing fear, Jonathan smiled. No one had ever suggested such outrageous behavior before and he knew Abby was considering whether or not to take his advice.
Dusk was brief; darkness settled quickly over the island. Their predicament seemed worse, somehow, in the dark. More dangerous. They couldn’t be easily seen now, either from shore or from the air.
“I did it.” Abby’s voice was low. “Don’t tell Mommy.”
“Mommy won’t care,” Jonathan said.
“It feels warm.”
Moose shifted, his feet slipping on the wet tree.
“Easy, boy,” Jonathan said. “Lie still.”
“I want to go home,” Abby said. “I don’t like my boat.”
“I want to go home, too, but there isn’t any way to do that until Mom and Dad send someone to get us.”
“I don’t like all this water.” She sounded scared. “It’s worse than the pool.”
Jonathan wondered if she had just realized what was happening. “I don’t like it, either,” he said, “but our boats will keep us safe.”
Abby began to cry.
I have to keep her calm, Jonathan thought. If she panics, she’ll forget to hold on.
Jonathan started to sing again. “Itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.”
Abby listened for a moment and then joined in.
If we get out of this alive, Jonathan thought, I will never again sing about itsy-bitsy spider.
His hand ached from trying to hold on to Abby’s tree. In the dark, he couldn’t tell how deep the water was but they were moving steadily now. Faster than before. There was more space between their trees and the other trees that were floating, as if the river had widened, making room for its passengers.
The songs were the only way to keep Abby from crying so, while his own fear rose as fast as the water, Jonathan continued to sing.
“Out came the sun and dried up all the rain . . .”
A larger tree slammed into the root end of Jonathan’s tree, jolting him sideways. Moose splashed into the river.
Jonathan let go of Abby’s tree and grabbed his own to keep from falling off. Moose swam beside the tree. He put one paw up, trying to climb back on, but with no ground under his hind legs to push against, he couldn’t make it.
Jonathan leaned into the water, put his arm under Moose’s chest and lifted. Moose scrambled back on to the tree.
The tree bobbed and jerked. Jonathan clung to it until it stabilized.
When he reached for Abby’s tree, he couldn’t find it.
“Hold out your hand,” he cried. “This way.” He groped toward her in the dark, splashing the surface of the water. He could make out her shape; she was drifting away from him. He leaned toward her until he nearly rolled into the water. He could not reach her.
He unsnapped Moose’s leash and, holding the handle i
n his right hand, flung the clasp toward Abby, as if he were flyfishing.
“Grab the leash,” he called. “It’s in the water. Find it and hold on.”
“I can’t find it!”
The clasp sank. Jonathan pulled it back and tried again, flinging the clasp toward Abby’s tree. That time, she grabbed it.
“Hang on to the leash,” Jonathan said. “It will keep us together.”
“I’ll try.”
It was easier to hold the leash than it had been to try to hold on to her tree. Maybe, he thought, this will work better. He tugged on the leash, trying to move the trees closer together.
“You’re pulling me off,” Abby said.
Jonathan quit tugging.
“I can’t see you very well,” Abby said. “It’s too dark.”
“The moon will be out soon.”
“I want my night-light. I want my pink blanket. I want Raggedy.”
“I’m going to teach you a new song.” Jonathan tried to think what songs he knew that Abby didn’t. The only one he could come up with was the one his baseball team sang on the bus en route to games: “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the shelf.”
He knew his parents would not appreciate it if he taught his six-year-old sister a song about beer. On the other hand, that song would last a long time and keep Abby calm.
He changed the lyrics and began. “Ninety-nine Raggedy Anns on the shelf; ninety-nine Raggedy Anns. If one of the dolls should happen to fall, ninety-eight Raggedy Anns on the shelf.”
By the time he got to ninety-five, Abby had caught on and was singing with him. She didn’t know how to count backward so she waited for him to sing the correct number each time and then she joined in. They sang all the way down to one Raggedy Ann on the shelf, and then back up to ninety-nine again.
His tree was bobbing about less, floating more smoothly. The moon rose, spreading a dim light. Raising his head from the tree, Jonathan looked around. There was water everywhere except far to his right, beyond Abby. In that direction, he saw several bright spots. The brightness was orange and yellow, lighting the sky.
Fire.
Jonathan counted five separate bright areas. Five fires. The dark outlines of buildings were silhouetted against the fire closest to him.