I was almost even with the mattress when it hit some fast water. It shot ahead of me again. I would have screamed if I’d had any breath.
But then the mattress turned sideways for a second. I ran past it and rushed into the river. I kept my eye on the mattress, still upstream from me.
I waded into deeper water. The current pulled at my legs. When I was waist deep, I stopped. I was still wearing my life vest. And it was too late to take it off. If I went any farther, the river would pick me up. And I’d be floating again.
I stopped and watched the mattress come closer. It was moving steadily, right in the middle of the stream. I crouched down and waited.
When the front of the mattress was even with me, I made my leap. I got an arm across the mattress, and it carried me along for a minute. But then it turned sideways, and I eased it toward shore.
I dragged it into shallower water and slid on. I was still breathing hard from the run, and it felt good to lie down. Even on that mattress.
On and on I went. I checked my watch about once a minute. Every time I looked ahead, I expected to see the bridge. But all I saw was more river.
I was shivering hard. I tried to make up a song about the bear to keep my mind off the cold. But I couldn’t get past the first line:
“On Boulder River I saw a bear….”
I could think of lots of rhymes: square, fair, hair. But right then putting words together was too much work.
I gave up the song and started playing games, trying to keep from looking at the watch. I kept my eyes on the water in front of me while I counted to a hundred. Then I glanced at the watch and looked up for the bridge. Then counted again.
I tried to name twenty-five video games I’d played. That didn’t work. Right away I started thinking about Tanner.
So I counted backwards from a hundred. And looked up. I counted to five hundred by fives. And looked up. I said the alphabet, then tried to say it backwards.
After counting to ten in Spanish three times, I looked up. And there was the bridge. A plain old metal bridge. But to me, it was beautiful.
I had done it. I’d ridden my crazy mattress-boat all the way. I’d beaten the River Demon.
Paddling toward shore, I kept looking up at that beautiful bridge. Of course, it would have been even more beautiful if people had been standing on it. But I wasn’t complaining.
I slid off the mattress and waded to shore. I stripped off my life vest while I ran across the rocks. My sweatshirt, sopping wet, was still tied around my waist. I tried to untie it, but my hands were shaking too hard.
I climbed up the bank to a paved road. I stopped for a second and looked both ways. And saw nothing.
I felt like screaming again. It wasn’t fair! I’d come all the way down the river to the bridge. I’d won the game. But there was nothing here. Just an empty road with trees and bushes in both directions.
I glanced down at Tanner’s watch and took one long breath. Then I started to run. I chose the left for no reason and raced down the middle of the road. At first, my legs were wobbly. But it still felt good to be moving.
I spotted a metal roof up ahead and ran even faster. Off to the right, down a dirt driveway, was a cabin. Painted white, with a green door. No cars parked in front.
The place looked empty. I ran down the driveway and pounded on that green door anyway.
Nobody there.
I grabbed a rock. I’d use it to break a window. Then I’d climb in and use the phone.
I ran to the first window and looked inside. Bunk beds, an old woodstove. Hanging from the ceiling was an old-fashioned oil lantern.
I groaned and dropped the rock. There wouldn’t be a phone in there. They didn’t even have electricity.
Just then I heard the rumbling of an engine. What an awesome sound! A truck. Coming this way.
I raced down the driveway. I spotted the truck off to my left. Barreling along. Getting closer and closer.
I couldn’t let it get past. This was a race I couldn’t lose. I stretched out and ran as hard as I could. Straight into the road.
I stood right in the middle, waving my arms over my head. I heard the horn and squealing brakes. The truck swerved to the edge of the road.
I started to smile. I had won the race. The truck was going to stop.
The squealing brakes got louder. The left headlight was coming right at me. I stood there and watched it get bigger and bigger.
I finally realized that the truck couldn’t stop in time. I leapt to the side, and a big fender zipped past me.
The truck screeched to a stop. The air was full of blue smoke from the tires. I rushed forward and slammed my fist against the driver’s door.
“You idiot!” the driver shouted. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Emergency!” I yelled. “Emergency!”
The truck driver gave me a jacket and took me to a store with a phone booth on the porch. I called 911. I talked to the operator, then the sheriff’s office, then a helicopter pilot from Search and Rescue. When I told him about the yellow X, he laughed and said, “Good job, buddy. This will be a piece of cake.” I dropped the phone and slid down onto the porch. My legs couldn’t hold me any longer. I curled into a ball and closed my eyes.
After that, things get foggy A woman wrapped me in a blanket and put a bandage on my chin. Somebody gave me hot chocolate, and I spilled it all over the driver’s jacket. I spent some time on an old couch, but I can’t remember how I got there. I woke up later when Dad was carrying me to the van. “Don’t try to talk,” he told me. “Tanner’s in the hospital. He’ll be fine. Just rest.”
Six days later, Tanner was home. He had a bandage on his head, and some of his hair had been shaved. His eyes were purple and puffy. But he still had his puppy-dog smile. Our house was full of balloons and candy. Half the girls in town came by to visit him.
The doctors said Tanner was doing great. But they didn’t want him to play football. “That’s okay,” Tanner said. “I’ll try out for the cross-country team.” And he’ll probably be a star at that, too.
That first night, after his friends finally left, Tanner came to my room. “All right, Ryan,” he said, “I want to hear about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know the way you do things,” he said. “You didn’t want Mom worrying. So you made it all sound so simple. I want to know what really happened.”
“I made up a song about it. You want to hear it?”
“Not really.”
“Here’s the last verse.” I stood up and sang:
“That’s my story, and here’s the last chapter:
I rode a mattress; Tanner, a helicapter.”
For once, Tanner didn’t smile. “No jokes, Ryan. No dumb songs. I want to hear what happened.”
“All right,” I said. “But you have to promise not to tell anybody.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. Just promise me.”
“Okay, I promise. Cross my heart and all that stuff. Now, let’s hear it.”
“We’d better sit down,” I said. “It’ll take a while.”
We sat on my bed, and I told him the whole thing.
When I was done, he shook his head. “I don’t get it. What’s the big secret? You saved my life twice. First you kept me from drowning. And then you got me rescued. The doctor said I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. People ought to know what you did.”
“You promised,” I said.
“Okay.” He got up from the bed. “Wait here a second.”
I rested my head on a pillow. I felt better now that Tanner knew the story. I didn’t want to tell anybody else right then. I felt good about the whole thing. I’d made mistakes, but I’d done the very best I could. And I was proud of that.
But how could I tell anybody else about it without seeming to brag? And I didn’t want to talk about how lonely and scared I had felt.
Or think about bad things that could have happened.
Tanner came back into the room. He flashed me that same old smile. “I got something for you. And I don’t want you acting dumb.” He handed me a little white box.
I opened it and looked inside. It was his medal. “No way,” I said.
“I told you. Don’t be weird about it. I figure you’re a real hero, and somebody ought to give you a medal. So that’s what I’m doing.”
“But it’s not—” I started.
“Don’t argue with me. Just take it.”
Nobody can argue with Tanner. He always gets his way. So I didn’t even try.
When Tanner left, I put the medal into the top drawer of my desk. Then I opened another drawer and dug out Chopper Demon.
Just one game before bed. Or, if the Demon zapped me, maybe two.
P. J. Petersen has written many books for young readers. He is a graduate of Stanford University and holds a doctorate in English from the University of New Mexico. He lives with his wife in Redding, California. He has two daughters, Karen and Carly, and two grandchildren, Ryan and Emma.
When he is not writing, P.J. enjoys hiking, kayaking, bicycling, and swimming. When it is raining, he bakes bread, works crossword puzzles, and reads other authors’ books.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by P. J. Petersen
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Petersen, P. J.
Wild river / P. J. Petersen.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Considered lazy and unathletic, twelve-year-old Ryan discovers a
heroic side of himself when a kayak trip with his older brother goes horribly awry.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89268-4
[1. Wilderness survival—Fiction. 2. Survival—Fiction. 3. Heroes—Fiction.
4. Kayaks and kayaking—Fiction. 5. Brothers—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.P44197 Wj 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008024921
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.0
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
Copyright
Wild River Page 6