Frank came up behind me, pointing at the bathroom door with a puzzled look on his face.
I shook my head and shrugged.
My brother put a finger to his lips, then gave the door a little push. It swung open with a soft squeak. We peeked inside. But all we could see was the shower curtain—pulled closed along the length of the bathtub.
“Hello?” said Frank.
No one answered.
Slowly we took a step inside.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I reached for the shower curtain. Taking a deep breath, I pulled it open.
There was nobody there.
What’s going on?
I glanced down. The bathtub was filled almost to the brim with water. Floating on top was a shoebox-size package tied to a small inflatable life preserver.
The package was marked “SOS.”
I looked at Frank. “Another mission?”
“Sure looks like it.” My brother leaned down. Turning off the shower and unplugging the drain, he pulled the package out of the water and handed it to me.
“Here. Take this,” he said. “I’m taking a shower.”
Then, with a little shove, he pushed me out of the bathroom and locked the door.
Twenty minutes later we were clean, dry, and ready to take on our next assignment. Frank fired up the computer while I opened the package with a pocketknife.
“What does SOS stand for, anyway?” I asked.
My brother leaned back in his chair. “It doesn’t stand for any specific words. It comes from Morse code: dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot. The letters SOS are easy to transmit. That’s why they were selected by the International Radiotelegraphic Convention at Berlin in 1906.”
“Gee, thanks, Mr. Know-It-All. Any other useless knowledge you’d like to share?”
“I’m glad you asked, Joe.” Frank smiled and continued the lecture. “The U.S. Coast Guard no longer monitors Morse code messages. The distress code they use is Mayday, taken from the French phrase m’aider, meaning ‘help me.’”
I stared at my brother, shaking my head. “You’re such a nerd, Frank.”
“Just open the package, Joe.”
I reached inside the box and pulled out a pair of ultraslim inflatable life vests, a mini “weather tracker” device with satellite hookup, and a hand-cranked emergency radio. At the bottom of the box was a CD labeled “SOS,” which I handed to Frank.
He popped it into his computer, then pressed a button. I pulled up a chair and waited for the show to begin.
KER-BOOM!
A roar of thunder erupted from the speakers. Then a bolt of lightning lit up the screen. Dark stormy images of clouds, rain, and wind flashed before our eyes—a steady flow of news clips of recent storms and disasters.
“Hurricanes,” a voice announced grimly. “Every year they wreak havoc in coastal communities, cutting a dangerous path of destruction wherever they go. The winds of a Category One hurricane range from seventy-four to ninety-five miles per hour and can cause minor damage and flooding. The most severe hurricanes, Category Five, have winds greater than 155 miles per hour. They can destroy small buildings and much worse. Anyone living within five to ten miles of the shoreline should evacuate their homes immediately,”
We were shown pictures of emergency evacuation centers crowded with families, rescue workers, and rows of sleeping cots. Then the images faded, and a map of the United States filled the screen.
“Hurricanes begin as storm depressions, usually in tropical regions,” the voice continued. “The most commonly affected areas include the Gulf Coast and the Southern states along the Atlantic,”
The Doppler radar showed the swirling movements of massive clouds sweeping over the coasts.
“Sometimes, due to various weather conditions, hurricanes can hit the Northeast as well. This summer, according to meteorologists, a series of storms could cause large-scale damage from Virginia to Maine, So far, the hurricanes have not been severe. But local communities aren’t taking any chances. Citizens are routinely evacuated when a storm threatens to strike,”
The map was replaced with a video of families shielding their heads from the rain as they entered a large building.
“Hey! That’s Bayport High School,” I said.
The voice continued. “Mother Nature isn’t the only problem. This past week, area homes have been burglarized after the owners evacuated. There have been four break-ins in Seacrest and five in Eastwood, Just today there were three more burglaries in Bayport.”
I glanced at Frank. He was shaking his head.
“The ATAC team believes this is the worst kind of crime,” the voice went on. “The burglars are taking advantage of a terrible situation—and they have to be stopped. Your mission, foe and Frank, is to get to the bottom of all this. These criminals must be caught as soon as possible. Otherwise, the public may refuse to evacuate their homes for fear of being robbed. Their lives could be in danger.”
The screen went black.
“This CD will be erased in exactly five seconds. Good luck, boys.”
A few moments later the disk reformatted itself and music blared from the computer’s speakers.
It was the song “Rock You Like a Hurricane.”
Frank spun around in his chair. ‘Well, it looks like we stumbled right into our next mission without even knowing it.”
“Yeah, just our luck.” I reached for the emergency radio that was packed inside the box and started turning the hand crank. After a few twists, the radio buzzed to life. “Check it out. This little baby can tune in to TV stations.”
I played with the knobs for a while, trying to find a better channel. First there was nothing but static. Then a deep voice began to deliver the local weather report.
“That’s Johnny Thunder,” said Frank. “Turn it up.”
I adjusted the volume and listened.
“This is Johnny Thunder with a special emergency broadcast. You may be relieved to learn that Hurricane Herman has changed direction and is headed out to sea. But the danger is not over yet. I is repeat: The danger is not over yet.”
I glanced nervously at Frank.
Johnny Thunder continued. “A more severe storm is gathering strength off the Northeast coast. Her name is Hurricane Ivy. And she’s heading right for us.”
4 Weather or Not
“Emergency! Emergency!”
Playback squawked and swooped and circled over my bed, his wings fluttering in the morning light.
I glanced at my clock radio and groaned.
“Six thirty? Go back to sleep, Playback.”
The parrot landed on the headboard above me. “Emergency!” he screeched again—loudly.
I rubbed my eyes and gazed out the window. The sky was clear and blue, sunlight streaming through the trees. “It sure doesn’t look like an emergency,” I muttered, staring up at the bird. “Have you been watching Johnny Thunder with Aunt Trudy again?”
“Yes, he has.”
Aunt Trudy stuck her head through the door and winked.
“I sent Playback in here to wake you up,” she said. “We have a lot of work to do today.”
I yawned. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Johnny Thunder said Hurricane Ivy might become a Category Three or Four—so I want you boys to storm-proof this house.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “What do you want us to do?”
“Not much. Just tape some Xs over the windows, and nail down the loose shutters, and move the lawn furniture into the garage.”
“Oh. Is that all?” I said, sighing.
“No, that’s not all. I’ll give you further instructions over breakfast.” Aunt Trudy clicked her fingers, and Playback flew across the room, landing on her shoulder. “Hurry up and get dressed, Frank. I’ll go wake up your brother. We need to be prepared in case of an emergency.”
Playback flapped his wings. “Emergency! Emergency!” he kept squawking as they left the room.
She stopped and turned around, “Yes, Frank?”
“Can I watch you wake up Joe?”
Aunt Trudy gave me a sly smile. Then, laughing quietly, we carried Playback down the hall to Joe’s bedroom.
Somebody was in for a rude awakening.
“Emergency!”
After his little wake-up call, Joe was a total grouch all morning long. He grumbled and complained through every task Aunt Trudy gave us.
“I don’t know why we have to do this,” he said, standing in the grass below the ladder. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
I looked up. Joe was right. The noonday sun was blazing overhead. The heat had even managed to dry up the fain from yesterday’s storm.
“Just hold the ladder for me,” I said, bracing myself on the top step. “This is the last shutter.”
My brother glared at me. “Why should I?”
“Um, because I might fall.”
“It would serve you right,” he said, “for waking me up like that today.”
“Hey, Playback woke me up the same way. It’s not my fault you woke up screaming like a little girl.”
“I did not scream like a little girl.”
“Aunt Trudy!” I shouted down through the kitchen window.
Aunt Trudy peeked out. “Yes?”
“Didn’t Joe scream like a little girl this morning?”
She burst out laughing. “Oh, my, yes! Just like a little girl!”
Playback hopped onto her shoulder. “Little girl! Little girl!” he squawked.
Aunt Trudy and I howled—while Joe turned red.
“Go on and laugh,” he growled. “I’ get you back, and your little bird, too. When you least expect it.” He reached out and steadied the ladder. “Nail in that shutter, Frank. And make it fast.”
I wasn’t going to argue—not while I was standing on the top rung and he was holding the ladder. Reaching up, I pounded in a few more nails until the shutter was secure. Then I climbed down and helped Joe carry the ladder back to the garage.
“So how are we going to catch these burglars, Frank?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. We don’t have any clues to go on.”
“No suspects, either,” Joe added.
“Maybe we should talk to Belinda and Brian. The burglars might have left a clue in their house.”
“Like fingerprints?”
“Yeah, but they probably used gloves. Otherwise the police would have a lead on them already”
Joe scratched his head. “Maybe one of the neighbors saw something.”
“They were evacuated, remember?”
Joe sighed. “Okay, so no witnesses, no suspects, and no clues—yet. That means we have to catch the burglars in the act.”
I thought about it. “The chances of that are pretty slim, Joe. If there’s another evacuation, every house in town will be a target. We can try to keep an eye on things, but we can’t be everywhere at once.”
“I know one thing,” said Joe.
“What?”
“I’m starving.”
As if on cue, Aunt Trudy hollered at us from the kitchen window. “Come and get it, boys!”
Joe and I headed for the back door, glancing up again at the bright blue sky.
“I still find it hard to believe there’s a hurricane coming,” said Joe.
“We can check the weather report again.”
I opened the door and walked to the kitchen counter. Aunt Trudy had laid out a whole smorgasbord of cold cuts, cheese, fruit, and macaroni salad.
“We’re eating in front of the TV” she told us, putting food on her plate. “The Weather Network is covering Hurricane Ivy, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“You don’t want to miss Johnny Thunder,” I said. “Admit it, Aunt Trudy.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, he is awfully handsome.” Then she carried her plate out of the room.
Joe shook his head. “I never even heard of this Johnny Thunder guy until yesterday. What kind of name is that, anyway? I bet he made it up.”
“You think?”
We loaded up our plates and headed out to the living room. Mom, Dad, and Aunt Trudy sat on the sofa in front of folding TV trays, their eyes glued to the set. Playback was perched on top of the television, preening and posing. He seemed to think everyone was looking at him, not Johnny Thunder.
Joe and I sat down in a pair of armchairs and balanced our plates on our laps. I expected Aunt Trudy to snap at us for spilling crumbs—but she was totally mesmerized by the “awfully handsome” weatherman on the screen.
Johnny Thunder stood in front of the docks, wearing a yellow rain slicker and holding a large microphone. “According to our meteorologists, Hurricane Ivy is gathering strength along the northeast coast,” he said. “We strongly urge you to evacuate your homes now, before the storm reaches Bayport.”
Mom looked skeptical. “But it’s so beautiful outside,” she said, pointing to the window. “Maybe they’ve made a mistake.”
Aunt Trudy reacted with a loud huff. “Johnny Thunder is never wrong.”
Joe and I stood up and walked to the window. “He might be wrong this time, Aunt Trudy,” I said, scanning the sky. “If Hurricane Ivy is only twenty miles away, there should be some clouds overhead.”
“You’re not a meteorologist, Frank,” she replied. “If Johnny Thunder says we should evacuate, we should listen to him.”
Dad stood up and joined us at the window. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Trudy,” he said. “We should be okay here. The boys storm-proofed the house, and we’re on higher ground than the rest of the town.”
A commercial for breakfast cereal came on the TV. Aunt Trudy picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels.
I whispered to Joe, “If people evacuate their homes, there could be more burglaries.”
Joe was about to respond when Aunt Trudy interrupted.
“This is strange,” she said.
We turned around. “What is?”
“None of the other channels are covering Hurricane Ivy. Their weathermen are still talking about Hurricane Herman. There’s no mention of Ivy at all.”
We sat down and watched a few of the broadcasts.
Aunt Trudy was right.
Nobody was predicting another hurricane—except the Weather Network.
Joe and I were stumped.
Something was going on—something highly suspicious—and we were determined to get to the bottom of it. That’s why we snuck out the back door after we took our empty plates to the kitchen.
“Just look at that sky,” said Joe, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. “This has to be one of the nicest days of the summer.”
I had to agree.
But many of our neighbors were putting their trust in Johnny Thunder’s weather report. The streets were filled with families packing up their cars to head to the emergency evacuation center.
“The high school is in the other direction, boys,” our neighbor, Mr. Benton, pointed out. “You don’t want to get caught in the storm.”
We thanked him for his concern but kept walking down the street. A couple of blocks later, we ran into our friend Chet Morton. He was heading toward us with his parents and his sister, Iola, who was home from performing arts school for the summer.
“Yo! Frank! Joe!” he shouted and waved. “Are you ready for another hurricane?”
We strolled over and said hi to his family.
Mrs. Morton stuffed a bottle of water into her husband’s backpack. “Aren’t you boys going to the evacuation center?” she asked.
“Soon,” I said. “We still have a few hours.”
“That’s what I told her,” said Chet. “We have plenty of time.”
“You just want to stay home and play with your new Zbox,” said Iola.
Joe’s jaw dropped. ‘You got the new Zbox?”
Chet grinned. “Yup. I’ve been saving up for it al
l summer.”
“And? Does it rock?”
“Totally. Want to check it out?”
Chet’s mother sighed. “Not now, Chet.”
“Please? It’ll only take a minute, Mom,” said Chet, pleading. “Five minutes. I’ll catch up with you later.”
She looked at Chet’s father, who glanced up at the sky and shrugged. “Okay. Five minutes. That’s all.”
Chet let out a whoop and led us back to his house at the end of the block. Every step of the way, he babbled on about his Zbox and all the new games he’d bought for it. Joe was hanging on his every word.
Finally we reached the house. Chet ran up the stairs, crossed the porch, and froze.
“That’s weird,” he said with a confused look. “The door is open.”
The three of us stood there in silence, staring at the wide-open door. I looked at Joe and Chet. Then, carefully, quietly, we tiptoed into the house.
The living room was empty. No intruders in sight.
No TV set, either.
“No way,” Chet muttered slowly. “My Zbox! It’s gone! No!”
His voice echoed through the house. For a few seconds we just stood there in shock. Nobody moved or spoke.
Then we heard footsteps in the kitchen.
And voices.
Were the burglars still around?
5 Thunder Blunder
The next sound we heard was the back door opening and slamming.
They’re getting away!
I charged out of the room. Frank and Chet scrambled after me as I dashed down the hall, through the kitchen, and straight for the door. Flinging it open, I jumped out and looked around.
Where did they go?
“Quick! Split up!” yelled Frank.
Chet took off toward the front of the house, Frank ran around the back, and I sprinted toward the bushes that lined the neighbor’s yard. For a second I thought I saw someone—but it was just a shrub blowing in the wind.
They must be around here somewhere.
I circled the block a few times but finally gave up and headed back to Chet’s house.
“Any luck?” asked Frank, jogging toward me.
“No. You?”
“No.”
I kicked a pebble across the street. “Man! I can’t believe we let them get away. They were right there in the house with us! We could hear them talking!”
Hurricane Joe Page 3