Out to sea they saw the full fury of the hurricane building. The waves towered like blue gray mountains, their white peaks whipping into blurs of spray. Thunder crashed, and lightning lit the dark sky. The whole world seemed bathed in eerie green light—the kind of illumination that foretells the coming of a terrible storm.
Joe stood. “We need to get out of here.”
He gave Iola a hand to her feet, and Frank and Callie helped each other up. As they rose a strange, rumbling burble built up around them. Suddenly the top of the bluff gave way—and all four teens plunged down the cliff face toward the raging sea.
10 Storm Tide Rising
* * *
The mud slide surged around the teens, causing Iola and Callie to scream.
“Try to grab on to something!” Frank shouted.
“Like what?” Joe called back. “The whole hillside’s given way!”
The Hardys and their girlfriends scrambled through the mud, trying to get a grip on anything that might stop their slide.
“It’s no use!” Iola cried.
Frank shot his arm out and grabbed a bush at the slide’s edge. The branches were thorny and cut the skin on Franks palm, but the plant held. Callie caught hold of his belt and held on tight. “Iola! Joe!” she called.
But they were too far away to grab on. Joe and his girlfriend tumbled down the muddy slope toward the rock-lined shore. Joe seized Iola in his arms. “Hang tight,” he said. She nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.
Joe rolled sideways, against the flow of the slide. Rocks and earth battered their bodies. Rain and floodwaters washed over them, threatening to drown them even before the rocks below could shatter their bones.
Suddenly they hit something hard and stopped sliding.
“Joe! Iola! Are you all right?” Frank shouted down from above.
The younger Hardy and his girlfriend wiped the mud off their faces and opened their eyes. They were lying on top of a small, brush-covered ledge near the base of the bluff. The remnants of the mud slide gurgled past them, less than an arm’s length away.
“We are so lucky,” Iola said quietly.
“Lucky?” Joe said. “What do you think I was aiming for with all that rolling?” He smiled at her and then called up to Frank and Callie, “We’re okay!”
“I don’t think we can climb back up!” Iola said, shouting to make herself heard above the storm.
“Stay there!” Frank replied. “We’ll make our way down to you.”
He and Callie took a few moments to plot the safest course down the bluff’s face, then carefully made their way down to their friends.
The bushy ledge Joe and Iola had landed on lay less than a dozen yards from the rocky shore. Sea mist, tossed up from the tall waves, filled the air. The shore was even wetter, it seemed, than the jungle had been.
“It’s a miracle that none of us were hurt,” Frank said, looking back the way they’d come.
“One thing’s for sure,” Joe said. “That blowgun sniper will have trouble following us now.”
“If he has any sense,” Iola said, “he’s somewhere safe and dry by now.”
“I wish I could say the same for us,” Callie added. Her brown eyes reflected a flash of lightning.
“We’ll head south along the coast,” Frank said. “We know the town’s in that direction.”
“I’m pretty sure that most of this coastline is made of cliffs,” Iola said.
“Maybe,” Joe said. “But maybe there’ll be a place we can climb up. We better get moving, though. This storm is moving in very fast.”
They fought their way along the coast. The wind attempted to pound them into the cliff face, the rain tried to beat them into the ground, and the rising waves threatened to drag them out to sea. Though the air temperature remained hot, the rain and wind had sucked most of the warmth out of the teenagers’ bodies.
The rocky shore provided no shelter, and the cliff face didn’t allow a climb back up to the jungle. All four of them felt miserable. There was nothing to do, though, but press on.
The sound of the storm around them was incredible. The wind, rain, and surf built into a cacophony that made their heads throb. With chaos swirling all around, it became increasingly difficult to concentrate.
More than once they almost lost their footing on the rocks. Joe cut his shin on a sharp boulder. They stopped just long enough for him to tear a makeshift bandage from his T-shirt.
“I hope there are no land sharks around to be drawn by the scent of blood,” he joked.
“With the way this storm is coming in,” Frank replied, “I’d be just as worried about regular sharks if I were you.”
They all laughed, though their situation wasn’t at all funny. They soon realized that if they didn’t find shelter before the worst of the storm hit, they were goners. As soon as Joe tied off his bandage, they got moving again.
All four of them had studied maps of San Esteban, and they knew they couldn’t be very far up the coast from either their rented cottages—at least what was left of them—or Casa Bonita. Yet as they looked south along the shore they saw no sign of their destination. They all felt disheartened, but no one mentioned it.
Suddenly a rogue wave, taller than a two-story building, surged out of the sea and crashed into the teens. It smashed them to the ground, and the backwash threatened to pull them into the raging surf. Joe, Iola, and Frank crouched down and grabbed on to nearby boulders, but Callie lost her footing.
“Help!” she cried as she was dragged into the ocean.
Both Frank and Joe tried to grab her. Frank missed, but Joe twined his fingers around Callie’s outstretched hand and hung on tight. Iola anchored her feet under one of the boulders and grabbed on to both Hardys’ belts. Frank grabbed Callie’s other hand.
For an endless moment they hung there, trapped in a deadly tug-of-war with the sea for possession of their friend. Finally the surf subsided, and Callie climbed back over the rocks to her companions.
She was battered, bruised, and even more soaked than before, but otherwise little the worse for her terrifying experience. Frank gave her a hug, and they all continued up the rocky slope, farther away from the perilous waves.
Moving on the higher rocks slowed their journey considerably. Plus what was left of the last dull gray light was rapidly waning, and they still couldn’t make out the lights of Nuevo Esteban or their hotel.
“Maybe the power’s been knocked out,” suggested Joe.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Frank replied.
“I’d be surprised if it hadn’t been, with this weather,” Iola added.
They didn’t want to use the flashlight they’d rescued from the Jeep any sooner than necessary, but now it seemed they might need it to avoid a perilous misstep along the rocky shore.
Just then Frank’s sharp eyes spotted a dark blot on the dim gray cliff face. “It might be a cave,” he said. “There are supposed to be caves along this shore.”
“Let’s hope so,” Iola said. “We could use a break from the wind and rain.”
“And the waves,” added Callie.
They made their way toward the dark shape as quickly as they could and reached it just as night fell. Sure enough it was a wide cave that stretched back into the cliff.
“I don’t see the end of it,” Joe said, peering inside. “It’ll be a good place for us to dry off for a moment and catch our breath.”
“Sounds good,” Frank said. They cautiously moved inside.
The cave mouth was about thirteen feet tall, and wide enough so that all four of them could walk side by side. The floor and walls were smooth and slick with mist from the pounding surf. The tunnel led deep into the cliff, up away from the shore.
Venturing a short distance inside, they quickly found relief from the rain, wind, and surf. The passage narrowed until the roof hung just over their heads, and they had to walk two by two.
The cave wound through the cliff face with no clear direction or pur
pose. Callie had a solar-charged penlight attached to a key chain on her belt. It didn’t give off enough light to be much use outdoors, but in the confined passage it proved sufficient. They decided to use its dim light to navigate, and save their flashlight for later.
They walked up the tunnel until it was dry, then took turns looking the other way while each wrung out his or her wet clothing.
“Too bad we don’t have anything to build a fire with,” Joe said. “This place would be pretty comfortable with a campfire going.”
“Let’s not move in just yet,” Frank said. “As soon as we’ve rested, we should try to get back to town.”
“I’m not looking forward to going out in that storm again,” said Iola.
“Maybe we won’t have to,” Callie said, brightening. “Remember the story Angela told us about old bootlegger caves running under the island and city? Maybe this is one of them. Maybe we could follow it back to town.”
“It’d have to be a really long cave,” Joe noted.
“It’s worth looking into,” Frank said. He stood and started hiking farther away from the cave entrance. The others followed.
They walked on an uphill slope for about ten minutes before the tunnel angled down once more. “Hang on,” Joe said, stopping. “Listen.”
They all stood quietly.
“I hear water,” Iola said.
“Yeah,” Joe replied. “That’s what I thought. It’s just leading us to the ocean again.”
“Let’s go back the way we came,” Frank said. “Following this tunnel when we don’t know where it comes out is probably riskier than hiking along the coast again. Maybe we can find a way up the cliff that we didn’t spot before.”
They all agreed and headed back toward the cave entrance. They quickly reached the tunnel’s high point and began angling toward the rocky beach once more.
A few moments later, though, a shocking sight greeted their eyes.
“The tunnel,” Callie said, gasping. “It’s filled with water!”
11 Storm Surge
* * *
Frank hauled out the flashlight and turned it on to get a better look. Sure enough, water had completely filled the passage in front of the teens.
“But it was clear just a few minutes ago!” Iola said.
“The rising tide and the storm surge must have filled it up quickly,” Joe said. He shook his head angrily. “We should have been more careful!”
“There was no way we could have known,” Frank said. “Come on. Maybe the other end of the tunnel is still clear.”
“But we heard water at that end,” Callie said.
“It might come out into a different cove,” Frank said. “Storm surges are funny things; they can affect one bay and not the next. It all depends on the shape of the island and which direction the storm is coming from.”
“I guess we can give it a try,” Iola said.
“We have no choice,” Joe added. “If we’re trapped, we’ll just have to hope we’ve got enough air in here to last out the storm.”
“And hope the tide doesn’t rise any higher,” Callie said.
“No sense worrying about it until we’ve checked the other end of the tunnel,” Frank said. He turned off the flashlight, and they all trekked up the passage by the dim glow of Callie’s penlight.
They quickly reached the downward slope they’d found earlier. They kept going until they heard sloshing water once more. Shortly after that they saw water on the tunnel floor. Frank went forward and tasted it. “Seawater,” he said. “I’d hoped it might be an underground spring.”
“That means the cave connects to the ocean again,” Callie said.
Frank flicked on their flashlight and shone it ahead of the group. “The tunnel looks like it opens up ahead,” he said. “Wait here while I take a look. There’s no sense in all of us getting wet again if we don’t have to.”
He climbed down the tunnel and waded into the brine. The cold water made Frank shiver. He held the flashlight above his head and out of the water as the liquid rose up to his waist.
Before him lay a large cavern filled with foamy saltwater. Oddly enough, a speedboat with a broken rope hanging off the prow floated in the middle of the strange underground lake. Frank saw no entrance in the cave big enough to admit the craft.
“You won’t believe what’s down here,” he called back to the others. “You know that stolen speedboat from yesterday? Well, we found it.”
“Beth Becker’s boat?” Iola asked.
“Yeah. There’s a big cave down here, and the boat’s floating in it.”
“Should we come down?” Joe called to him.
“Hang on a moment,” Frank said. He shone the light carefully around the cave’s perimeter until he found what he was looking for. “Yes!” he called. “The cave is pretty full of water, but there’s an exit on the far side.”
Joe, Iola, and Callie splashed into the cave behind Frank.
“Brr! This water is cold!” Iola said.
“How did the stolen boat get in here?” Callie asked.
“There must be a seaward exit when the tide isn’t so high,” Joe said. “After they stole it, the pirates must have stashed the boat here.”
“Too bad we can’t drive the boat back to the hotel,” Iola said.
“With the sea so rough, we’d never make it,” Frank said. “The boat is a good sign, though.”
“How so?” Callie asked.
“Whoever stashed it here must have had a way out,” Joe said. “Maybe they went out the way they came in . . . but if this actually is an old bootlegger tunnel, they probably had another way out too. A dry-land exit.”
“On top of the cliff, you mean,” Iola said. “Well, what are we waiting for? Lets go!”
“Keep toward the edge of the pool and walk carefully,” Frank cautioned. “We don’t know how deep this water is.”
They moved quickly, but cautiously, across the open span of water to the cave exit. They stumbled a few times, but no one vanished into the brine. As they crossed the flooded cavern the water level kept rising. Frank’s initial observation proved correct: The new passage did lead up and out of the cave.
“I’m just really hoping this tunnel leads out to the cliff,” Joe said. He took the big flashlight from Frank and led the way.
They hiked until they were out of the water again, then switched back to Callie’s penlight to conserve their flashlight’s batteries. They also paused briefly to wring out their clothes again.
“I thought that a vacation meant taking a break from doing the wash!” Iola said, managing a smirk.
The water continued to rise quickly behind them, and it soon filled to the level of the cave’s roof.
“There’s no turning back now,” Callie said.
“For the water to rush in like that, the air has to be escaping from these caves somehow,” Joe said. “This tunnel seems to be the only possible way.”
“And the only way to find out is for us to keep going,” Frank noted.
Callie took the lead, to give Frank’s bruised ankles and Joe’s wounded shin a break.
They traveled up the winding tunnel until they could no longer hear the water rushing in behind them. The fact that they hadn’t run out of tunnel yet made them feel better, though this was mitigated somewhat by the fact that no end to the cave was in sight.
Exhausted, they finally decided to take a brief rest on a dry, flat stretch of the passage. They turned off their lights to conserve the batteries, and took turns keeping watch while the others slept.
They couldn’t be sure how long they’d slept, but they woke feeling slightly refreshed—though very cold.
“I don’t hear any water behind us,” Frank said as they got ready to hike again.
“And we haven’t run out of air yet,” Joe added. “That’s a good sign.”
“And I think we have definitely lost that sniper by now,” Callie said. The rest of them chuckled.
They walked among the dark shadows
for a long time, seeing no light nor a way out. Callie’s penlight finally gave out, and they switched over to the flashlight they’d taken from the Jeep.
They conserved the light when they could, turning it off when they were resting, or when the way ahead seemed straight and hazard free. Finally they came to a place where the passageway split in two.
“Too bad the bootleggers didn’t leave any signs telling us which way led to town,” Iola commented.
“The bootleggers knew the way,” Frank said, “and wanted to make sure that anyone following them didn’t.”
“Have you noticed that both of these new passages are wet?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” Frank replied.
“Does that mean that we’re headed down again and didn’t notice it?” Callie asked.
“I don’t think so,” Frank said. “The walls and ceiling are damp too. I think the water’s seeping down from the surface somehow.” He held his hand under a drop, caught it, and put it to his tongue. “It’s freshwater.”
“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” Iola asked. “We must be getting closer to a way out.”
“It could just be filtering through the rock,” Frank noted.
“Always the optimist!” Callie said, clearly frustrated. She gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.
“Hey, Frank—the walls of this passage aren’t damp,” Joe said, indicating the left-hand tunnel, “only the floor is.” He smiled. “I think the water is trickling in from the right-hand passage.”
“Good thinking, Joe,” Frank replied. “That makes the right-hand passage our best bet. The water needs to enter—and we need to exit.”
“Let’s go,” Iola said.
“Even being in a typhoon sounds good after being underground for so long,” Callie commented.
They trudged up the damp passage. It seemed to start steadily upward, but it was no straighter than any of the other paths they’d traversed. As they walked their flashlight began to dim.
“I don’t want to be trapped down here in total darkness,” Iola complained.
Typhoon Island Page 7