Typhoon Island

by Franklin W. Dixon

“Good news, then,” Joe said. “I think I see a light ahead.”

  “There’s more water running down the tunnel floor, too,” Frank noted. “We must be getting close to the surface.”

  Fifteen minutes later they reached a makeshift wooden door that covered the cave entrance. Cracks between the boards let weak daylight filter in from outside. A small but steady stream of water seeped under the door.

  “The good news,” Joe said, peering through the cracks, “is that we’ve found a way out.”

  “What’s the bad news?” Iola asked.

  “I think the storm has gotten worse.”

  “We must have been in the tunnels all night long,” Frank said, stepping up beside Joe. “It’s hard to tell with the storm, but I think it’s morning.”

  They all could hear the sound of the typhoon raging outside. Joe opened the door and looked around. “The door is in an alcove at the side of the cave,” he said. “It’s kind of protected from the wind and the rain.”

  “Maybe we should just stay here, then,” Callie said. “It seems safe enough.”

  As she spoke the ground shook, and a cascade of rocks tumbled down from above the cave entrance.

  “Only if being buried alive is your idea of fun,” Iola replied.

  “Iola’s right,” Joe said. “The hurricane is making the cave entrance unstable.”

  “There may be people out looking for us too,” Frank said. “We don’t want them wasting their time, or getting hurt on our account.”

  Callie frowned. “You’re right,” she said. “I just hate to see any of us getting hurt either.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Frank said, giving her a reassuring hug.

  “As careful as anyone can be, roaming into a typhoon,” Joe added with a wink.

  They adjusted their ponchos, made what few preparations they could, and turned toward the entrance. Another batch of rocks tumbled past the cave mouth just before they stepped out. They hung back inside until the stones stopped falling, then quickly sprinted into the jungle.

  The cave was part of a hillside and overlooked the ocean. Though it hardly seemed possible, the storm had grown worse since they first entered the tunnels. The sea was a sheet of white-capped waves. Thunder shook the hills with frightening regularity, and the rain fell in massive sheets.

  “I think I see the hotel!” Joe called, shouting to be heard over the wind. He pointed to a white-and-green shape that loomed behind the storm-battered trees downhill.

  “Thank goodness,” said Callie.

  “It looks like we’ve come out somewhere below our cabins,” Frank said. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Stumbling downhill through the drenched forest, they quickly found the trail that led from their cabins. This lower stretch wasn’t as washed out as the part they had traveled the previous day, so their journey became somewhat easier.

  They climbed over downed trees and dodged falling branches and other debris. The wind and the rain made the trek difficult, but, nonetheless, they were all happy to be out in the open air once more.

  Hope filled their hearts as they rounded the final bend of the road before the hotel. They began to sprint, knowing that safety was—at last—in sight.

  Near Casa Bonita they suddenly stopped dead. Rain lashed the hotel’s white-painted sides, and downed power lines writhed around its perimeter. Huge waves splashed over the beach seawall, threatening the hotel lobby. Black smoke leaked from the buildings upper floors.

  Despite the wind and rain and surf, Casa Bonita was on fire.

  12 No Shelter

  * * *

  For a moment, the four teens stood in stunned silence. Between the wind, the rain, the fire, and the sparking power lines, Casa Bonita—their shelter from the storm—had become a disaster area.

  Hotel patrons and staff were milling around outside, trying to cope with the catastrophe. Rain and wind lashed the people, forcing many of them to crouch at times. The broken power lines threatened to electrocute anyone who got too close.

  Suddenly a balcony on one of the upper floors collapsed. It crashed into the parking lot six stories below and shattered into a million pieces. Fortunately no one had been standing on it or under it, and no one was hurt.

  “Come on,” Joe said. “Let’s see what we can do to help.”

  The four teens sprinted through the rain and wind toward the beleaguered hotel.

  “I think we were better off in the cave!” Iola said.

  “We may end up living in that cave before all this is over,” Callie replied.

  “If the hurricane doesn’t flatten this whole place,” Joe said, “maybe we can figure out who’s causing the rest of the trouble—the darts, the bull, the creatures in our bungalows . . .”

  The hotel’s problems escalated in the few seconds it took the Hardys and their girlfriends to get to the front entrance. They found Renee Aranya milling around in the confused crowd. She seemed uncertain what to do.

  “Where are the fire and emergency vehicles?” Frank asked her.

  “All the phone and power lines are down,” she said. “They don’t even know we’re in trouble.”

  “Are all the patrons out of the hotel?” Joe asked.

  “I think so, yes,” she said. “You four were the only ones missing.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news,” Joe said, “but our bungalows were destroyed by fires and the storm.”

  “And the road’s washed out,” Iola added. “That’s why it took us all night to get here.”

  Aranya nodded slowly. She looked shell shocked. “We knew about the road. We sent people to look for you, but the storm got to be too much. And now . . . this!” Her tear-filled eyes strayed to the smoke pouring from the buildings upper floors.

  “Did you send someone into town for the fire department?” Callie asked.

  “Yes, but they haven’t come back yet,” Aranya replied. “The guests who had their own cars have left as well.”

  “We can’t wait for rescue,” Frank said. “We need to get everyone out of here immediately. It’s too dangerous to stay.”

  Renee Aranya nodded slowly. Her eyes grew steely and determined, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “How many vehicles do you have?” Joe asked.

  “The shuttle bus and two vans,” Aranya said.

  Frank nodded. “How many injured people are there?”

  “Just a handful.”

  “Good. Put them all into one van,” Frank said. “We’ll help the rest of the hotel guests get into the bus. Then we can follow in the last car.”

  Aranya nodded. “You must have some emergency training.”

  “We’ve been in our share of tough situations,” Joe admitted.

  Aranya organized her staff. Soon all of the injured guests were loaded aboard the first van. The Hardys and their girlfriends helped the other guests into the repainted school bus. The shuttle was nearly full by the time the first van pulled away.

  The hotel continued to burn, though the heavy rains seemed to slow the fire a bit. Downed power lines, sparking and hissing like snakes, continued to writhe across the parking lot.

  Renee Aranya took one last, long look at the hotel as the bus pulled out of the parking lot. “It was my dream,” she said mournfully.

  “I think everyone’s safe,” Callie said. “We should get out of here ourselves.”

  “Hold up!” someone called.

  They turned and saw Lucas McGill walking toward them. The Gringo was supporting a groggy and wet Beth Becker. “You almost missed the last two,” he said.

  Joe went and helped the older man with Ms. Becker. “Is she all right?” Joe asked.

  “She said something fell on her,” The Gringo replied. “But she ain’t bleeding, and I don’t think she has a concussion.”

  “I hate this vacation,” Ms. Becker said, moaning.

  “Get her in the van,” Frank said, turning to the others. “Climb in, everyone. I’ll drive.” He hopped into the driver’s
seat, found the keys already in the ignition, and started the vehicle. Iola and Renee Aranya helped The Gringo and Joe load Beth Becker into the back. Callie swung into the passenger seat.

  “We’re in,” said Joe. “Lets go before the storm gets any worse.”

  Frank pulled the van out of the six-inch-deep puddle that had once been the hotel parking lot, and onto the highway. The road was hardly dry, and he had to fight the current to keep from running off the side. “I wish we had that Jeep right now,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me something happened to the Jeep, too!” Renee Aranya cried, moaning.

  “A couple of tires blew at the same time the cabins caught fire,” Joe said, glossing over the truth just a little. “Otherwise it was okay when we were forced to abandon it.”

  Aranya put her head in her hands. “I am ruined,” she said. “The insurance companies will go broke trying to pay for the disaster, and our hurricane insurance will be worthless.”

  “Keep your chin up,” Frank said. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

  Callie gave the hotel owner a reassuring hug. “It’ll all work out.”

  “Ask my lawyer about that,” Beth Becker added.

  The Bayport teens glared at her. Ms. Becker slumped back in the seat and closed her eyes.

  “How did the fire start?” Joe asked Renee Aranya. “Was it lightning?”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Aranya said. “I had just finished a meeting with Jorge Tejeda, Rodrigo Lopez, and the mayor. We were picking a new date for the town meeting, as obviously today was not possible.

  “The storm took the power and phone lines down, so we ended the meeting early. The others left, and I hurried to help with the hotel’s emergency preparations. We already had many people in our basement shelter. Then the fire alarm went off.”

  “It’s a good thing the alarm system was automatic,” Frank said.

  “Sí,” Aranya replied. “We tried to stop the fire, but . . .” She took a deep breath and couldn’t continue for a moment. “It was useless. With the phone lines down, we could not contact the firemen. So we decided to evacuate the hotel. That is when you arrived.”

  Frank turned to Lucas McGill. “How did you happen to turn up at Casa Bonita?”

  “A suspicious boy, aren’t you?” The Gringo replied, smiling slightly. “Can’t a man have lunch where he pleases?”

  “You’re saying it’s just coincidence that you were there during the meeting with the town leaders?” Joe asked, incredulous.

  “I wouldn’t say it was coincidence . . . ,” The Gringo said. “It was lucky for you and Ms. Becker that I was there, though.”

  Frank nodded. “I can’t argue with that.”

  “I’m glad we got everyone out safely,” Callie said.

  “I wouldn’t count those chickens yet,” Joe replied. “Look.”

  Ahead of them lay the river that ran between Casa Bonita and the Hotel San Esteban. When the teenagers had arrived on the island, the river had been a placid watercourse that added to the island’s beauty. Now, swollen by rain from the typhoon, it had grown into a raging monster. The river had flowed over its banks. They watched in horror as the last remnants of the bridge that had once spanned the river crumbled. In moments the only highway into San Esteban vanished.

  “What about the bus?” Callie asked, panic in her voice.

  “I see it,” Frank said, pointing to the roadway on the other side. “It’s moving down the highway through those trees. They made it.”

  “The bridge must have collapsed right after they crossed over,” Joe said.

  “But what about us?” Iola asked. Her eyes scanned the raging river and shattered bridge. “How will we get across?”

  “Who’s up for a swim?” Joe joked.

  “I don’t think we can stay with the van,” Frank said. “If the storm gets any worse—and I think it will—we won’t be safe here.”

  “The river narrows upstream,” The Gringo said, “near the scenic falls. There’s a footbridge above the falls that we could use. I can lead us there.”

  “Will the bridge still be safe?” Renee Aranya asked.

  “We don’t have any choice but to find out,” Joe said. “You’re sure you can lead us there safely?” he asked The Gringo.

  The Gringo nodded. “I know this island like the back of my hand. I could find it blindfolded, even in this storm.”

  “Joe and I will help Ms. Becker,” Frank said. “Callie, Iola, Ms. Aranya—follow Mr. McGill, and warn us about falling debris and other hazards.”

  “Check,” Callie and Iola replied.

  “Everybody ready?” Joe asked as he and Frank put Beth Becker’s arms around their shoulders.

  Everyone in the van nodded, and Iola opened the sliding door in the side of the vehicle. The wind buffeted them, trying to push them back in as they fought their way outside.

  The Gringo led them up the river, keeping them a good distance back from the bank and well away from the torrent of floodwaters. As they wound their way up the hillside the riverbanks grew steeper and steeper.

  “Not too far now,” The Gringo said.

  The rain quickly soaked them to the skin once again, even under the Bayport teens’ ponchos. Lightning flashed all around, and thunder shook the hills. The wind through the trees sounded like the hissing of a giant snake.

  They quickly reached the pedestrian walkway across the river. It was a steel-cable suspension bridge—flimsy-looking, but clearly built to withstand harsh weather. The river below the span roared and surged, casting spray even up onto the walkway. The wind made the bridge sway terribly, but the seven of them safely made their way across. Beth Becker looked even paler by the time they got to the far side.

  “Don’t worry, lady,” The Gringo said to her. “It’s all downhill from here.”

  They hiked back into the forest, but soon veered off of the main path and onto a game trail.

  “This way is shorter,” The Gringo explained. “The hiking trail heads up into the hills before winding back toward town.”

  “Shorter is good,” Frank said.

  The Hardys and their companions hiked down the narrow path, Joe and Frank still helping Beth Becker whenever she needed it. Soon they were all muddy as well as wet, and most had taken an accidental slide or two.

  Suddenly Joe stopped and listened. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  “It’s just the wind,” Callie replied.

  “No,” Joe said. “Its more than the wind. Something’s coming.”

  They all turned and looked uphill. Behind them the trail seemed alive with writhing, wriggling bodies. Snakes covered the entire path.

  13 Wildlife Rampage

  * * *

  The serpents surged downhill like a living river. Some were black, and others were green, red, or yellow. Behind the rainbow torrent of snakes came a stampede of other animals: deer, boars, monkeys, and lizards.

  “They’re running from the storm!” Frank shouted. “Get off the path!”

  He and Joe dragged Beth Becker off the trail, while the others scurried into the brush. They scrambled up into the trees, but the slippery bark made climbing almost impossible. Despite this, all of them managed to get their feet far enough off the ground that a snake could slither harmlessly under them.

  The thundering stampede of frightened animals passed by quickly. Soon even the slowest lizards had disappeared around the bend in the trail below.

  “That’s the trouble with game trails,” Joe said. “You never know when game animals might want to use them.” He wiped the rain and sweat from his brow as they all lowered themselves to the ground.

  “I know a way through the jungle from here,” The Gringo said. “It’s shorter, but harder to navigate.”

  “I vote for staying off the game trails,” Callie said, raising her hand. Iola, Aranya, and Ms. Becker raised their hands too.

  The brothers nodded. “Looks like it’s decided,” Frank said. “Let’s go.”

  “D
on’t worry,” The Gringo added. “It’s not too far now.”

  The next time the trail turned, they went straight. The wind and the rain still lashed at them mercilessly, and they took frequent stops to gather their strength. When the wind pushed the trees aside, they glimpsed Nuevo Esteban’s church tower. It wasn’t very far off, and this gave them all hope. Soon they reached the outskirts of the small city.

  As the tired teens and their companions staggered into town they noticed that the streets were deserted. Water covered the roads.

  “The main storm shelter is in the high school,” Renee Aranya said. “It’s on this side of town—it’s not too far away.”

  “That’s good,” Callie replied. “I don’t know how much farther I can walk. My feet feel like solid blisters inside my sneakers.”

  “I’m looking forward to getting something in my stomach,” Joe said.

  They quickly reached the crowded emergency shelter. The high school was one of the newest buildings in town and had been built in accordance with all the modern safety guidelines. The gym, which served as the shelter, had concrete walls and a reinforced roof. The solid construction reduced the howl of the wind to a dull noise and made the nightmare of the storm seem a little less scary.

  The gym was crowded, especially since the trouble at Casa Bonita had left so many vacationers without a shelter to stay in. Still, the big, open space was dry and warm, and a welcome relief for the tired teenagers. Emergency lights lit the dark interior, and volunteer workers were handing out blankets and hot soup, or tending to the injured.

  Renee Aranya had a joyful reunion with her staff, and even Beth Becker seemed happy to be there. The Gringo quickly slipped into the crowd and disappeared. The Hardys and their girlfriends found a quiet corner in which they could sit and relax. They huddled close to one another under two blankets and sipped soup. They saw people they knew in the crowd. Jorge Tejeda and the mayor moved through the room, quietly consoling people.

  Rodrigo Lopez, from the Hotel San Esteban, did the same.

  “I wonder if he’s running for office too,” Joe commented.