White Cave Escape Read online

  WHITE CAVE

  ESCAPE

  Jennifer McGrath Kent

  Copyright © 2009 Jennifer McGrath Kent

  E-book © 2010

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.

  Nimbus Publishing Limited

  PO Box 9166, Halifax, NS B3K 5M8

  (902) 455-4286

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Design: Kathy Kaulbach, Touchstone Design House

  Author photo: Lynne Post

  Nimbus Publishing is committed to protecting our natural environment. As part of our efforts, this book is printed on 100% recycled content stock.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Kent, Jennifer McGrath

  White Cave escape / Jennifer McGrath Kent.

  ISBN 978-1-55109-711-4

  E-book ISBN 978-1-55109-812-8

  I. Title.

  PS8621.E645W55 2009 jC813’.6 C2008-907172-7

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and the Canada Council, and of the Province of Nova Scotia through the Department of Tourism, Culture and Heritage for our publishing activities.

  For Beth

  and all of the “Taylor’s Lane” gang

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1 • Into the Woods

  CHAPTER 2 • The King Quarry

  CHAPTER 3 • A Ghost Underground

  CHAPTER 4 • In the Hole

  CHAPTER 5 • Tragedy

  CHAPTER 6 • Smoking is Hazardous to Your Health

  CHAPTER 7 • Run, Run as Fast as You Can

  CHAPTER 8 • A Cry for Help

  CHAPTER 9 • Friends and Enemies

  CHAPTER 10 • Lost

  CHAPTER 11 • The Pits of Despair

  CHAPTER 12 • An Electrifying Solution

  CHAPTER 13 • Separated

  CHAPTER 14 • The Bullroarer

  CHAPTER 15 • Climb for Your Life!

  CHAPTER 16 • Race for the White Caves

  CHAPTER 17 • The Scooper

  CHAPTER 18 • The White Cave

  CHAPTER 19 • Trapped

  CHAPTER 20 • Holes in the Dark

  CHAPTER 21 • The Bat Cave

  CHAPTER 22 • What’s Big and Black and Shaggy All Over?

  CHAPTER 23 • Battle in the White Caves

  CHAPTER 24 • Hellos and Goodbyes

  EPILOGUE • New Beginnings

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  chapter

  1

  Into the Woods

  “Fore!!”

  SMACK!

  The golf ball went screaming through the air, bounced off a tree, and went whizzing past the ear of a tall, sandy-haired boy.

  “Yipes!” yelped Shawn as he ducked. “Tony! Watch where you’re hitting that thing!”

  “Sorry,” said Tony, grinning. “That was my Tiger Woods swing.”

  “I don’t know about ‘Tiger,’” said Petra dryly. “But you got the ‘woods’ part right.” She pointed her golf club in the direction the ball had taken— straight into the thick forest of trees edging the Hillsborough Golf Course.

  “Oh, man!” Tony slapped a palm to his forehead.

  “Do you want me to help you look for your ball, Tony?” asked Craig. The younger boy’s blue eyes sparked with laughter but he was working hard to keep a straight face.

  “Aw, forget it, Craig,” said Tony. “We’ll never find it in there.” He dropped his club into his golf bag with a sigh. “Are we done yet?”

  Petra laughed and shook her chestnut-coloured ponytail. “Tony, we’re only on the third hole!”

  “Just fifteen more to go,” said Shawn cheerfully, giving Tony a friendly slap on the back. “Let’s go.”

  “Oh, man…”

  It was a hot, dry July day, and the four young people were celebrating their summer freedom on the golf course in Hillsborough, a small town nestled between the Petitcodiac River and the thickly forested hills of Albert County. At first glance, they were an unlikely group of friends. Shawn Mahoney was grey-eyed and quiet, with a passion for building and inventing things. Someday, Shawn hoped to design roller coasters…or maybe work for NASA. He hadn’t quite decided yet.

  Tony, Shawn’s classmate and best friend since kindergarten, was as loud as Shawn was quiet. Short and stocky with a bristly brush cut, Tony crackled with energy and had two main hobbies in life: talking and playing video games.

  Craig, Shawn’s younger brother, took a full-throttle approach to life. He liked vehicles and machines of all kinds. His latest passion was helicopters. Never in his life would Craig forget his thrilling flight in the cockpit of the huge search-and-rescue Cormorant helicopter the previous winter.

  And then there was Petra.

  Outdoorsy and athletic, she had met the boys just months before, when the four found themselves thrown together in a life-and-death struggle for survival on the Petitcodiac River. On that occasion, Petra’s courage and quick action had saved the boys from a fatal plunge into the icy, brown waters of the notorious “Chocolate River.” Ever since that adventure, the four friends had been inseparable.

  Petra hoisted her golf bag onto her shoulder. “Come on, you guys—let’s go.” As they set out across the green, a bear-sized dog lurched from his spot under a shady bush and lumbered after them.

  “It’s great that the golf club gave us permission to bring Hobart onto the course,” said Tony, resting his hand on the Newfoundland’s huge, square head as they walked along.

  “It sure was,” agreed Petra. “Hobart has to become familiar with lots of different situations if he’s going to be a certified therapy dog. Once Hobie passes the test, Uncle Daryl will be allowed to bring him on real emergency calls, or to visit sick kids in hospitals. Officially, I mean,” Petra added quickly, as Tony opened his mouth to interrupt. Hobart’s last visit to a hospital had been more of an unauthorized break-in, much to the displeasure of the nurses. Petra’s Uncle Daryl was a firefighter. Petra hoped to be one herself some day, and hung out with him and Hobie whenever she got the chance.

  “Okay,” said Tony as he teed up the ball at the next hole. “Prepare to stand in awe…this baby’s going all the way.”

  “Whatever you say, Tiger,” said Petra, rolling her eyes.

  Craig snorted with laughter.

  “Quiet, please!” sniffed Tony. “I need to find my swing.” He waggled the club back and forth above the ball. He waggled his behind. He shuffled his feet. He shielded his eyes and squinted in the direction of the hole. Then he waggled the club some more.

  “You planning on finding your swing any time soon or should we call in search and rescue?” asked Shawn.

  Thunk! went the ball.

  Four pairs of eyes followed the ball as it flew up, up, up…

  The ball bounced softly onto the green and rolled to a stop just in front of the hole.

  “Oh, yeah!” whooped Tony. “Just call me Tony the Tiger because I am GRRRRRR-REAT!”

  Petra laughed. “Get a GRRRRRRR-RIP, Hedgehog Head…it was a lucky shot.”

  “You’re just jealous,” Tony smirked. “My fans love me.”

  “Speaking of your fans,” said Shawn, “here comes one now…and I think he’s about to help himself to a souvenir.” He pointed towards the distant green. A small, reddish-brown animal had popped out of the underbrush and was trotting lightly toward
s Tony’s ball.

  “A fox!” exclaimed Craig.

  Without breaking stride, the fox scooped up the golf ball in its sharp jaws, scampered across the green, and disappeared into the forest on the far side of the course.

  “Looks like you’re in the woods again, Tiger,” said Petra, grinning.

  “What the—hey! That’s my lucky ball!” spluttered Tony. Dropping his club on the ground, Tony took off across the golf course at a run. “Come back here, you mangy ball thief!”

  “Tony! Where are you going?” called Shawn.

  “Come back, Tony! You’ll never find him,” hollered Craig as Tony began thrashing his way through the trees.

  “I suppose we’d better go after him,” sighed Shawn.

  “Really?” Petra raised her eyebrows. “I vote for drinking lemonade at the clubhouse until he tires himself out.”

  “Come on—this is Tony we’re talking about,” Craig reminded her with a grin. “He gets lost in his own backyard.”

  “Oh, all right,” sighed Petra. “Let’s go find him.” She headed towards the trees.

  Shoving their heavy golf bags behind a clump of bushes, the two Mahoney brothers and Petra, closely followed by Hobart, pushed their way into the underbrush.

  “Tony! For Pete’s sake—where are you?” called Shawn as a branch snapped painfully across his nose.

  “Over here!” came Tony’s voice.

  The others pushed their way through the branches and bushes. They found Tony leaning against a tree trunk, panting. “I’m sure I saw that little ball thief come this way. But where’d he go?”

  “There!” said Craig, pointing at a wisp of red fur disappearing behind some bushes. The four friends took off again in hot pursuit, with Hobart lumbering unhurriedly behind. At last, the kids stumbled to a stop, puffing and panting.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Shawn, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. “We’re never going to find the fox in these woods. We’ve got no way to follow his trail.”

  “Yeah,” said Tony. “Too bad we didn’t have a dog to track him for us. Oh wait,” he added dryly. “We do have a dog.” Panting heavily, Hobart strolled belatedly into their midst and flopped down on the ground with a dramatic groan.

  Tony looked at Hobart and shook his head. “Look at you,” he scolded. “Lying down on the job when there are foxes to be chased. And you call yourself a dog!”

  Tongue lolling, Hobart grinned good-naturedly up at the bristly-haired boy…and gave a vigorous shake of his head, spraying Tony head to foot with dog drool.

  “Nice,” said Tony, wiping a long strand of slobber from one ear. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Hey,” said Shawn, peering through the branches. “I can see something white through those bushes. Maybe it’s your golf ball, Tony. The fox probably got tired of carrying it.”

  Petra was shaking pine needles out of her ponytail. “Well, let’s go get it so we can get back. I’ve had enough of blundering around in the woods for one day. Come on—race you!”

  With a snapping of twigs and a rustling of leaves, the four friends burst through the alder thicket and found themselves standing on…nothing! Shawn, Craig, Petra, and Tony tumbled through the air and landed with a thud in a tangled heap at the bottom of a steep embankment.

  “Ooooh,” groaned Tony. He looked up: “Oh, NO!”

  A huge, shaggy shape came crashing out of the bushes above them. Hobart seemed to hang suspended for a split second, all four paws paddling the air. Then gravity kicked in, and the big Newfoundland dropped heavily onto the pile of kids below.

  “Woof!” said Hobart, shaking his head in surprise at his sudden flight and abrupt landing.

  “Oof!” came Tony’s muffled voice from somewhere beneath the black, furry body.

  Shawn raised his head and gazed slowly around.

  “Whoa,” he said. “What is this place?”

  chapter

  2

  The King Quarry

  “It’s a golf-ball graveyard!” gulped Tony. “The ground is white with them!”

  “The only ball around here is you, goofball,” said Petra, as she struggled to her feet. “Look closer— those white things aren’t golf balls. They’re rocks.”

  Tony squirmed out from under Hobart and blinked. “Whoa, you’re right. Hey, what is this place?”

  “I’ll tell you what this place is,” said Craig. “It’s awesome!”

  The four friends gazed at the strange landscape surrounding them. They were standing in the bottom of a barren and rumpled valley. The ground beneath their feet was littered with broken white rocks. Large bone-coloured boulders lay lumped together in scattered piles. Above them a white cliff, scarred and weathered, hunched its rounded shoulders against the sky. Its lower slope was covered in a scree of white gravel. Scraggly tufts of weeds bristled from the severe cliff face. It reminded Shawn of a shaggy old man with bushy eyebrows and an overgrown beard scowling down at them. Along the top ridge of the cliff, the pointed prongs of fir trees jutted sharply skyward, like the crown of some old storybook king.

  At the base of the cliff, the ground rippled unevenly in a series of humps and hollows. Clumps of thistles, asters, burdocks, and wildflowers sprouted out of the white gravel. Winding and dipping through the middle of it all was the faded track of an old dirt road. In its washed-out ruts, chunks of white rock gleamed through the red dirt like bones.

  “Creepy,” said Shawn.

  “Cool!” said Craig. “What an awesome place for mountain bikes! Look at that dip over there—it’s like a half-pipe!” He jogged over to the dirt road. Following it up a small hillock, Craig stopped at the top and peered over the edge. On the other side, the track careened down a short but steep incline before rising up over another hump a short distance away. “Oh yeah,” Craig called back to the others. “We could get some serious air here.”

  Shawn looked at Petra. “Do you know where we are?”

  Petra nodded, slowly. “I think we just found the King Quarry.”

  “The what?” said Shawn.

  Petra picked up a chunk of the white rock. Kneeling, she scratched it against a flat slab of shale. A bright white line appeared on the grey stone.

  “Uh-huh. Just like I thought,” she said, tossing the piece of white rock to Tony.

  “Neat—chalk!” said Tony, drawing white X’s and O’s on another grey rock.

  Petra shook her head. “Gypsum,” she said.

  “Gypsies? Where?” said Tony, staring around in surprise. “I didn’t know there were gypsies in Hillsborough.”

  “She said gypsum, not gypsies,” Shawn laughed. “Gypsum is the stuff they use to make drywall and plaster.”

  “The hills around here are full of the stuff,” said Petra, nodding. “They used to mine it and haul it down to the Petitcodiac to be carried away on ships. But then the company closed down. The gypsum mines and quarries were abandoned.”

  “Why do they call this place the King Quarry?” Shawn asked, glancing up again at the looming cliff with its spiky crown.

  “Because it was the biggest one, I think,” said Petra.

  “You mean there’s more than one gypsum quarry?” interrupted Tony.

  “Sure,” said Petra. “The woods back here are full of abandoned quarry pits. There are underground mines running all through these hills, too.”

  Using the white rock, Tony sketched some more white lines on the grey boulder. He stepped back and surveyed his artwork proudly. It was a stick figure of a girl with ponytail.

  “Hey, check it out!” he said with a grin. “It’s a Petra-glyph!”

  Just then, a buzzing noise like a far-off chainsaw ruptured the silence that lay over the valley. It increased rapidly in volume into a snarling, motorized whine. A pheasant erupted from the bushes, squawking in alarm as three ATVs roared out of the forest. Tires skidding on the loose gravel, the vehicles careened over the jumps and bumps in the old road, bucking like broncos. The hoots and jeers of the drivers rose over the noise
of their engines.

  “Heads up…they’re coming this way,” Shawn warned in a low voice.

  Sure enough, the riders had spotted them. Spinning in tight, gravel-spraying doughnuts, the three ATVs changed course, speeding directly towards Shawn and his friends.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Tony, as the machines roared towards them.

  “You and me both,” said Shawn. He could make out the riders now. Teenagers. High-schoolers…maybe grade eleven or twelve, Shawn guessed. Two were wearing camouflage jackets and pants, and the other, a worn plaid shirt. The grins on their faces weren’t the friendly sort. The camo-clad leader crouched lower over his handlebars and revved his engine into a protesting screech. The other two quads fanned out on either side of the lead driver, cutting off any possible avenue of escape.

  “Um, they’re going to go around us…right?” said Tony in a worried voice. “Right?”

  But the ATVs kept coming straight at them. Closer. Closer.

  “This can’t be good,” breathed Petra.

  The boy on the lead ATV pointed at them, cocking his finger like a pistol. Shawn saw him grin. The ATV accelerated.

  Petra reached out as if to grasp Shawn’s sleeve.

  Then, in a rush of noise and exhaust, the quads were upon them.

  Shawn got a whiff of gasoline, saw the mud-spattered headlamp, and glimpsed the metallic glint of braces beneath the sneering upper lip of the lead driver. Instinctively, he flung one arm in front of Petra and the other over his face. He heard Tony yell…and then the ATVs swerved, missing them by mere inches, and spraying them with gravel. Guffawing loudly, the leader flicked something at Petra as he sped past.

  “Ow!” she cried, clutching her arm. “You idiots! You…you…” But for once Petra was at a loss for words, speechless with outrage.

  Tony tapped her on the shoulder. “Allow me,” he said. “I believe the words you’re looking for are: YOU BLUBBER-BRAINED BUFFOONS! YOU NEOLITHIC NINCOMPOOPS! YOU MUD-SWILLING, MOLD-MUNCHING MORONIC MOLLUSKS! IF YOU EVER BOTHER US AGAIN WE’LL FEED YOUR BOXER SHORTS TO THE BEAVERS!”

  “Yeah—what he said,” shouted Petra, shaking her fist at the disappearing vehicles. She sighed and turned. “Thanks, Tony,” she said.