White Cave Escape Read online

  6

  Smoking is Hazardous to Your Health

  “Run?” gulped Tony. “Did he say run?”

  “Run? Why?” wondered Shawn, looking down the empty trail.

  “And from what?” asked Petra skeptically, crossing her arms across her chest. “Those bozos probably just heard a porcupine in the bushes and thought it was a bear.”

  “Please don’t use the B-word,” groaned Tony, glancing nervously at the dense underbrush.

  “What B-word? You mean—b-b-b-bear?” Petra teased. She knew how Tony felt about bears. Bears were one of Tony’s worst fears (second only to ice floes). Last winter Tony had mistaken Hobart for a bear when the huge, black dog had jumped aboard Petra’s boat during that icy river rescue. Hobart and Tony had since become fast friends, but Tony still had nightmares about being sat on by a big, shaggy bear. Petra smirked. “Honestly, Tony, I don’t know how you bear this bear phobia of yours.”

  “Funny,” growled Tony. “Ha ha.”

  “Uh, guys? I hate to interrupt, but maybe the ATV kid thought we should run from that thundercloud over there,” Craig said, pointing. A low black cloud roiled menacingly, curling into the sky over the quarry.

  “Whoa. That wasn’t there a few minutes ago,” said Shawn.

  “I don’t think that’s a thundercloud,” said Petra. She sprinted back to the crest of the hill and looked down. “Uh-oh.”

  The boys dashed to her side.

  The quarry was on fire. A huge bank of smoke was tumbling into the sky like an upside-down avalanche of black snow.

  “Those guys with their cigarettes!” exclaimed Shawn. “I’ll bet you anything that’s what started it!”

  The friends stared as flames swept across the dry, scrubby landscape like a tsunami. Shrubs, bushes, and the tall yellow grasses were swallowed in a wave of fire. The wave swelled and spread, sending new ripples of orange flame flowing down into every hollow and crevice. The red-orange wave rushed across the open ground of the quarry. Then, as they watched, it crested and crashed against the forest’s edge.

  Trees became torches.

  The wave of fire became a wall.

  Run! Shawn tried to say, but his throat was suddenly so dry it came out as a voiceless whisper. He swallowed. The wall of fire was moving towards them.

  “RUN!” This time it came out as a half-strangled sort of squawk.

  “But the golf course is on the other side of the fire!” yelped Craig. “We’re cut off!”

  “Get back into the woods! Go!” yelled Shawn.

  “But the woods are on fire!” protested Tony.

  “Yeah, I noticed!” said Shawn. “But we don’t have a lot of options here. Run!”

  The four young people whirled and bolted up the trail, deeper into the forest.

  “I guess my dad was right,” Tony panted as they pounded up the forest path.

  “About what?” gasped Shawn.

  “Well…my dad… always says…that cigarettes can kill you,” puffed Tony as he ran. “But I never thought they would kill me quite this soon. Especially since I don’t smoke!”

  Shawn stole a quick glance behind him. Smoke was boiling into the sky above the quarry like lava from a volcano. It formed a seething, churning cloud whose dark underbelly glowed orange from the flames. Here on the trail, long, ghostly fingers of smoke were already clawing at the friends, reaching for them as if to pull them back into the fiery belly of the beast. Shawn’s eyes were stinging. He could feel the smoky fingers wrapping themselves around his throat. The smell fogged his brain, filling him with panic.

  The forest fire was gaining on them.

  chapter

  7

  Run, Run as Fast as You Can…

  It felt like a nightmare.

  Shawn was running through the woods as fast as he could.

  Bushes tore at his clothing. Branches lashed his face and hands. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know where he was going. He only knew that he must run. The sound of pounding sneakers and ragged breathing filled his ears. He felt, rather than saw, his friends running beside and behind him. The trail flashed past under his feet, sometimes dipping and twisting, as if trying to buck him off. Smaller trails snaked off to the right and left. Shawn ignored these, staying on the widest trail, the path of least resistance. He was panting in painful, whistling gulps now…but the air was laced with smoke, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

  Then, just ahead, the trail split in two. Shawn veered right, unthinkingly. His friends swung onto the new trail with him, running hard.

  No. Not running, Shawn thought suddenly. Stampeding. Just like the deer did from the ATV. The realization flashed through Shawn like an electric shock. We’re going to run ourselves to death—

  The ground fell away from beneath his feet. Shawn threw out his hands to catch himself, but nothing was there. He hit a sharply sloped bank with a grunt that forced the last of the air out of his lungs. Then he was rolling over and over, somersaulting, tumbling, until a bone-jarring crash into a tree stump brought him up short.

  Everything was dark.

  It took a few seconds for Shawn to realize he was lying face down. The cool, moist ground of the forest floor was pressed against his eyelids. He tasted dirt and rotted leaves and something sharp and tangy… blood. Shawn stayed very still while he waited for the world to stop spinning. There was a shout and the sound of skidding sneakers. Then Craig was kneeling beside him, pawing at his shoulder.

  “Shawn! Shawn! Are you all right?”

  Shawn considered this question carefully. All of his body parts still seemed to be attached.

  That’s good news, he thought. He tried an experimental wiggle of his fingers and toes. They moved.

  Even better.

  He lifted his head, gingerly.

  Ohhhh…not so good. He spit out a mouthful of leaves and blood.

  “Shawn! Can you hear me? Oh, man—you’re bleeding! Petra, Shawn’s bleeding!” Craig’s shrill voice reverberated through Shawn’s aching skull. Something warm and sticky was gumming up his right eye and running down his cheek.

  “Shawn?” It was Petra’s voice beside him now. “Don’t move until you’re sure nothing’s broken.” Shawn felt her fingers moving lightly and quickly over his arms and legs, checking for fractures. “How’s your neck? Is it sore?”

  “’Mokay” Shawn mumbled. He pushed himself up into a sitting position just as Tony came sliding down the side of the ravine in a hail of dirt and pine needles.

  “Shawn! Buddy! Are you okay? Do you know your name? How many fingers am I holding up?” Tony was waving his hands wildly in front of Shawn’s face. Shawn pushed him away weakly.

  “Tony,” he groaned, “you just told me my name… and how am I supposed to see how many fingers you’re holding up when you’re flapping them around like a chicken with its tail on fire?”

  “Yup, he’s okay,” Tony said with a relieved grin. “Same old Shawn. But, man!” Tony peered into Shawn’s face and cringed. “You are messed up!”

  Shawn touched his forehead gingerly and winced as his fingers came back red with blood.

  “Head wounds bleed a lot,” said Petra matter-of-factly as she examined the cut above Shawn’s eye. “It looks worse than it is. You’ll probably need a couple of stitches, though. In the meantime, put this on it.” She dug her fingers into the ground and peeled back a thick square of green moss, about the size of a washcloth. “It’ll help stop the bleeding.”

  Petra pressed the velvety plant gently against Shawn’s forehead. The coolness of the moss felt good. Soft. Sort of like Petra’s hair where it was brushing against the side of his neck…

  “Uh, th-thanks,” Shawn stammered, pulling away hastily. “I’m fine. Really.”

  Silently, Petra handed him the piece of moss and sat back on her heels. She continued to watch him with a worried expression.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Craig asked his brother. “Because you look terrible.”

  Shaw
n managed a crooked grin. “Thanks for the compliment. I’ll be all right.”

  “That’s optimistic,” observed Tony, “considering we’re lost in the woods in the middle of a forest fire. Or did that bump on the head make you forget about that small but oh-so-important detail?”

  Shawn got slowly to his feet. The ground seemed to tilt slightly and he put a hand on his brother’s shoulder to steady himself. “No, I didn’t forget. But we need a plan. If we keep running blind, we’re going to get ourselves killed. Petra, what do you know about forest fires? Did your Uncle Daryl ever talk about them?”

  “Um…” Petra swallowed hard and tried to think. “Well, there are different types of wildfires…”

  “That’s good,” Shawn said encouragingly. “Can you remember what they are?”

  “There are ground fires,” said Petra, her eyebrows wrinkled together as she struggled to remember. “They smoulder underground feeding on roots and dead leaves and stuff that’s in the soil. They’re hard to spot and harder to put out. Then there are…um… surface fires. That’s what this one is, I think.”

  “How do they burn?” asked Shawn.

  “Fast,” said Petra. “Surface fires travel along the top of the ground, burning up grass, bushes, the lower branches of trees—stuff like that. A surface fire can move pretty quickly.”

  Tony looked nervously over his shoulder. “So, uh, maybe we should be going now? Huh, guys? Let’s save the natural science lesson for another time, okay?”

  “Then there’s the crown fire,” continued Petra. “That’s the bad one.”

  “Like this one’s not?” Tony exclaimed.

  “How bad?” asked Shawn.

  “Very bad,” said Petra. Her face looked tight and strained. “That’s when the fire climbs up the trees and leaps from treetop to treetop in seconds. Basically, the forest explodes.”

  “Okay, then,” said Shawn. “Let me get this straight. Ground fires, sneaky. Surface fires, fast. Crown fires, bad.”

  “Very bad,” corrected Petra.

  “So what kind of fire is this one, again?”

  “Who cares?” interrupted Tony, pulling at Shawn’s sleeve. “It’s hot. It’s fast. It’s big and it’s getting closer every minute. Let’s just go, already!”

  “Go where?” Shawn rounded on his friend. “Go where, exactly, Tony? Look where we are!” Shawn threw his arms wide to the forest that surrounded them on all sides. “We don’t know where we are! We don’t even know where the fire is anymore. What if we run straight into it, huh? What then?”

  Tony stared at Shawn. His eyes were wide and frightened. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

  “You’re supposed to stay in one spot if you get lost,” ventured Craig. “Maybe we should just stay put until somebody comes looking for us.”

  “Nobody’s going to be looking for us for hours,” said Petra. “We’re supposed to be on the golf course, remember?”

  “If we stay in one spot, we’re toast,” added Tony. “And I do mean that literally.”

  Shawn rested his throbbing head in his hands. “We can’t stay here. The fire’s too close. We know that much. But we can’t just take off running, either. We need to think!”

  “We need to know where the fire is,” stated Petra.

  “Hey,” said Craig suddenly. “I know what to do.”

  chapter

  8

  A Cry for Help

  “Come on,” Craig cried. “We have to get to higher ground.”

  Tony, Shawn, Petra, and Hobart struggled back up the embankment behind Craig.

  “Where’s he going?” panted Petra.

  Shawn shook his head. “Dunno.” He shot a sideways look at Petra. “So how fast do forest fires travel? Did your uncle say?”

  Petra shrugged. “It depends on the burning conditions. Wind. How dry things are. Whether it’s a coniferous forest or a deciduous forest…”

  “Carnivorous forests?” exclaimed Tony, overhearing. “You mean I have to worry about getting attacked by man-eating trees, too?”

  “I said coniferous, not carnivorous,” retorted Petra. “Pay attention.”

  “Oh, right.” Tony sighed in relief. “Coniferous. I knew that. Um, what does coniferous mean again?”

  “Coniferous trees are the ones with the needles. Evergreens. Pine, fir, spruce.”

  “Coniferous tree equals Christmas tree. Got it,” said Tony. “What’s deciduous?”

  “Hardwoods,” said Petra. “Trees that lose their leaves in the winter. Maple, birch, poplar…trees like that.”

  “Uh, just out of curiosity, which one burns faster?” asked Shawn, scrambling over a moss-covered log.

  “Coniferous forest burns about five to ten times faster than deciduous forest,” Petra said grimly as she struggled up the steep slope.

  Behind her, Shawn and Tony stopped climbing. They looked at each other. They looked at the pine, fir, and spruce trees stretching in every direction.

  “Great,” muttered Tony. “Super. I knew I should have stayed in bed today.”

  They reached the top of the ravine. Now that he was going more slowly, Shawn could see where the spring rains had washed away part of the slope, just below the path. The weakened soil had crumbled beneath his sneakers, sending him on his wild plunge down the bank.

  Standing up, Shawn put his sleeve across his mouth and coughed. The smoke was thicker up here. And it was hotter.

  In the distance they could hear a roaring sound, like wind from an approaching storm.

  “Where’s Craig?” coughed Shawn.

  “Here!” Craig’s voice came from somewhere above their heads. Shawn looked up, squinting through the hazy air. Above him, a tall fir tree began doing the chicken dance.

  That’s odd, thought Shawn. He tried blinking the smoke out of his eyes, but the tree continued to shimmy and flap its branches. Shawn rubbed his eyes and looked again. The tree threw a sneaker at him.

  “Ow!” Shawn yelped as the shoe bounced off his shoulder.

  “Oops! Sorry! I lost my sneaker on that last branch.” Craig’s face popped out from the prickly greenery several metres up the tree.

  “Craig! What are you doing up there?” demanded Shawn.

  “Petra said we needed to know where the fire was,” Craig called down. “So I climbed up here to get a better look.”

  “Can you see anything?” asked Tony anxiously.

  “Just a lot of smoke,” answered Craig. “It’s kind of everywhere. But it seems to be darkest and thickest over there.” He pointed behind them. Petra scratched an arrow into the dirt trail, pointing in the same direction Craig had indicated. “Okay, Craig, that’s good. Come on down now,” she called.

  Petra squatted down on the trail and rested her fingers lightly on the arrow she had drawn. Shawn and Tony crouched beside her.

  “Okay,” said Petra. “We know the fire is somewhere over there. Now we just have to figure out which way it’s moving so we can stay ahead of it.” There was a shower of fir needles and Craig landed beside them with a thud.

  “The fire will move wherever the wind blows it,” said Craig, pulling his sneaker back on.

  “So how do we figure out which way the wind is blowing?” asked Tony, coughing and waving his hand at the smoke drifting across his face.

  “I know—we’ll build a weather vane!” exclaimed Shawn. “It’s easy. We made one in science class last year. All we need is a compass, a plastic water bottle, a drinking straw…”

  “I left my water bottle in my golf bag,” groaned Petra, remembering.

  “We’ll improvise,” Shawn told her. “What else have we got?”

  Petra dug through her pockets. “I just have some lip balm, and a souvenir pin from Free Comic Book Day. She sighed and dropped the items back in her pocket. “Nothing very useful, I’m afraid.”

  “What about you, Craig?” Shawn looked at his brother. Craig held out his hands, displaying his treasures proudly.

  “Um, a half-sucked sucker, one
bubble-gum wrapper, a paper clip, two marbles, and my loose tooth that fell out this morning, and…oh yeah, my string collection!” Craig fished an untidy ball of string from his back pocket and displayed it proudly. “Cool, huh? I plan to break the world record for the biggest ball of twine.” The lopsided tangle of twine in Craig’s hand was about the size and colour of a kiwi.

  “Looks like you’ve got a ways to go, little bro,” said Shawn.

  Craig nodded cheerfully. “Yup. I’ve got about thirty years to go before it’s record-breaking size.”

  “It’s, um, always good to have goals,” said Petra, eyeing the dingy bundle of twine dubiously.

  “Okay,” said Shawn, rubbing his hands together. “Right. Let’s make that weather vane.”

  “Already done,” came Tony’s voice from behind them.

  The others spun around. There stood Tony, holding a fistful of grass. As they watched, he tossed the grass upward. It fluttered through the smoky air and then swooped like a swarm of green insects over Tony’s shoulder and down onto the trail behind him. Tony turned and pointed in the direction the grass had blown.

  “The wind’s blowing that way,” he said.

  The others gaped. Tony shrugged. “What? That’s the way Tiger Woods always does it.”

  Deflated, Shawn stared at the pieces of grass lying like confetti on the trail. Petra nudged him. “Come on, Einstein. You can build something out of a bubble-gum wrapper and a paper clip later. But right now we have a fire to outrun.”

  The four friends and Hobart set off down the trail again, but now they went at a steady jog, keeping a lookout for obstacles in the trail. Now and then they paused while Tony tossed another handful of grass into the air to check their direction. The forest stretched on, as thick and impenetrable as ever.

  Glancing up through the treetops, Shawn eyed the sky uneasily. Heavy and thick, it crouched over them—a dark, greasy-grey mass, stained with a blood-red glow. It looked like an alien sky, Shawn thought. An alien sky over an alien planet. Even the forest seemed alien and unfamiliar now. No birds sang, no insects buzzed. Trees loomed over them, cloaked in smoke—dark, skeletal, silent beings. They stood like an alien army waiting for a war to begin.