They found Tommy cowering under the roots of a fallen pine tree.
“Is—is it over?” he said. His hands and knees were covered in mud. Under the smear of dirt, his face was pale.
“Yeah, it’s gone,” said Jake.
Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. “I found a hiding spot and made myself as small as I could,” he said. “Just like Grandpa told us.”
“That’s good,” said Jake. He put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He was feeling relieved himself.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Cory. “I’m freezing.”
Jake was cold too. He was soaked to the skin, and the wind felt like ice. Even his socks were squelching in his sneakers. He led the way back to where they had left the quad. There wasn’t room for three of them on the seat, so he tossed the spare helmet to Tommy.
“You can ride with Cory, if you want,” he said. He glared at Cory with a look that said, Go slow or else.
Tommy’s face lit up. “Really?”
“Sure. Hop on,” said Cory.
“All right!” said Tommy. He jumped on behind Cory and clung to Cory’s sides, his legs dangling.
Jake walked in front of the quad to make sure Cory didn’t do anything stupid. He followed the trail of flattened grass. It wound around trees and rocks and seemed to be going in circles. He was sure there was a quicker way back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, but he didn’t know exactly in which direction the house was. He didn’t want to get lost.
I have found the lost boy, he thought. I lead the team back to home base. Our search has been successful. The boy has been saved.
At last they approached Thunder Creek. The first thing he noticed was that the cows were gone. He groaned. They would have no hope of finding them now. They would have to tell Grandpa that they had let them out.
Then, as they got closer, he noticed something else. Thunder Creek was no longer a trickle. The storm had made the water rise. It wasn’t a tiny little stream anymore. A stream of water as wide as the lane leading to Grandpa’s farm rushed down the creek bed. It lapped at the rocky edges and frothed and swirled and bubbled like the sea in a storm. Water sprayed in a fine mist onto Jake’s face. He could hear rocks tumbling below the surface.
Jake remembered his grandmother saying something about “Roaring Meg” coming to Thunder Creek with the spring storms. He hadn’t known what she meant at the time. The storm had changed the creek from a quiet trickle to a roaring monster as quick as a flash. It really was Thunder Creek.
“Oh no!” said Tommy. “How are we going to get across?”
It was exactly what Jake was thinking. There was no way they could take the quad across. The water was too deep. The creek was too wide to jump over, and they couldn’t wade through it either. They would be swept away. The water was running too fast.
“What are we gonna do, Jake?” said Tommy, hopping off the bike.
“Don’t worry,” said Jake. “We’ll figure something out.”
Cory turned the quad off. “Gram’s gonna kill me,” he muttered.
“Why don’t we get some stuff from the woods and make a bridge?” said Tommy.
Jake glanced back at the trees. “I don’t know. We could try.” He remembered doing something like that at school camp. But they’d had wood of just the right size—and ropes.
“That’ll never work,” said Cory. “What a stupid idea.”
Tommy looked crushed.
“It’s not a stupid idea,” said Jake. “Have you got a better one?”
Cory looked away sullenly.
“I didn’t think so. Let’s go get some branches then,” said Jake.