Spoiled Rotten (6 page)

I caught her knapsack and put both packs on the rocks out of the way. Then I turned back to help Amy. “Your turn!”

She looked at me. She looked over the waterfall to the rocks below. She looked down at the water rushing between us and then back at me again.

“I'm right here.” I held on with one hand and leaned forward to stretch my other hand toward her. “I'll help you.”

She shook her head.

“Jump!” I yelled.

Amy hesitated. She took a deep breath, stepped back and jumped.

Her feet hit the rock and slid backward into the water. I reached for her. She grabbed at my hand, and our fingers touched. I almost had her, but she slipped away.

I threw myself down on the rock and reached for her hands. But it was too late. Amy was in the water. Her long hair floated on the surface; I made a grab for it. I touched it but couldn't hang on.

“AMY!” I screamed.

Her big blue eyes stared at me helplessly before she disappeared over the edge. I scrambled to my feet. There was something in my hand. I looked down and saw her pink scrunchy.
Oh, Amy.

“Let her be all right! Let her be all right!” I said over and over as I climbed down the rocks beside the waterfall.

I hit level ground and scrambled over loose rocks toward the river's edge. Then I saw her. Downstream, pushed up against a log at the edge of a shallow pool, she lay half in, half out of the water. One leg stuck out at a weird angle. Her arms were bent beneath her and her face lay against a rock. She didn't move.

I hurried over and crouched beside her. I gently touched her shoulder. She moaned.

“You're alive!” I cried. I didn't think it was possible the way she looked.

“I think so.” Her voice was tiny and her face was still pressed up against the rock.

“We need to get you out of the water.”

I tried to take her arms and help her move, but she cried out in pain. The fingers
of one hand dug into the flesh of my wrist. Her other hand hung limply at the end of a twisted arm.

“I can't,” she whispered.

“Listen,” I spoke sternly. “I know how much it hurts, but you've got to get out of this cold water. Do you understand?”

She moaned.

“Amy, you're a brave kid. I know that now. So just try to hang on and I'll carry you. Okay?”

She nodded.

I bent down and slid one arm under her stomach. I put my other arm under the leg that looked normal. Gently I began to lift. Amy gasped and went limp all over. She was unconscious. Maybe that was good because it saved her some pain as I half carried, half dragged her from the water to a smooth, sandy patch of ground.

She looked so small lying there, all wet and shivering. Not moving. My stomach twisted in knots. My mind whirled. I wished Dad was with us because he would know what to do.

Okay. I told myself, it's up to you. Do something. I took a deep breath and tried to think. Babysitting. First aid. I took a course when I was twelve. What to do?

Don't move the patient. Well, I couldn't have left her in the water.

Check her heartbeat and breathing. Okay, that part of her was working fine. But her leg! Her arm! I couldn't fix them.

And she was shivering. I couldn't leave her to go for help until she was warm.

I went back to get our packs. My fingers shook as I fumbled for my first-aid kit. I took out the scissors and started cutting up the leg of Amy's soggy jeans. I prayed she wouldn't wake up until I had finished.

I moved her slightly to get the jeans off. Amy winced and her eyes opened, just a slit. She looked at her mangled jeans and her eyes got big. “What do you think you're doing?” She sounded like the old Amy.

“You won't need any jeans if we don't get you dry,” I snapped.

She grinned. Or maybe it was a wince. “My favorite jeans,” she whispered.

I pulled out the spare clothes I always carry in case of emergency. But I had to cut one leg of my jeans to get them over her broken leg. “
My
favorite jeans,” I said as I ruined them forever.

When she had on dry jeans, and my dry sweatshirt and jacket, I climbed up to the bushes above the river. I came back with an armful of dry leaves, twigs and pieces of wood.

I grabbed my sketchbook and ripped out a few empty pages and one full one. “Look, Amy,” I said, “I'm getting rid of that letter to Sara. No one will ever see it.”

I scrunched up the papers and placed dry leaves and twigs on top. Using matches from the first-aid kit, I lit the paper on fire. Slowly I began feeding the little fire with more twigs. When it was big enough I put on one chunk of wood and then another.

Amy wriggled closer, trying to get warm.

The temperature kept dropping. The fire was hot, but a breeze crept up from behind, and Amy couldn't stop shivering. I thought about the hot-water bottles on the boat. That gave me an idea.

The rocks near the fire were warm. I propped some against Amy's back and gave her one to hold close against her stomach. She held it with her good arm and wrapped herself around it.

When they cooled I replaced them. “Are you warm now?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

“I need to go for help.”

“NO!” she cried, and winced in pain. “Don't leave me!”

“I have to Amy. You need help. We can't wait until morning.”

“But the bears will get me!”

Oh-oh.
Now I was sorry for what I had told her earlier. “Look,” I said, “bears hardly ever bother people unless you take them by surprise. And you won't be going anywhere.”

But I will
,
I thought. And it would be dark before I got down.

“You said they come down to the river at night.”

“I only said that to keep you going. Anyway, bears are afraid of fire. You just keep that fire burning and they won't come anywhere near.”

“Honest?”

“Honest,” I said.
I hope.

I gathered enough wood to last all night and piled it beside Amy. I stuffed the trail mix and all the food wrappers in my pockets, so there would be no hint of food smell near Amy. I tucked my backpack under her head as a pillow. All I needed were the jeans and T-shirt I was wearing. I left everything else with Amy.

“I won't be long,” I told her. “You'll see.”

She looked up with tears in her eyes. “I'm scared,” she said.

“There's nothing to be scared of. Just keep that fire going so we can find you. I'll be back soon. I promise.”

I saw her take a deep breath. She tried to smile but winced in pain. “Don't worry,” she whispered, “I'll be fine.”

My throat tightened. She didn't look fine at all. I patted her hand. “See you soon.” I started downriver.

Without Amy I moved a lot faster. My legs were tired and my feet hurt with every step, but without my backpack I felt as light as a deer.

Above the big waterfall I stopped to look down. The light was dim and the river roared below, dark and scary. There was no time to lose. I took a deep breath, gathered my courage and lowered myself over the cliff. I followed the easy route I had checked out that morning when I went down for my backpack.

Halfway down, groping for a foothold, my toe touched a loose rock. It wobbled and shook loose. I held my breath as it bounced down the cliff and splashed into the river. I swallowed and kept going. Slowly. Carefully.

At last I stepped onto the large, flat boulder at the bottom. That's when I heard it. It was a strange sound—somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. So close!

I turned my head just enough to see over my shoulder. My mouth went dry. A chill ran down my spine. Below me was the biggest bear I had seen in my life. Its front paws rested on the boulder, its long, sharp claws were inches away from my foot. Its huge mouth was open so wide the rotten-fish stink of its breath nearly knocked me over.

I didn't move. I could not have moved if I had wanted to. But I pictured myself scrambling over the rocks with that bear loping along behind. It would reach out and flatten me with one swipe of its giant paw. I squeezed my eyes shut.

The bear grunted.

My eyes flew open.

The bear sniffed the air near my feet. I had to keep still. It was my only chance, but it was so hard to do.

The bear moved one giant paw until its needle-sharp claws touched the toe of my shoe. My heart pounded against my ribs. I couldn't breathe. The bear put its face close to my leg, like a near-sighted person reading a book. Its breath felt hot and moist through my jeans as it sniffed up and down my leg.

My heart stopped. Could the bear smell the remains of our lunch? How about the trail mix? I had to get away. I would kick that bear on the end of its soft nose and scramble straight up the cliff. Right. And be squashed flat in two seconds—ripped to shreds in three.

The bear sniffed my wet running shoe and grunted in disgust. It dropped down on all fours, lifted its nose to sniff the air once more, snorted and walked away.

I started breathing again, tiny shallow breaths. But I was afraid to move. I listened to that bear crash over rocks in the direction I needed to go. It tossed rocks aside, looking for mice or voles. A few minutes later, in the darkness of the woods above, I heard a loud crunch like a tree snapping in half.

Still I waited, scared out of my mind. Then I thought of Amy lying by the fire alone, afraid and hurting. I took a deep breath and climbed down from the boulder to continue on my way.

I tried not to look at the frightening shadows under the trees above. Any one of them could be hiding the dark shape of a bear. Once, in a shadow beside a boulder, I was sure something moved. Later, up in the forest, something rustled through the bushes. Something big.

It took me forever to reach the final stretch
of river. Darkness crept toward me from all sides. Then suddenly, dead ahead, something orange and flickering caught my eye. A fire! Dad must be waiting on the beach.

“Dad!” I yelled. “I'm here!” But he couldn't hear. All at once I felt so tired and my feet hurt so much that I wanted to collapse, right where I was. I wanted Dad to find me and help me over the last few meters of rough ground.

I stumbled over the dry riverbed toward the flickering light. “Dad!” But the river was too loud. Then I saw him. He stood by the fire, wearing a backpack and looking up the mountainside. “Dad!”

There was a movement beside me, a light flashed in my eyes and away.

Patti threw her arms around me, and I collapsed against her.

“Thank Heaven you're all right!” she said. “Your dad was about to go looking for you.”

It felt good to be comforted by her. For two seconds I felt as if everything
was
all right. But of course it wasn't.

She pulled back. “Where's Amy?”

I swallowed. “Amy's still up there,” I said softly, “she's hurt.”

Her hands gripped my shoulders. Her voice was a whisper. “What happened?”

We all piled into the dinghy. On
Fanta-sea
, Dad switched to the Emergency channel of the VHF radio and called the coast guard station at Comox. When he told them about Amy's fire, they promised to send a helicopter right away.

Patti looked worried. “Do you think she'll keep the fire burning?” she asked. “Amy's not very good at things like that.”

“You'd be surprised,” I told her. I was sure that as long as Amy was awake she would keep that fire going.

Dad rowed back to the beach to keep his own signal fire going. While I took off my wet shoes and changed into dry clothes, Patti made me a pot of hot tea and a thick chicken sandwich. I was so tired I didn't think I could eat, but I wolfed the food down and drank a mug of tea.

Patti couldn't sit still. She paced back and forth and looked out into the night. We listened to the crackle of the VHF radio and hoped for the sound of a helicopter. Patti went outside to stand on the back deck.

I poured two mugs of tea and took them out. I handed one to Patti and she took it, but I'm not sure if she even noticed.

“Amy's so helpless,” she said suddenly.

“Not so much as you think,” I told her.

“She always tried so hard to impress her father,” Patti went on. “But it never worked. He only wanted her to keep quiet and behave herself.”

Patti talked about her ex-husband as if he was dead.

“She loves her dad,” I said.

“I guess,” Patti said. “But he hurt her so badly that she wants nothing to do with him right now. She won't even talk to him when he phones.”

We looked up at the black outline of the mountain against a starry sky. It was so huge and Amy was so small.

“That's why she wants to call your father Dad,” Patti said. “She really needs a father right now.”

“Uh,” I grunted.

“Jess, I know how much you must miss your mom.”

Where did that come from?

“You always will,” Patti said, “for the rest of your life.”

When I said nothing she went on, “I understand that, Jessica, and I want you to know I would never try to take her place.”

I grunted.

“And I don't expect you to call me Mom. Patti suits me just fine.”

My throat was tight and aching. All I could do was nod.

“Do you hear that?” Patti asked.

I listened. In the distance was the thump-thump-thump of rotors.

“Do you want to go back to the beach?” I asked.

“Yes!”

I called Dad and stuffed my feet back into my wet shoes. When Dad rowed us back to shore we saw a light in the sky, growing brighter and brighter. We reached the beach and the helicopter hovered above us, so loud I couldn't think. It flooded us with light.

Patti jumped up and down and waved her arms. She pointed upriver. I couldn't believe it when they started lowering someone. A dark shape swung below the big machine and finally touched down on the beach. A man's voice shouted, “Which one of you can help us locate the girl?”