“Oh, no!” Anna yelled.
With only five logs, our raft was even more narrow and tippy. We were barely out of the water; our feet kept sliding off and trailing in the river. I desperately tried to forget that crocodiles can grow up to twenty feet long and kill one tourist every year. Please let there not be any crocodiles.
I yanked the lashings tighter that were holding the rest of the raft together. The remaining logs stayed snug. But what if there were more rapids ahead? We’d tip for sure.
I pulled the garbage bag out of my pocket. “Help me make a drogue.”
“A what?”
“We sailed in Newfoundland on a puffin watching trip. The water got rough, and the captain used a big parachute thing behind the boat to steady it. He called it a drogue.”
The garbage bag was already tied with my paracord. But the cord was too short to let the bag drag far enough behind if it was tied to the raft. I handed Anna one line. “We’ll have to hold our lines like flying a kite, okay?”
I saw more rough water ahead. “Hurry!”
Together we let out the garbage bag to the ends of our lines, and then hung on. The garbage bag dragged behind like a dark open mouth, full of water.
We went through the rough water more slowly this time. We still got soaked from the spray, but the raft didn’t bounce as much, and our progress was steadier down the river.
“It’s working!” Anna said.
I wiped the water off my face and looked around. The jungle surrounding us was alive. Birds flitted in the trees, filling the air with their calls. Shadows moved. A metallic beetle flew past me.
I pointed at a giant lizard baking in the sun. As we drifted toward an overhanging branch, a large dark monkey lowered itself and hung by only its tail. It stared solemnly at us, its long arms hanging by its sides.
“Spider monkey,” Anna whispered. She pointed to her sweat-soaked, green T-shirt that read CORCOVADO NATIONAL PARK and had monkeys with long arms peeking out from behind the letters. She really was all about the monkeys.
Slowly, the monkey extended an arm over its head, and pulled itself into the branches without a sound. A small lizard zipped by, tiptoeing across the top of the water. There was so much going on in the jungle.
But the best part of being on the river was the breeze. It aired out my quick-dry shirt that had been stuck to me all day. It felt like a fan in a stuffy room, blowing the hot air around, but it was better than being in the middle of the jungle.
“Carter!” Anna pointed at something in the water, and my heart skipped.
A very large, dark animal was swimming toward us in a straight line at an alarming pace. Was that a gigantic crocodile? It could snap our tiny raft in half with one bite.
Anna clutched my arm, her face white with fear. “Is it going to eat us?” she whispered.
When I scanned the water, I couldn’t see it. I spun around, searching. After all we’d been through making it out of the jungle, were we going to be attacked by a crocodile?
I twisted to my right, and there it was. It rose from the river, water streaming off its enormous body. It must’ve weighed seven or eight hundred pounds.
“Oh!” Anna said.
It was not a crocodile.
Chapter Twelve
The animal stood, staring at us. It looked like a cross between a giant pig and an elephant. The weird dangling nose sniffed the air. Then the animal turned and crept into the forest, disappearing into the tangle of branches.
We were silent a moment. Anna let out a breath. “You think that has three toes?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s what made those tracks,” I said. “I should’ve known. It’s a Baird’s tapir. My mom hoped to see one while we were here. She called them gentle giants.”
A hot feeling of homesickness stabbed me in the guts. My parents were searching for me, worrying, probably really mad and scared. I wanted so badly to see them again. I wanted to tell them all the things I’d done out there. And I wanted to be home.
Our river soon emptied out to the ocean. There was a beach on our right. As we drifted closer, I eyed the larger waves on the shore.
The raft hit the wave, and rode right over top. We came to a landing with a hiss, and jumped off on wobbly legs. I flopped into the soft sand, Anna collapsing next to me. We’d made it out of the jungle!
“Can you believe the monkeys gave you back the one thing you needed most from your kit? The garbage bag,” Anna said. “It’s like they knew all the things we’d use it for.”
I glanced at the bag, fluttering lightly beneath the raft. It had made a good drogue, a water bottle, a filter, and a rain poncho. We could have used it as a ground tarp and even a sail for our raft.
“Look what I found.” Anna held up a smooth green coconut from where she lay.
We looked around and noticed there were coconuts everywhere. Using a sharp rock, Anna cracked open a hole in the top of one, and we took turns drinking from it. I sat back in the sand and suddenly felt exhausted. We stayed like that for a moment, looking out at the colors on the ocean. The sun was starting to set, creating a soft glow on the ocean, and the breeze felt so nice on my hot skin.
“There’s your spirit protector.” Anna pointed to the branches above me.
I spun and saw the resplendent quetzal. The bird twitched and then flew away. I gave a little gasp to see it showing off shimmering, dazzling colors in the setting sun.
“Spirit protector of Mayan warriors,” I said. “You’re more of a warrior than me.”
“You’re the one who knows all the stuff for us to get through the jungle. We never would have made it here without all your reading. You’re a warrior. You’re like a knowledge warrior.”
I thought about that. About all the things I’d done that I never knew I could. About how some of my plans worked, and some didn’t but I had come up with new plans. Then I remembered the animals with clacking teeth. “I have to tell you . . . I wasn’t actually brave back there.”
“Back where?”
“With the pig things. I was just too afraid to move. I’m not brave like you. You’re fearless.”
Anna chuckled. “I am not fearless. I was just as scared in the jungle as you, but we had to keep going. You were scared, but you kept going. We made it to the other side of fear. That’s what being brave is. Quetzal Power?” She held her fist out toward me, and I bumped it with mine.
“Quetzal Power,” I repeated.
We grinned at each other and then fell silent.
And then we both heard it.
Voices. Human voices.
We leaped up and bolted down the beach. Breathless, we reached the spit of sand and were able to see into the bay. Three boats were pulled up on shore, and there were fishermen cleaning nets. They were packing up to leave. We raced toward them, waving our arms and screeching like howler monkeys.
Chapter Thirteen
Six weeks later.
“Then the fishermen took you back to the resort?” asked the reporter.
“Yeah.” I shuddered at the memory of the resort. “It was like a circus with all the searchers. They’d been trying to find us all day and the night before. It’s hard to find someone in the jungle unless you know exactly where to look.”
I thought back to the moment I had reached my mom and dad. How we all hugged and cried together in a huddle. How relieved they were. They hadn’t been mad; they’d been proud. My throat tightened, and I focused back on the reporter.
“That was a smart move, marking your trail. If anyone had found where you guys camped, they could’ve followed it.” The reporter nodded at me. “And I bet Anna is impressed with you. I like that she called you a knowledge warrior. Fitting.”
My face suddenly felt hot. “We did it together. But surviving being lost has helped me. It taught me something. The jungle has dangers as small as pinheads, yet harmless animals as big as cars. There’s danger and awesome things mixed together. Just like living here with all the hurricanes.”
“And how are your panic attacks now, since your ordeal?” the reporter asked.
“I don’t get them anymore. Well, I do still feel myself getting worried about stuff if I let my imagination go. But then I remember that I can plan for the unexpected. I remember what the jungle taught me, that not everything is trying to kill me. I don’t worry about little things as much as I used to. I’m learning to manage my anxiety better.”
The other toddler Mom was babysitting shrieked in excitement. I raised my hands, showing I hadn’t flinched. “See?”
“Impressive—”
“Hey, guys!” Dad called down the stairs to us. “The slide show is ready. Are you almost done?”
“Hope you have two hours to look at bird pictures,” I said. “The ones with the resplendent quetzal are amazing.”
The reporter looked alarmed. “Actually, I have to run. But I have one more question. Did you find out about that scorpion bite? How did you survive it?”
“It wasn’t a bad kind of scorpion. The pain usually only lasts an hour, unless you’re allergic. Lucky me. I didn’t get so lucky with the parasites though.”
“What parasites?”
“The water Anna and I drank. Gave us both the runs pretty bad until we started the medication. Anna thought it was hilarious.” I shook my head and smiled. “And that girl says I’m weird!”
Author’s Note
This story was inspired by dozens of accounts of hikers lost in the rainforests of Costa Rica. No one believes it will happen to them until it does. Anyone wandering in the jungle does not have to go far off the trail to get turned around in the thick vegetation.
One couple went for a short hike in the Osa Peninsula region and veered off the trail to see a special tree. They were not lost, but the woman tripped and broke an ankle. The man went to get help. When he returned, he could not find where he had left his wife. They searched for three weeks before they found her. Unfortunately, it was too late.
As with all of the books in this series, I am most fascinated by the stories of survival. I read about two hikers who managed to stay alive for seven weeks after they tried to blaze their own trail through the jungle. What made the difference for them? They mostly ate spiders, but both lost significant weight. One man became extremely ill. Yet they continued on and made it out.
I was also amazed to discover someone I work with had been lost with his friend for weeks in the Cloud Forest Reserve near Monteverde. They had tried to follow a new trail that was badly marked. Eventually, they wandered off of it and were left with only a photocopy of an old map and their wits. They ran out of food. They became dehydrated.
During my interview with him, I heard one of the important details that allowed them to survive—they did not panic. They did not talk about their fears. They just kept at the job of finding their way out, approached it like a logic problem. They stayed calm.
I wondered how easy it would be to stay calm with the possibility of never making it out of the jungle alive. This led me to consider—what if someone who had anxiety about everyday life got lost and had to find his way out? How would he survive?
While this story was inspired by true events, and every effort was made to keep to the facts, some details are fictional, including the names of the characters and some settings.
SO WHAT CAN YOU DO TO BE PREPARED?
BUILD YOUR OWN SURVIVAL KIT:
COURTESY OF THE CANADIAN RED CROSS
Emergency situations can be scary, but if you are prepared for the unexpected, you can move beyond fear and deal with any kind of situation with confidence.
From the Canadian Red Cross, here are ten essentials to put in your backcountry survival kit:
Knife: preferably with locking blade
Fire-making supplies: lighter, matches, fire starter (can be homemade—e.g., cotton balls coated in petroleum jelly), candle
Whistle: shrill enough to penetrate upwind through a storm, and will work cold or wet
Navigation aids: compass and map, watch
Sun protection: sunblock, lip balm, sunglasses, and hat
First-aid kit: Band-Aids, tweezers, antiseptic wipes, antibiotic ointment, pain relief tablets, safety pins, sling, hydrocortisone cream
Food and water bottle: energy bar or trail mix and filtered water
Clothing: dry socks, wool beanie
Light: mini flashlight with battery
Shelter-making material: garbage bag, tarp, or space blanket, and cordage
MORE INFORMATION CAN BE FOUND AT THESE WEBSITES:
American Red Cross Emergency preparedness: www.redcross.org/get-help/prepare-for-emergencies/be-red-cross-ready/get-a-kit
Canadian Red Cross Emergency preparedness: www.redcross.ca/how-we-help/emergencies-and-disasters-in-canada/for-home-and-family/get-a-kit
U.S. Department of Homeland Security preparedness: www.ready.gov/kit
Northwest Territories Parks wilderness survival tips: nwtparks.ca/be-prepared/wilderness-survival-tips
Acknowledgments
In my research for this book, I collected information from many sources, including books, videos, articles, and journals. I am grateful for Randy Tippin and Blake Piche for allowing me to interview them and for sharing their stories with me. Blake, your bravery was an inspiration.
Thank you to my critique partners, Marcia Wells, Amy Fellner Dominy, and Sylvia Musgrove, who provided feedback and encouragement.
Any errors in the story are my own.
Chapter One
“Were you afraid?” The reporter set his phone on the coffee table in front of me and pressed the Record button.
“Of course she was,” Ma Ma said, rocking faster in her chair.
I rubbed at a spot on my jeans. My grandparents did not like this story, and I didn’t want Ma Ma hearing the details again.
“Aya,” she muttered.
My grandfather placed his hand on her knee and her frantic rocking slowed. “Let Jen tell it,” he said calmly.
“She’s a strong, smart girl,” Ma Ma said to the reporter. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Yes, Mrs. Chiu,” agreed the reporter. “But I’d like to hear the account in Jen’s words. I’m writing a series about resourceful kids like her who have survived a life-threatening experience.”
He turned his gaze to me just as I was reaching for one of the mini cream puffs sitting in Mom’s fancy dish, the one that she only uses when guests are here. We don’t usually have sweets like this. I popped a pastry in my mouth.
The reporter leaned across the coffee table toward me. “Go on and tell me about what happened in the Chihuahua Desert,” he said.
“It was so craz—” a piece of cream puff flew out of my mouth and landed on his phone.
“Aya,” Ma Ma said.
I clamped a hand over my mouth as I swallowed. “I mean . . . it was intense. The air was so full of sand—it felt like a million bees stinging. The wind screamed around us. Grit got into my eyes, up my nose. We couldn’t see anything. I’ll never forget the roar just before . . .”
“Jen,” the reporter interrupted. “I’d really like to hear the whole story. Start from the beginning. It will help readers know what to do if something like this happens to them. So tell me”—his eyebrows rose—“how did you survive?”
I thought about that day. Brought my mind back to the endless desert in New Mexico. Back to the heat and the fear and the terrible thirst.
“It all started with the Snake Byte,” I began.
Available November 2018!
Visit www.hmhco.com or your favorite retailer to preorder the book in its entirety.
Visit www.hmhco.com to find all of the books in the Survivor Diaries series.
www.survivordiaries.com
MiddleGradeMania.com
About the Author
TERRY LYNN JOHNSON has lived in northern Ontario, Canada, for more than forty years. She was the owner and operator of a dogsledding business with eighteen huskies. S
he guided overnight trips and taught winter survival. During the school year, she taught dogsledding at an outdoor school near Thunder Bay, Ontario.
She currently works as a conservation officer with the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources and Forestry. Before becoming a conservation officer, she worked for twelve years as a canoe ranger warden in Quetico Provincial Park, a large wilderness park in northwestern Ontario.
In her free time, Terry enjoys traveling to new places. Among her adventures, she’s hiked a volcano in Saint Kitts and explored the jungle, Coba ruins, and cenotes (natural swimming holes) of Mexico’s Yucatan. In Costa Rica she kayaked through mangroves, went whitewater rafting near Arenal, and waterfall rappelling and canyoneering in Quepos. She hiked Manuel Antonio National Park, where she was nearly mugged by white-faced monkeys working together in a group like organized crime. And during an evening hike, she was chased out of the jungle by the eerie calls of howler monkeys. She can’t wait to go back.
Learn more at terrylynnjohnson.com
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