Typhoon Island by Franklin W. Dixon

must have collapsed right after they crossed over,” Joe said.
    “But what about us?” Iola asked. Her eyes scanned the raging river and shattered bridge. “How will we get across?”
    “Who’s up for a swim?” Joe joked.
    “I don’t think we can stay with the van,” Frank said. “If the storm gets any worse—and I think it will—we won’t be safe here.”
    “The river narrows upstream,” The Gringo said, “near the scenic falls. There’s a footbridge above the falls that we could use. I can lead us there.”
    “Will the bridge still be safe?” Renee Aranya asked.
    “We don’t have any choice but to find out,” Joe said. “You’re sure you can lead us there safely?” he asked The Gringo.
    The Gringo nodded. “I know this island like the back of my hand. I could find it blindfolded, even in this storm.”
    “Joe and I will help Ms. Becker,” Frank said. “Callie, Iola, Ms. Aranya—follow Mr. McGill, and warn us about falling debris and other hazards.”
    “Check,” Callie and Iola replied.
    “Everybody ready?” Joe asked as he and Frank put Beth Becker’s arms around their shoulders.
    Everyone in the van nodded, and Iola opened the sliding door in the side of the vehicle. The wind buffeted them, trying to push them back in as they fought their way outside.
    The Gringo led them up the river, keeping them a good distance back from the bank and well away from the torrent of floodwaters. As they wound their way up the hillside the riverbanks grew steeper and steeper.
    “Not too far now,” The Gringo said.
    The rain quickly soaked them to the skin onceagain, even under the Bayport teens’ ponchos. Lightning flashed all around, and thunder shook the hills. The wind through the trees sounded like the hissing of a giant snake.
    They quickly reached the pedestrian walkway across the river. It was a steel-cable suspension bridge—flimsy-looking, but clearly built to withstand harsh weather. The river below the span roared and surged, casting spray even up onto the walkway. The wind made the bridge sway terribly, but the seven of them safely made their way across. Beth Becker looked even paler by the time they got to the far side.
    “Don’t worry, lady,” The Gringo said to her. “It’s all downhill from here.”
    They hiked back into the forest, but soon veered off of the main path and onto a game trail.
    “This way is shorter,” The Gringo explained. “The hiking trail heads up into the hills before winding back toward town.”
    “Shorter is good,” Frank said.
    The Hardys and their companions hiked down the narrow path, Joe and Frank still helping Beth Becker whenever she needed it. Soon they were all muddy as well as wet, and most had taken an accidental slide or two.
    Suddenly Joe stopped and listened. “Do you hear that?” he asked.
    “It’s just the wind,” Callie replied.
    “No,” Joe said. “Its more than the wind. Something’s coming.”
    They all turned and looked uphill. Behind them the trail seemed alive with writhing, wriggling bodies. Snakes covered the entire path.

13 Wildlife Rampage
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    The serpents surged downhill like a living river. Some were black, and others were green, red, or yellow. Behind the rainbow torrent of snakes came a stampede of other animals: deer, boars, monkeys, and lizards.
    “They’re running from the storm!” Frank shouted. “Get off the path!”
    He and Joe dragged Beth Becker off the trail, while the others scurried into the brush. They scrambled up into the trees, but the slippery bark made climbing almost impossible. Despite this, all of them managed to get their feet far enough off the ground that a snake could slither harmlessly under them.
    The thundering stampede of frightened animalspassed by quickly. Soon even the slowest lizards had disappeared around the bend in the trail below.
    “That’s the trouble with game trails,” Joe said. “You never know when game animals might want to use them.” He wiped the rain and