Typhoon Island by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

sweat from his brow as they all lowered themselves to the ground.
    “I know a way through the jungle from here,” The Gringo said. “It’s shorter, but harder to navigate.”
    “I vote for staying off the game trails,” Callie said, raising her hand. Iola, Aranya, and Ms. Becker raised their hands too.
    The brothers nodded. “Looks like it’s decided,” Frank said. “Let’s go.”
    “Don’t worry,” The Gringo added. “It’s not too far now.”
    The next time the trail turned, they went straight. The wind and the rain still lashed at them mercilessly, and they took frequent stops to gather their strength. When the wind pushed the trees aside, they glimpsed Nuevo Esteban’s church tower. It wasn’t very far off, and this gave them all hope. Soon they reached the outskirts of the small city.
    As the tired teens and their companions staggered into town they noticed that the streets were deserted. Water covered the roads.
    “The main storm shelter is in the high school,” Renee Aranya said. “It’s on this side of town—it’s not too far away.”
    “That’s good,” Callie replied. “I don’t know how much farther I can walk. My feet feel like solid blisters inside my sneakers.”
    “I’m looking forward to getting something in my stomach,” Joe said.
    They quickly reached the crowded emergency shelter. The high school was one of the newest buildings in town and had been built in accordance with all the modern safety guidelines. The gym, which served as the shelter, had concrete walls and a reinforced roof. The solid construction reduced the howl of the wind to a dull noise and made the nightmare of the storm seem a little less scary.
    The gym was crowded, especially since the trouble at Casa Bonita had left so many vacationers without a shelter to stay in. Still, the big, open space was dry and warm, and a welcome relief for the tired teenagers. Emergency lights lit the dark interior, and volunteer workers were handing out blankets and hot soup, or tending to the injured.
    Renee Aranya had a joyful reunion with her staff, and even Beth Becker seemed happy to be there. The Gringo quickly slipped into the crowd and disappeared. The Hardys and their girlfriends found a quiet corner in which they could sit and relax. They huddled close to one another under two blankets and sipped soup. They saw people they knew in the crowd. Jorge Tejeda and the mayor moved through the room, quietly consoling people.
    Rodrigo Lopez, from the Hotel San Esteban, did the same.
    “I wonder if he’s running for office too,” Joe commented.
    They also spotted Luis, the handyman from the town hall, and Jose and Pablo Ruiz from the rental agency. Both brothers looked worried, as did most of the people in the room. A collective, concerned whisper filled the air.
    “I bet Jose is wishing he’d stayed on Kendall Key,” Frank said.
    “I’m almost wishing I had stayed in Bayport,” Callie replied. “I really need to get in touch with my folks. I’m sure they’re freaking out about the storm. There must be a working phone somewhere in here—or some way to get a message out.” She stood and looked around for a phone to use.
    “Good idea,” Frank said. “When you talk to your folks, have them tell our parents that we’re okay too. There’s no sense in all of us tying up the available lines.”
    Iola stood up as well.
    “What’s wrong?” Joe asked. “Callie can talk to your folks too.”
    “I need to find Angela,” she said. “I don’t see her around.”
    “Maybe she’s at another shelter,” Joe suggested.
    “This shelter is probably in touch with the others,” Iola said. “I’m going to check.”
    “Okay,” Joe said. “Would you bring some coffee when you come back?”
    “Sure will,” Iola replied. She smiled at Joe, and she and Callie wandered off on their errands.
    The brothers leaned back against the wall. “Not the kind of vacation the girls had hoped for,” Frank finally said.
    “Well make