Dust Storm! Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Author’s Note

  Survival Tips from the New Mexico Search and Rescue Council

  Acknowledgments

  Read More from the Survivor Diaries Series

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Copyright © 2018 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

  Illustrations copyright © 2018 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  hmhco.com

  Illustrations by Jani Orban

  Cover illustrations © 2018 by Owen Richardson

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Names: Johnson, Terry Lynn, author.

  Title: Dust storm! / by Terry Lynn Johnson.

  Description: Boston ; New York : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2019] | Series: Survivor diaries | Summary: Separated from their group during a sixth-graders geocaching trip, Jen Chiu and her mortal enemy, Martin Diaz, are caught in a dust storm in the desert near Las Cruces, New Mexico. Includes survival tips.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017027713 | ISBN 9780544970984 (paper over board) ISBN 9781328529299 (paperback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Survival—Fiction. | Deserts—Fiction. | Dust storms—Fiction. | Chihuahuan Desert—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.J63835 Dus 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017027713

  eISBN 978-1-328-53059-2

  v1.1018

  For my best friend, Denis.

  Without you, none of this would be possible.

  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.

  “Aiya,” 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 uses only 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 Chihuahuan Desert,” he said.

  “It was so craz—” A piece of cream puff flew out of my mouth and landed on his phone.

  “Aiya,” 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.

  Chapter Two

  Two months earlier.

  The van jolted over another bump on the dirt road, and I adjusted my earbuds. The trick to being one of only two girls in a van full of sixth-grade geocachers is to look busy. Pretend you’re too into your music to care that no one is talking to you.

  And definitely pretend you don’t miss your new best friend back in Tucson, who couldn’t come to this geocaching event because she was going on summer vacation with her family.

  At least, that’s what she said, but I suspected it had something to do with the name of the event, Snake Byte. Though I told her actual snakes were probably not involved. Judging by the clever name, most likely all our clues for the cache locations were going to have something to do with a byte—information in bits of eight.

  I peered over the seat in front of me, where my mortal enemy—Martin Diaz—was also sitting alone. He’d been reading a book about New Mexico since we left Tucson. He took forever to flip pages, so I switched between reading the book over his shoulder and looking out the window at the gray landscape. Dead grass, flat-topped mesas, stony ridge faces, and scrubby creosote bushes as far as I could see. The tall, spiky poles of agave plants stood out here and there like punctuation marks.

  I hoped that once we got to Las Cruces there would be more exciting terrain, but the only things out there that really mattered to me were the mystery caches. I was going to beat everyone in Club. Especially Martin Diaz. Tomorrow, I planned to find all the caches before he did and leave my signature tokens—friendship rings—so he’d realize I’d beat him there. I’d get my name up on the Geocache Superstars chart back at Club. And Martin would have to admit I was awesome. I’d make him wish he was still my best friend.

  Not that I cared that he stopped talking to me last year. That was so long ago, I’d almost forgotten about how we used to meet behind our houses and work on our fort in the orange tree. Or how we dressed up in my grandparents’ old clothes and put on plays for them. Nope. Didn’t care.

  Martin flipped the next page, so I could continue reading.

  of the Clovis culture of ancient New Mexico.

  Today, the Chihuahuan Desert is mainly a rain shadow desert. Large mountain ranges on the east and west block the moisture coming from the oceans. If you are caught in desert climate, it is vital to keep hydrated. Remember: a gallon of water per day per person.

  Avoid sweating. You lose more moisture when you sweat.

  Do not panic. If you are lost, panic kills. Remain calm and stay where you are so searchers can find you. Using a signal mirror is best.

  Watch the weather. When storms approach, go to high ground. Stay out of dry washes and arroyos, which can flood suddenly and

  “Hey,” Martin said. He slammed the book closed and glared over his shoulder at me. “Mind your own business.”

  I was about to snap back at him when the van lurched and stopped with an ominous thud. I pulled out my earbuds and stuffed them in my pocket. I could hear the wheels spinning, but we weren’t moving. Everyone started yelling, and Mr. Lee jumped up to speak with the driver.

  “Calm down, people,” Mr. Lee said. “Stay here while we sort this out.” He hopped out with the driver to look at the rutted road.

  Everyone crammed to one side of the van to peer out the windows.

  “Yup. We’re stuck. Should’ve let me
drive.”

  “As if you can drive, Alonzo.”

  I tried to stay out of the way of the guys clowning and shoving one another.

  “We’re all gonna die!”

  “Don’t be stupid. It’s probably a flat tire. Look.”

  Outside, Mr. Lee pointed his cell phone in the air. He wandered around until he gave up and popped his head back in the van.

  “Hey, everybody. We’re stuck. But the cache starting point isn’t far. I’m going ahead to see what other teams have arrived and to get assistance. You will stay here with Mrs. Sloan and help her set up the shade tarp. I expect my cachers to be on their best behavior.” He eyeballed us. “I’ll be back shortly.” As he prepared to go, he muttered something about talking to whoever organized the event and picked a location with such bad roads.

  We all filed out to help Mrs. Sloan with the tarp. The heat of the day draped over me as soon as I stepped out of the air-conditioned van. I could see how the tires of the van and the trailer had wedged into a deep rut on the shoulder of the road. We were going to need a tow truck.

  I pulled out my cell phone to text Mom. I wanted her to tell me this kind of thing happened all the time and not to worry.

  But no bars. No network. I clutched the phone and then stuffed it in my backpack.

  Once we all got used to the idea that we were stuck here, we gathered around Mrs. Sloan, who brought out a cooler from the trailer. I realized I didn’t need my pack, so I went back to stash it in the van. Just before I opened the door, I spied the top of Martin’s head through the window. Why was he hiding in the van?

  Chapter Three

  Martin was bent over Mr. Lee’s briefcase. I let out a silent hiss. Were the cache coordinates in there? If Martin knew the latitudes and longitudes, he could skip having to solve the clues before getting the directions to the caches. He’d get to all the caches before me. I watched as Martin pulled out his Global Positioning System unit. Was he cheating and entering the lats and longs into his GPS?

  I ducked down when Martin’s head swiveled around. He stuffed his GPS in his pocket as if he realized he could get caught. I barely had time to slip around the hood of the van and hide before Martin jumped out and darted to the trailer.

  While he was gone, I crept into the front seat to take a look at what he’d been doing. But Mr. Lee’s briefcase was closed and there wasn’t any evidence of Martin being in there. I tossed my pack on my seat and snuck back out. When I glanced at Mrs. Sloan, she had her head in the cooler as she passed around water bottles.

  While I watched, Martin jumped out of the trailer with his mountain bike. He ran toward the ditch on the opposite side of the van from where everyone else was sitting in the shade. When he glanced over his shoulder, I edged behind the van. Martin bolted up the incline, crested the hill, and disappeared from view.

  He must have thought he could find one of the caches and exchange his dumb snake-tattoo tokens before anyone else had a chance. He’d get his pick at the best tokens in the cache box. But worse, if he had all the cache locations, he’d beat me. I was not going to let that happen. I had to stop him!

  My stomach jumped with nerves as I raced to the trailer and freed my bike. I grabbed my helmet and got ready to make a run for it. I had to time it right. As soon as Mrs. Sloan’s head was in the cooler again, I dashed up the hill and over the bank.

  Once I was out of sight of the rest of the group, I had a chance to look around. I was in a basin with desert sprawling out in all directions. There were no trees here like at home. No tall saguaro cactus, only shrubby bushes dotting the gravelly dirt baked hard and crunchy underfoot. The desert sun felt white-hot. I shaded my eyes against the glare, searching. There was Martin, pedaling away from me, his silver helmet bobbing up and down. I hopped on my bike and raced after him.

  I had to concentrate on steering around low thorny bushes. Martin seemed busy doing the same thing; he didn’t look behind him once.

  He was definitely going to a cache. Why else would he have snuck off with his bike into the middle of the desert? He must have entered the coordinates into his GPS. What a jerk! If I could get his GPS out of the mount on his handlebars, I could prove it. He’d be busted.

  I sped up to catch him. Sweat trickled out from my helmet and ran down my temples but dried instantly on my face. The thirsty air sucked up any moisture. Martin was so focused on the terrain and his GPS, he didn’t hear me until I came up beside him.

  “Whatcha doin’?” I asked sweetly. He jumped as if he’d been electrocuted, then turned red. I pointed at him. “You’re not cheating, are you? That would be poor form, even for you.”

  Martin huffed and stammered. It seemed to take a while for his brain to assess the situation. He shoved his hand in his pocket and said, “I can show them to you, too. We’d be the only ones who know.” I glanced at the sheet he pulled out.

  JUNE, Las Cruces, New Mexico

  Mystery Cache Event: SNAKE BYTE—Coordinates list

  Martin turned his GPS toward me. “See? This first cache isn’t far from here! It says it’s only point-five miles that way.”

  My gaze followed where he pointed. “We shouldn’t be—” I stopped when I noticed the sky. It looked as if something big had exploded far behind us.

  And then I saw it—a wall of dirt rose high in the air. So high, it blocked out the sun.

  “What is that?” Martin shaded his eyes and stared at the debris in the air.

  “Does it look like it’s moving toward us?” I said, a flutter of panic in my chest.

  A sudden gust of wind hit us hard and almost knocked us off our bikes. Our eyes met, full of horror.

  I whipped around and gripped my handlebars. “Ride!” I yelled, but my words were swept away in the wail of the wind.

  Chapter Four

  When I glanced back at the cloud, I saw it had grown like a swarm of pale yellow locusts. And it was gaining on us.

  I knew what it was then. And it was bigger than anything I’d seen before.

  “Dust storm!” Martin screamed.

  We dashed away on our bikes, trying to get ahead of it. Maybe we could outride it. Racing over uneven ground, I struggled to keep hold of my handlebars. Don’t crash into that prickly pear cactus! Keep focused. Watch out for those rocks!

  Don’t look back.

  “Come on!” I yelled to Martin.

  I pedaled like a cyclone, pumping my legs as hard as I could. Had to be far ahead of it by now. I’d never ridden so fast. Couldn’t look behind me. No time to slow down. But how close was it?

  I glanced back just as a giant wall of choking dust hit us.

  I squinted my eyes half closed, but sand and grit flew in, blinding me. My eyes burned. The storm flayed my skin. My loose hair lashed the sides of my face.

  The air was thick with sand. I could hardly breathe. Choking on grit, I covered my nose with one hand, but then I couldn’t keep my bike straight.

  Wind whipped my T-shirt. Furious gusts filled it with sand.

  All I could see was sand. I’d lost sight of Martin. I was in my own world full of stinging and choking. Everything around me was gone. I hoped I was riding in a straight line.

  Something sharp and prickly scraped my ankle as I rode by. I opened my mouth to scream, but it filled with sand.

  Choking!

  I gagged and spit. Pressed my gritty lips together tightly.

  My skin was on fire. Sand in the air, stinging like hornets. I had no idea where Martin had gone.

  I saw a dark object, coming closer. Wait. Was that him?

  A broken tree trunk flew through the air, narrowly missing me. It bounced on the ground, branches exploding in all directions, then disappeared as quickly as it had come.

  I stopped, feet off the pedals, hands over my burning eyes. Make it stop! I was being eaten alive by the desert. My heart hammered. I could feel my whole body quaking.

  The roar of the wind was like a jet plane. I’d seen dust storms before back home but usually watche
d them through a window. A storm was completely different out here in the middle of it. Out here I could hear it growl, feel its teeth, and taste its grit.

  I knew I should get off my bike and crouch down. If I stopped, I’d have both hands free. I wanted to shield my ears, and my eyes and nose. I could hide in my shirt.

  But I didn’t want Martin to leave me out here. I didn’t want to be stuck in the desert without my bike. I didn’t want to be in this storm alone. The last time I’d seen Martin, he was riding away from the dust storm. I didn’t know where to go, but I had to get away too. I cracked open my eyes into slits and started forward again.

  Where was Martin? I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t yell for him. Couldn’t open my mouth. He wouldn’t even hear me over the shrieking wind.

  Suddenly, there he was. Martin, next to me, a ghost in a cloud. We almost crashed, riding beside each other, and then we broke apart again. He vanished into the sand.

  I heard a wail. Was that Martin yelling something, or the wind? Where was that noise coming from? The wind roared in my head.

  But that sound again. More wailing. Something was very wrong with that noise.

  I pedaled straight into the driving, biting sand. And then my bike fell out from under me. I was in the air and falling blind.

  I had ridden off a cliff.

  Chapter Five

  I was falling through the air.

  As I dropped, my stomach lurched into my throat.

  And then I crashed.

  My bike crumpled underneath me. Broke my fall. My face slammed into something hard; my eyes watered from the pain. I let out a grunt and rolled off the bike. I unclipped my helmet with a shaky hand. It felt as if I’d just stepped off a roller coaster and my body was trying to catch up to the stillness. I lay there a moment, dazed and pounding, a pile of dried bones.