I ask myself again, Can a bully change?

Later in the afternoon, the river changes again. It gets narrow and fast, and we can hear rapids in the distance. The riverbanks we’ve been hiking along have been clean for miles, but now we’re coming upon places where broken trees have been driven ashore. Evidence of the busted dam, and a pain for us, because we have to find a way around the piles of debris, and that takes extra time and effort.

For me it’s a painful reminder of that terrible night. The earth-shaking roar of the dam destroyed, and the killing flood that followed. The night that changed everything. One minute, we were kids with grown-ups in charge, monitoring and guiding our every move. The next minute, we had to figure it out for ourselves. Lost in the rain, and lost in other ways, too. Making choices and decisions no kid should ever have to make.

So much for a good mood. Reliving that night makes me long for home, for a wonderful memory that happened just before I left for the white-water trip. The Fourth of July was a fantastic day, with a cookout and fireworks and games and stuff. Best of all, everybody was doing great, especially Dad, who has a new job designing websites. Okay, everybody was doing great except my brother Phil, who was so worried about mountain lions getting me that it gave him tummy problems. That’s when we looked it up together, how to survive an attack, and I told him not to worry, I’d be home soon.

It hurts that my little brothers must be worried sick, not to mention Mom and Dad. I picture myself walking through the front door of our house, unannounced. How shocked and happy they’ll be to see me. That should make me happy, but instead I feel like crying. I’m so homesick it hurts in my guts and all over.

“Did you hear that?” Deke says. “Is that a helicopter?”

We search the leaden sky, the clouds so low they touch the trees.

“Sorry, I’m pretty sure that’s the sound of the rapids.”

“No,” he insists, his expression furiously intense. “Not a helicopter. I was wrong. This is higher, and very faint.”

We listen, hear nothing out of the ordinary. Is this some trick Deke is hatching? Distracting us with imaginary noises while he makes a break for it?

Suddenly he’s yanking on the rope, dragging me along. “Up ahead. I’m sure of it.”

Mia and Imani struggle to keep up. We’re making our own noise, scrambling over piles of busted trees, which makes it even harder to hear. But as Deke urges us along, I start to believe him.

A high-pitched sound, coming and going. A noise both familiar and terrifying. Somewhere between a scream and a crying-out.

We all hear it at the same time, and stop in our tracks.