2

Jodie was frustrated that her father hadn't come out to meet them. The plan had been that she and Matt and Rus would find him waiting in Iquitos. They'd all fly to Nuevo Belén. They'd spend a week with Dad at the rainforest clinic where he spent two months each year as a surgical technician. When Dad finished his volunteer work, the Coopers would travel home together, from Nuevo Belén to Iquitos to Miami to New Jersey. All the arrangements had been made in advance. So why had Dad changed plans so abruptly?

Boarding the plane, Jodie realized that the flight itself wasn't what troubled her. Relying on unfamiliar people wasn’t a problem, either. She didn't even worry about traveling hundreds of miles into the rainforest. But surviving another few hours of Matt and Rus's company? Now that was a challenge.

"Wow, what a weird configuration!" Matt exclaimed, settling into his seat.

At first Jodie didn't know what he meant by "configuration," but she soon understood. The plane's interior didn't resemble any she'd seen before. There was the cockpit up front, of course, and that looked pretty typical: two seats, some small windows, a zillion dials and switches. The cabin, though, was just a big open space. The only seats were at the rear–four of them–and they faced backwards.

"But I guess it makes sense," Matt went on. "They use this plane mostly to transport medical supplies and stuff. So of course they've configured it–"

"Spare me," Rus groaned.

"–for cargo."

They took their seats. Jodie sat with Matt on one side of the aisle; Rus sat alone on the other. Jodie buckled her seat belt. She tried to ignore Matt's and Rus's bickering. Soon they fell silent. What a relief–at least until the silence, too, felt burdensome.

What bothered her wasn't just the nearly endless squabbles; it was knowing that things hadn't always been this way. Jodie and Matt had always been closer than most brothers and sisters. At times they had looked so much alike–dark-haired, brown-eyed, and fairly short– that they sometimes pretended they were twins. They had their ups and downs, and sometimes they argued. But mostly they got along. They didn't hassle each other when their interests differed, and they enjoyed doing things together–swimming, hiking, making art projects. Nobody made a big deal of their friendship; it was simply there, and good.

Then Rus arrived and everything changed. Of course, Jodie had known him since she was a baby. They played together a few times a year when Aunt Alice, Dad's only sister, traveled from Iowa to visit the Coopers in New Jersey. Jodie had always dreaded those visits. Rus behaved worse than even the brattiest kids at school. He teased his cousins. He picked fights. He stole Jodie's watch and blamed it on Matt. He took the aquarium's lid off and let Snooker, Jodie's cat, "go fishing." Luckily the visits were short, so Jodie tried hard to stay patient. As Mom and Dad told her, "Rus needs your kindness." He was an only child. He didn't have a dad. His mom was an alcoholic, she couldn't keep a job, and she had lots of money problems. So just as Mom and Dad tried to help Alice, Jodie tried to help Rus. Maybe putting up with him for a few days each year wasn't asking much.

Then Alice got sick and couldn't take care of Rus. Mom and Dad offered to look after him. Rus moved in–not for keeps, as Jodie's parents told her, but only till Alice recovered. But Alice didn't recover. She got worse and worse, then died. What had started out as a long visit was for keeps. And somehow everything had changed.

Something caught her attention: the engines firing up. They started with a whine. Then each propeller began to blur, and the noise increased to a roar.

"This is so cool!" Matt hollered, bouncing in his seat, the safety belt scarcely able to restrain him. At least his interest in the engines kept him in place: he gazed out the window as if at the world's most fascinating TV show.

Seated beside him, Jodie couldn't see much; Matt's head blocked her view. She sat back in her seat and stared at the rear of the aircraft.

Suddenly it occurred to her what she didn't like about this arrangement: flying backwards. Even riding backwards in a station wagon made her feel queasy. How could she tolerate going so much faster in a plane?

Soon the plane taxied down the runway.

The rainforest, Jodie reassured herself. For years she'd wanted to see the rainforest. She wasn't pleased to have Rus along, and she would have preferred to be rid of him altogether, but if his presence was part of the deal–well, she'd tolerate him.

As the plane rose and the land spread out below her, Jodie realized that she'd finally have what she wanted. She would walk beneath a canopy whose leaves sifted sunlight onto the forest floor below. She would canoe down rivers as peaceful as the surrounding silence. She would cast her baited hook into waters so full of fish that catching dinner would be almost effortless. She would marvel at a hundred species of birds–hawks, owls, toucans, larks, parrots, kingfishers–while they pranced among the branches. She would spot monkeys swinging from limb to limb. She would coax hummingbirds into alighting on her open palms. She would even help out at the clinic. She would live with the villagers, find friends among the children, earn respect and admiration for her good-heartedness and sense of humor, then return home with a hundred stories about her adventures in this tropical paradise.

The Badger was the coolest plane Matt had ever seen. It was much smaller than a jet airliner but looked big inside because it was almost empty–it felt like sitting in a big metal can! It had huge oval windows, too, so Matt could look out and see the whole left wing, the engine mounted there, and the gray disc of the spinning propeller. He loved the noise: a great buzzy scream. Sitting in such a loud plane made Matt feel powerful. And because the plane flew much lower than a jet, he could see the clouds and the rivers and even the rough textures of the jungle.

"Isn't this cool!" he told his sister.

He couldn't hear Jodie's voice but saw her mouth say What?

"This is cool!"

He waved her away. "Never mind!" Waste of time, he told himself. Jodie never understood the beauty of planes, trains, cars, trucks, backhoes, bulldozers, or any other machine. All she really cared about was nature. Even now Matt could see her gazing out at the clouds and jungle below the clouds–popcorn scattered on a dark green carpet–when she could have been enjoying the plane itself. Girls! You give them a ride on a and they don't even appreciate it! But at least Jodie wasn't as bad as Rus, who didn't appreciate anything at all.

Thinking of Rus made Matt turn to his left. There he was, right across the aisle: the world's worst grouch. Matt couldn't see his face–Rus had turned away to stare out the window–but Matt didn't need to see him. He knew what he'd look like. Tall. Big-shouldered. Much lighter than Jodie or Matt: pale, blond, blue-eyed. Serious, too. Always serious. What was Jodie's word for him? Somber! Sort of sleepy-looking, only sad at the same time.

Which made sense in some ways. The guy had been through a lot. His mom had always drunk too much, she got sick, and she died. But why, Matt wondered, did Rus have to be so darn grumpy about it? Like nobody else had any problems! Matt had broken his arm once, and last year a bully named Theo had socked him in the nose. And it wasn't as if nothing good had ever happened to Rus. Matt's family had taken him in. They'd actually adopted him! Was that so terrible? Matt had even offered to share his bedroom with Rus, who said "Sure," moved right in, took over like he owned the place, and never once said thank you. Now Rus even got to visit Peru–the trip Mom and Dad had always promised Matt and Jodie–and acted like it was his trip, with everyone else just coming along for the ride.

Matt felt glad the plane was so noisy: he could ignore his cousin.

They flew for a long time. Matt wasn't sure how long. Outside, the rainforest stretched out and away forever. Bumpy green trees. Snaky rivers, mostly brown. Now and then little glinty patches by the water–maybe villages? He wondered how long they'd fly. An hour? Longer? He couldn't even guess. It was late afternoon already.

Matt started to feel hungry. That was the only thing about this plane he didn't like: there was no flight attendant to offer him a snack. The more he thought about his hunger, the hungrier he felt.

Matt unbuckled his seat belt, got up, and started to move around. It wasn't easy–he didn't have an aisle to walk down, bracing himself against the upright seat backs. The cabin sank, rose, sank again. Matt lost his balance several times, crouched to avoid a fall, and even crawled on all fours at one point. He reached the cockpit, though, without getting hurt. The door was open. "Excuse me?"

No answer. The pilots sat there flying the plane.

"Hey!"

The captain turned suddenly. Smiling, he asked, "Is there a problem?"

"I'm sorta hungry." Captain Lozano just stared at him, so Matt made an eating motion with his right hand.

"Oh, sorry," said the captain. "We brought nothing–such a short flight."

Retreating, Matt went back to the cabin. He had bought some candy in the Miami airport but planned to save it for the stay with Dad. Wasn't there anything else to eat on board? Staggering toward his seat, he sized up the cabin. Five or six big plastic jugs filled with water. Some boxes marked UNITED MEDICAL MISSIONS. A roll of clear plastic like the kind painters use to protect floors from spattering paint. Not much else. The kids' suitcases were locked up in the cargo hold, and the only luggage inside the cabin was their day packs.

Matt decided to raid his stash of candy. He lurched toward his pack.

Just then he heard an odd noise: a change in the engine's hum that sounded like a lawnmower hitting a patch of weeds.

The plane jolted once, twice, three times. Matt worried about losing his balance, so he decided to forget about the candy; instead, he worked his way back to his seat and fastened his seatbelt.

"What's going on?" Jodie asked.

"Turboprops are real loud," Matt told her. "You have noise from–"

"Shut up a second!"

Matt tried to figure out what his sister had noticed.

The plane started to sink. He glanced over at Rus, who glanced back, then turned away. He looked at Jodie.

"Something's wrong," she said.

Matt felt shocked by how pale she looked.

The plane jolted hard, then tilted to the right.

Matt looked out the window and saw to his amazement that the left propeller had stopped. The plane seemed much quieter now.

Then a new noise reached him: the pilots hollering at each other. Matt couldn't understand them, since they spoke in Spanish, but he could tell they were upset. The fear in their voices worried him.

Suddenly the copilot rushed over and leaned across Jodie to stare through the window at the engine. He shouted in Spanish so loud that he spattered Matt with saliva. Then he staggered away and headed for the cockpit. The two men started hollering again.

A strange tingle ran through Matt's body. It reminded him of last winter, when he had unscrewed a Christmas tree light bulb and poked a finger into the socket. His whole body had felt like it was melting, and all he could say was "Uhhhhhhhh!" He felt like that now, only without the socket and the electricity.

"Jodie!" Matt screeched. "What's happening?"

Staring at Jodie, Matt wanted to grab her hand but didn't: Rus might call him a sissy.

Then the other engine–the one near Rus's side of the plane–started to struggle. Matt heard a strange whine and a sputtering noise. Soon that engine, too, fell silent.

Matt couldn't believe it. Now both engines had stopped! Instead of their loud, lulling roar Matt now heard only a spooky whistle.

"Rus–"

No response.

"Rus!"

His cousin turned toward him briefly, then away. It almost seemed as if Rus didn't see him. Then Rus bolted from his seat and stumbled over to the cockpit. "What's going on!" he shouted at the pilots. Matt couldn't tell if the men were shouting at Rus or at each other. Rus called out again: "So do something!"

The plane tilted steeply, nose downward. Matt expected more noise–a shriek, a rumble, an explosion–but he heard only that same weird whistle.

He didn't know what to do. Matt wanted someone to tell him everything would be okay. He wanted someone to say that the plane wouldn't crash. The plane's silence terrified him. Would it crash? This isn't happening, Matt told himself.

He heard shouting from the cockpit. Rus. The pilot. The co-pilot. A scratchy voice on the radio.

Rus suddenly came back, cursing, and strapped himself into his seat.

The plane tilted to the left. When he looked out the window, Matt could see the land more clearly now. What had been misty gray-green below looked darker and rougher. Sunlight flashed on a river. He spotted some specks that might have been houses. Everything rushed away.

Jodie was shaking hard, but Matt couldn't tell if she shook from fear or from the plane's motions, which rattled him till his teeth chattered.

"Jodie–"

"Are we–?" Matt couldn't even finish the sentence. He needed someone to hold him. He grabbed at the armrest between them, found Jodie's right hand there, and clutched it. Wouldn't she protect him? She had always protected him in the past. Jodie, his big sister, wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.

"Do this," Jodie said just then. She slumped forward, pressing her chest against her thighs and hiding her face against her folded arms the way the safety information cards on the big jet airliners had showed them.

The Badger jolted twice, hard. Matt wondered, Is this the crash? But the plane just kept sinking. Matt felt so scared he thought he might pee his pants. Anything but that, he told himself–Rus would never let him forget it!

Not knowing what else to do, Matt leaned forward, too, like Jodie. Then, despite his fear, something occurred to him that made him sit upright. "Wait!" he shouted. "That position is if you're facing forward!"

Jodie looked confused. "What?"

Matt told her, "We're facing backward."

"Right, but how does that–"

"So sit up straight," Matt yelled. "Won't these backward seats protect us?"

They both sat back, shoving their bodies against the seats. Matt held Jodie's hand so hard that his fingers hurt. Please don't crash! he shouted in the silence of his mind. Please don't crash!

More jolts. The whole plane shivered.

Matt looked over at Rus. He called out to him: once, twice, three times. The plane was so quiet that he must have heard, but Rus didn't respond. He sat upright, too, just like Jodie and Matt, but only gazed straight ahead.

"Rus–"

Matt remembered a wisecrack he'd made about his cousin's name a long time ago: Your mom is so poor, she can't even afford the extra S to spell your name right!

As if Rus had heard Matt's thoughts, he turned just then to face him. He glanced at Matt. And, despite the sight of the trees now skimming right below–so close that Matt could imagine reaching down and touching the leaves like a kid in a canoe dipping his fingers into the water–Rus turned away once more and scrunched his eyes shut.

Suddenly Matt saw water out there, brown water, real water, just a few feet below. The Badger sank toward it. And at once the plane started rattling, rattled hard, stopped rattling as it rose briefly, then sank again, hit the water, and rattled so violently that it must surely have been falling apart. There was a weird metallic groaning noise. Matt felt his body shake till his bones hurt.

The rattling grew and grew until Matt heard the loudest noise in the world.

And then the loudest silence.