Escaping the Giant Wave by Peg Kehret Page B

direction long before the weather service issued any warning. Were the cows aware that another earthquake was coming? Or a tidal wave?
    We stood still for a moment, straining to hear better. The mooing repeated, over and over and over, sounding exactly the same each time.
    â€œI don’t think those are live cows,” I said.
    BeeBee giggled. “Dead cows don’t moo.”
    â€œI think it’s a recording.”
    She listened again. “You’re right. Why would anyone play a tape of cows mooing?”
    We walked on.
    â€œThe farmers make a tape of their cows mooing,” I said, “and then if one of the cows doesn’t come home at night with the others, the farmer plays the tape over a loudspeaker, and the stray cow hears it and knows where to go.”
    â€œIs that true,” BeeBee asked, “or are you making it up?”
    â€œMaking it up,” I admitted, “but it’s logical. I can’t think of any other reason why someone would broadcast a bunch of cows.”
    â€œThat mooing noise is coming from the direction of town,” BeeBee said. “There weren’t any cows in town.”
    While we pondered the puzzle, we heard voices on the road behind us. Looking back, we saw a man and a woman go around the concrete barrier and hurry toward us. The woman had a small tan terrier on a leash.
    â€œHello!” the man called when they were a bit closer. The little dog wagged her tail and tugged toward us.
    â€œHello,” I said.
    â€œKeep going up the hill,” the woman said. “There’s been a tsunami warning! It’s supposed to hit Fisher Beach at five-thirty.”
    â€œWe aren’t supposed to go anywhere with strangers,” BeeBee whispered to me.
    â€œThis is an emergency,” I whispered back, “and we aren’t going with them; we were climbing the hill anyway.”
    â€œHurry!” the man said as they caught up to us.
    â€œThey look like Grandma and Grandpa,” BeeBee whispered.
    I nodded, and we fell into step behind the gray-haired couple and their little dog. I felt less anxious now that we were near adults, strangers or not.
    The dog kept turning around, wanting to sniff us. “Come along, Pansy,” the woman said. “You can make friends after we’re out of danger.”
    â€œHow did you know about the tsunami?” I asked. “Was there a warning on the radio?”
    â€œWe heard the cows mooing,” the man said.
    â€œWe heard them too,” I said. “It sounded like a tape recording.”
    â€œThat’s the tsunami warning,” the man said. “The town council decided cows wouldn’t be as frightening as a siren, so when there’s a tsunami warning in this area, they broadcast the sound of cows mooing.”
    â€œIn Kansas we have tornado warnings,” BeeBee said, “but the warnings don’t sound like cows; they’re sirens. We didn’t know what the mooing meant.”
    â€œThat’s a problem,” the man said. “We knew because we live here, but visitors don’t have any idea what it means when those cows start in. Of course, they might not know what any other warning signal means either.”
    â€œWe thought a farmer had lost one of his cows and was calling it home,” BeeBee said.
    â€œOh, lawsy, that’s a good one,” the woman said.
    â€œIf there’s been an official warning, why aren’t more people coming up the hill?” I asked.
    â€œUsually guests from the Totem Pole Inn come up the hill with us, but the inn isn’t open any more,” she said. “I heard two or three rooms were used last night because of a convention, but officially it’s closed. The new lodge isn’t renting rooms yet, so only a small staff is on duty. With the fires and all, they may have left before the tsunami warning.”
    â€œWe stayed at the Totem Pole Inn last night,” I said.
    â€œI’m