Recite the magic words at exactly seventeen minutes past the quarter hour following the six-hour mark before midnight plus one hundred and sixty-six minutes minus seven quarter-hours plus a minute times seven, rounded to the nearest half-hour plus three. Neither a second before nor three seconds after.
(Yes, I’m fully aware it will take you a second or two to say the magic words, but I’m talking about the precise time you begin to say it. Quit being so snooty.)
“Oh, boy,” Edgar said. “Can’t say my head’s in the mood to figure that one out. Glad it’s your problem.”
Tick laid the clue down onto his lap, already scrutinizing its every word. “I’ll have it figured out by the time we stop for you to use the bathroom and buy more Doritos.” He opened up his journal and started jotting down thoughts and calculations from the clue.
“Very funny,” Edgar replied, elbowing his son. “You know, I was so worried about that ‘death’ e-mail you got, but now I’m feeling pretty fat and happy.”
“Better than skinny and sad, I guess,” Tick said.
Edgar laughed. What a great kid I have, he thought. What a great kid.
Frazier waited until he and his prey were well out of town, cruising down the long and straight two-lane highway that headed back to Anchorage. He hated how short the days were this far north. It wouldn’t be as fun to watch the coming mayhem in the darkness. He looked in his rearview mirror and saw some lights in the distance, but they seemed too far back for him to be worried. Once he engaged the device, it wouldn’t take long to have his fun and be done with it.
He gripped the Chu controller in his palm, put the tip of his thumb on the button.
Then he pushed it.
Tick stared ahead at the long blank road, lost in thought about the sixth clue. The headlights revealed nothing but cracked asphalt and dirty piles of plowed ice, swallowed up in darkness on both sides. There must not be a moon out, he thought. Even the snow seemed black tonight.
“Uh-oh,” his dad said in a worried whisper.
Tick looked over and saw the tight cowl of panic on his dad’s face. He felt something shudder in his chest. “What?”
His dad had both hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, trying to squeeze the inner lining out of it. “The wheel’s frozen!” His legs moved up and down, alternately pumping the gas and brakes as the frightening, plastic-springy sound of the pedal filled the car.
“Dad, what’s wrong?”
His dad kept yanking on the wheel, pushing on the brakes. “It’s not responding—it’s not doing anything. I can’t do anything!”
“What do you—”
“Son, the car’s out of control—it won’t let me . . .” His voice faded as he tried everything again, his look of disbelief overcoming the panic. “What in the . . .”
Tick could only watch, bile building in his throat and stomach. Something was horribly wrong, and it had to have something to do with their new enemies. “You can’t get it to stop?”
Dad looked over at him, exasperated. “Son, I can’t do anything!”
In unison, they looked forward. The road remained straight for as far as they could see, but it ended in blackness. Anything could be hiding in the darkness, waiting for an out-of-control car to smash into it.
“The steering wheel won’t move?” Tick asked, knowing the answer anyway.
His dad unsnapped his seatbelt, squirming in his chair to turn around.
“What are you doing?” Tick yelled.
Dad reached over and unbuckled Tick’s belt as well. “Someone’s got to us, kid. We’ve gotta get out of here.”
From the backseat, Norbert stared at the two cars in front of him as they gained ground, knowing deep inside that something terrible was happening. He sensed frantic movement in Tick’s car—dark shadows bobbing and jerking around—and saw the calm demeanor of the person sitting in the one following them, barely revealed by the headlights of the car in which Norbert sat. They were almost on the stranger.
“It’s now or never,” Norbert said, then tapped the shoulder of the man driving. “Put the pedal to the metal, pal.”
“Do whatever he says,” the girl said to the driver like she was his mother.
Frazier laughed as he saw the man and the boy squirming inside their car, desperate for a way out of this little predicament. He looked down at his controller, trying to find the dial that would make the car ahead go even faster. He finally found it and turned it up just a little, loving every minute of this game.
When he finally glanced back up to the road, he yelped as a car zoomed past him on the left, then swerved to the right to cut him off. Overreacting, Frazier slammed on his brakes and twisted the steering wheel, shooting off the road with a horrible squeal of brakes before slamming into a massive snowbank.
His airbag exploded open, scorching his forearms and catapulting the Chu device into the backseat.
Tick felt like a sailor going down with a submarine. The front doors wouldn’t open; some kind of permanent locking mechanism kept them sealed.
“What could possibly be doing this?” Dad yelled, struggling to lean his huge girth over the back of the seat to check the rear doors. From the click of the handle being yanked and released, Tick knew they were locked, too. His dad groaned as he dropped back into the driver’s seat.
The car had inexplicably sped up just a few moments earlier, rocketing them faster and faster toward the unknown. The car remained on a straight path for now—the steep piles of snow on the roadside nudging the wheels back onto the road if they began to stray—but it couldn’t last much longer. Tick knew if they hit a turn, they’d be in a whole heap of trouble.
Tick felt a block of ice in the pit of his stomach; they probably had only a minute or two before they’d crash. “We need to break a window!” he yelled.
“Right!” Dad replied. “Plant your back on the seat and kick the windshield with both feet on my signal, okay?”
Desperation swept away Tick’s fear, clearing his mind. “Okay,” he said as he got into position, tucking his journal down the seat of his pants as far as it would go.
When they were both ready, feet stuck up above them, coiled for the kick, Edgar grabbed Tick’s hand. “On three—one . . . two . . . three!”
With synchronized screams, they both kicked the windshield with all their might.
It didn’t budge.
Screaming his frustration into the frigid air, a plume of frozen vapor shooting from his mouth, Frazier Gunn tried to open the buckled back door. When it stubbornly refused, he leaned over to look through the window, searching for the Chu controller. He couldn’t see a thing.
How could this have all fallen apart? How?
He shot a quick glance down the road to see the fading red glow of two cars’ taillights. The device would be out of range in a matter of seconds and once that happened, he’d have no more power over the car’s operations. It would continue to drive like a maniacal machine until it ran out of gas or smashed into something.
Of course, without being able to turn, the latter is exactly what would happen. Crash, boom, bang. The thought made him pause, then smile. Chances were, he’d still complete his task, one way or the other. Mistress Jane didn’t need to know all the details.
Not caring anymore about the controller or his banged up car, Frazier turned and headed back toward town.
He needed to find a cemetery.
On Tick and his dad’s fifth synchronized kick, a huge crack shot across the wide glass with the sound of breaking glaciers. Tick’s heart leapt to his throat and the next kick seemed to have twice the power from his adrenaline rush. Several more cracks splintered through the windshield like an icy spider web. Tick was crouched too far down in the seat to see up ahead, but his mind assured him they were probably shooting toward a bend in the road with brutal speed. One way or another, it would all be over very soon.
“One more ought to do it!” his dad yelled, gasping in breaths. “One . . . two . . . THREE!”
Tick kicked with both legs again, and almost slipped to the floor of the car when his feet kept going, crashing through the windshield with the horrible clinking and crackling sound of shattered glass. Several tiny shards flew back into the car from the onrushing wind, but the bulk of the windshield, held together by a strong film of clear plastic, flew up into the air and tumbled away behind them.
“Come on!” Dad yelled, helping Tick back into a sitting position.
The air ripped at their hair and clothes, so cold that Tick’s skin felt like frozen rubber. Squinting his eyes, he saw a big turn in the road a couple of miles directly ahead. He couldn’t tell what waited there, be it a cliff or a field or a towering barn; he saw only darkness, a wall of black tar.
“We’ve gotta hurry!” his dad screamed over the wind. “Together now, come on!”
Summoning every last trace of courage left in his body, Tick followed his dad over the dashboard and through the gaping, wind-pummeled hole that led to the hood of the car.
“There they are!” Norbert screamed, his voice squeaky with panic. “Pull up there, right to the front! If those guys jump, they’re dead!”
“Hurry!” the girl yelled.