Running on Empty by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page A

the transmission into reverse. He was using the transmission's reverse gear as a brake. The gears crunched like some metallic monster devouring a scrap-iron victim.
    It took all of Frank's strength to hold the shift lever in the reverse position. They were still approaching the bridge and the concrete pillar at over seventy miles per hour.
    Keeping one hand on the shift lever, Frank grabbed the steering wheel and twisted it slightly to the left.
    The car glanced off the side of the pillar and shot onto the bridge. It caromed from one side of the bridge to the other, slamming into concrete-and-steel pillars with piercing metallic screams.
    Sparks and razor-sharp concrete splinters flew into the windows like angry darts and hit Emmy and Frank in the face and arms.
    Frank tried to keep the wheel straight. If they could make it across the bridge, they had a good chance of running the car into a field, where it could get bogged down in dirt and high grass.
    The car slammed into a pillar, bounced off like a rubber ball, spun several times, and came to an abrupt stop.
    Frank's head hit the steering wheel, dazing him. He leaned back in his seat and tried to focus on the car's windshield. A multitude of spiderwebs spread out across the glass. The shatterproof glass must have been hit by the flying concrete, creating the spiderweb effect.
    Something warm trickled down his forehead. His vision was blurred by a red haze. Blood!
    Emmy gasped.
    Frank was suddenly aware of a new and immediate danger.
    The car had indeed stopped. It had smashed through one of the bridge's aluminum railings and sat teetering above a dry, rocky riverbed fifty feet below. Every move that Emmy and Frank made, no matter how slight, caused the car to seesaw and inch closer toward the fifty-foot drop.
    "Don't move," Frank warned. He took a deep breath to help clear his throbbing head. Seconds passed like minutes.
    "All right," he finally said. "Move when I do, as I do, and when I tell you to."
    He steadied his breathing and fought off visions of Emmy and him and the car sliding off the bridge and smashing onto the rocks below.
    "Put your left hand on the door handle."
    Emmy watched Frank from the corner of her eye.
    "Pull the handle up slowly. Easy!"
    Like twin reflections in a mirror, Frank and Emmy moved together. The inner latches of the two door locks clicked simultaneously.
    A screeching metallic squeal shattered the air as the car lurched over the edge of the bridge.
    "Frank!" Emmy cried out.
    "Now!" Frank yelled.
    Frank slammed his shoulder into his door and in one smooth motion threw himself free of the falling car. He hit the asphalt pavement hard and rolled clear.
    Crumbled concrete kicked into the air as the car slid forward, as if in slow motion, and rolled off the edge of the bridge. Frank shuddered when he heard the crunch of the car as it slammed into the rocks of the dry riverbed.
    "You okay, Emmy?" Frank stood. He blinked and rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
    "Yeah," she wheezed. "'I think so." She smiled.
    Frank stood up and placed his hands behind his head to relieve the pressure on his lungs and rib cage. He felt as if he had just finished a marathon race with death.
    Emmy stood up slowly. "I'm just glad these back roads are so deserted," she said.
    "Yeah, aren't we lucky?" Frank said sarcastically.
    "Let's hitch back to town and get cleaned up before I try to explain to Cronkite why his car is in the bottom of a dry riverbed."
    "Cronkite's car?" Frank would have shouted if his chest didn't hurt so much.
    "He dropped it off just before you two arrived. He wanted me to drive a newer car."
    They had walked less than a mile when an old man driving a battered pickup loaded with paint and painting equipment in the truck bed offered them a ride.
    "Watch where you sit," Emmy warned Frank as they climbed into the open back.
    Frank didn't have time to heed Emmy's warning. The pickup lurched forward and Frank sat squarely in a paint tray still wet with pink