The Phantom by Rob MacGregor Read Free Book Online

rock, and the bridge swayed like a tree in high winds. The Phantom looked down only once, but it was enough. His head spun; he nearly puked. The stab wound in his side ached and throbbed. He was losing an alarming amount of blood, and he couldn’t think straight enough to figure out what to do.
    He knew this bridge well, and he knew that it wasn’t strong enough to hold a truck for long. But how much time did he have? Seconds? Minutes?
    He looked through the canvas opening in the back of the cab and was shocked to see a native kid, bound and gagged on the floor of the cargo area. The Phantom struggled toward the opening, climbed through it, and moved over to the kid.
    His side shrieked as he untied the boy. The truck kept rocking, the bridge swaying, his stomach rolling. They moved to get out. The bridge wouldn’t last much longer. Already a part of him could feel its ropes fraying, giving way to the weight.
    “Ghost Who Walks!” the kid gasped as the Phantom pulled out the gag. His eyes had widened with amazement, and he literally looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “You saved me.”
    “Not yet, I haven’t. Who are you?”
    “Zak.” He pointed to the Phantom’s wound and spoke rapidly in Bangalla.
    “Sticker bush,” the Phantom said, dismissing the injury, yet sucking in his breath at a stab of pain.
    A sharp crack echoed through the air; it sounded like a tree splitting in half and jerked the Phantom to full awareness. The truck jerked to one side.
    “The bridge is breaking,” Zak whispered as though the softness of his voice might somehow prevent this from happening. “We need to get out of here.”
    “I know.” The Phantom’s voice sounded more casual than he felt. A gnawing anxiety ripped through him. “We really should be leaving.”
    The truck jerked again, followed by an outbreak of popping and snapping as ropes and vines broke apart, like the crackling of a thousand fires. It tilted to the right, balancing on the edge of the bridge. The Phantom and Zak slid feet-first to the wall. The bridge was now a huge rope swing, swaying under the weight of the truck, moaning like a creature in pain. Then it twisted and the truck flipped over as the Phantom and Zak tumbled onto the canvas roof.
    The truck now seemed to hover above the abyss like a wad of spit in the wind. It was held in place by nothing more than a tangle of ropes and vines.
    The Phantom quickly assessed the gravity of their situation, and it was about as bad as bad could get. The canvas roof was the only thing between them and the abyss. If they didn’t escape, it meant the kid would never see sixteen, and the Phantom’s own death would spell the end of a four hundred-year reign.
    Then the truck stopped moving. The moaning ceased. Air escaped through the kid’s clenched teeth. “I think it’s okay now,” the Phantom said.
    As soon as he spoke, the rotting canvas started to rip apart. The tear spread quickly, unzipping their floor, leaving a gaping hole. Zak started slipping and shrieked, “Help me, I’m falling!”
    His legs vanished through the opening, then his chest and head disappeared. The Phantom lunged for him, grabbed his hand. But the hole ripped wider, and the Phantom tumbled through the roof after him.
    As the abyss rushed toward him and the wind whistled in his ears, the Phantom’s arm shot out and hooked a vine that hung several feet below the bridge. He carefully pulled Zak up onto his back. As they dangled underneath the truck and above the gorge, the Phantom reached up with his free hand and grabbed the vine. The truck shifted. The bridge squeaked and groaned.
    More ropes snapped, and one whipped the Phantom’s leg. Wood planks flipped through the air, just missing their heads. The Phantom gripped the vine more tightly and tried to calm Zak, who was clinging tightly to him. “Don’t be afraid.”
    Zak squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not afraid with you here.”
    You should be, the Phantom thought. He felt blood