The Phantom by Rob MacGregor Read Free Book Online Page A

oozing down his side, over his hip, down his leg. Fast, he thought. The bridge jerked twice under the weight of the truck. The remaining ropes were starting to unravel.
    The Phantom saw one chance. The vine on which they were hanging was connected on one side to the wall of the gorge and on the other to the bridge. He pulled out his gun and fired. The bullet snapped the vine’s connection to the bridge, and they swung free just as the bridge broke apart. The tangle of ropes and truck and vines plunged down scarcely a second after they sailed out of its path and landed on a narrow spit of rock that was barely wide enough to stand on.
    The Phantom looked down as he heard the truck smash against a dry riverbed far below.
    “Ungabo!” Zak exclaimed.
    “You can say that again!”
    The Phantom caught his breath, pressed a hand to his injured side. Hanging from the bridge had opened the knife wound even more. He had lost more blood than he cared to think about. His head started to spin again, black stars exploding in the corners of his eyes. He knew he was about to pass out. He dropped to his knees and leaned against the wall.
    “What’s wrong, Ghost Who Walks?” Zak gave him a quizzical look as if he didn’t understand that the Phantom could feel pain or sustain an injury.
    “I’m just a little tired, kid. As soon as I get my second wind, I’ll be all right.”
    He wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a while, but he knew that would be a big mistake. He might never wake up. With an effort, he pulled himself to his feet. He raised his head and looked at the steep cliff rising in front of him. It was nearly vertical, a smooth wall of rock that extended at least a hundred feet to the rim. They were clear of the bridge, but they weren’t out of the abyss. Not yet.
    He felt woozy and tried to focus his mind and reach into the depths of his stamina. But his knees buckled and he collapsed against the wall again.
    “Ghost Who Walks, why don’t you fly out of here like they say you can do?”
    “I don’t fly, Zak,” the Phantom said as he focused his wavering vision on the vine they had swung on, which hung down from the rim. In ordinary circumstances, climbing up the vine would be a snap, even with Zak on his back. But right now he wouldn’t make it up more than a few feet off the ledge.
    He needed an energy boost, something that would give him the power and strength to scale the wall. There was only one thing he knew of that could provide such a jolt of power. Still on his knees, he took the skull ring on the finger of his right hand and turned the skull inward to the palm side of his hand.
    The skull ring was only to be used in dire circumstances—when death was the only alternative. He took a deep breath, then exhaled as he pressed the skull to his solar plexus, closing his eyes and concentrating. Warmth suffused his body. He felt as if he were glowing.
    He pulled the ring away from his chest and blinked his eyes open. The pain in his side had receded. He felt as if he’d just slept ten hours. He stood up and turned to Zak, who was watching him closely.
    “Are you okay?” Zak asked.
    “We’ll see soon enough. The Phantom grabbed the vine and tested its strength. “Okay, climb on my back. We’re going up.”
    The Phantom looked up and imagined himself moving smoothly and easily up the wall. Then he did just that, pulling himself and Zak arm over arm along the vine, striding like a fly along the smooth wall.
    “That was easy,” he said when they reached the top. Then the pain returned, and his legs began to wobble. Quickly he whistled, and a few moments later, Hero pranced out of the forest. After the surge of strength on the wall, the Phantom was barely able to mount Hero. He lifted Zak up to sit behind him, wincing at the resulting bite of pain.
    “Take me home, Hero.”
    Corporal Samuel Weeks pulled into the Bangalla Jungle Patrol Headquarters and slammed on the brakes. He bounded out of his patrol truck