a problem there, sir.” Tommy tugged nervously at his collar. “The Whiz Wagon seems to have stalled out, and I haven’t been able to restart it.”
“No problem.” The Guardian pulled a small wireless microphone from behind his shield and spoke into it. “Override stall-out command. Initiate power-up and ignite turbines.”
The Whiz Wagon’s engines suddenly roared to life.
“Holy smokes!”
“Do you mean to say—?”
“You shut us down . . . by remote control?!”
“Well, don’t look so surprised.” The Guardian no longer tried to hide his own grin. “You’re not the only ones who can play it sneaky!”
6
Hundreds of miles away, in a remote section of the Midwest, the ground began to shudder. Spooked by the underground rumbling, a flock of crows abandoned their perches, filling the sky like a living cloud. A stag stood stock-still, listening for the sound, and then bolted as he realized it came from beneath his hooves. The ground itself began first to shake and then to heave, as the Creature pounded and dug his way to the surface, his progress impeded by the bonds still immobilizing his right arm. And then, with a final, wrenching punch, he broke through to the surface.
Sinking his knuckle spurs into the compacted soil, the Creature slowly inched his way up out of the newly hewn hole. Little of the fresh air filtered through the material of his restraining garment, but he did not seem to care. He strode to the top of a nearby hillock, surveying the surrounding wilderness through the thick goggles of the enshrouding hood. For nearly an hour he just stood there in the dwindling sunlight, as still and unmoving as a rock.
As twilight came, a tiny goldfinch, its curiosity getting the better of it, fluttered in for a landing on the outstretched hand of this strange figure. For a moment, a pair of crimson eyes glared out through the goggles at the peeping little bird. Then, like a vise, his fist snapped shut, crushing the life from the goldfinch. A horrible growl of laughter echoed from beneath the hood.
Dropping into a crouch, the Creature bounded skyward, his leap carrying him thousands of feet into the air and fully a mile away. He landed in the midst of an old growth forest, squirrels scattering at his approach. The Creature lurched forward toward a huge oak which stood in his path. In minutes the tree, which had stood on that spot for well over a hundred years, lay in splinters on the ground.
Again the Creature leapt, this time covering nearly two miles, and then again. From the apogee of one leap, he caught sight of something shining far to the east, and he set out to discover what it was.
Night had fallen when the Creature finally came to rest on a high embankment overlooking an interstate highway. The small cluster of speeding vehicles fascinated him, and he leapt directly into their path.
A late-model Ford pickup braked and swerved in an attempt to miss the hulking form that had suddenly appeared on the roadway. The Creature seemed to take this as a challenge, lashing out with a punch that sent truck and driver rolling over and over into oncoming traffic. A cacophony of squealing brakes and car horns was quickly joined by the crunch of metal and the whoosh of igniting gasoline. An approving howl came from the Creature as he charged headlong at the abutment of the highway overpass. With one arm still tied behind him, he struck and clawed at the reinforced concrete, slamming into the weakened supports with his back and shoulders until, finally, the entire overpass fell in a mass atop the crash scene. The Creature looked around him. No signs of life came from the crushed cars and trucks. No other shiny challenges were to be seen. With almost an air of disappointment, the Creature leapt on, following the highway.
Chuck Johnston stifled a yawn as his rig flashed past the road sign. TOLEDO. SIXTY MILES. He’d have to hustle if he was going to make it there by daybreak. These overnight hauls’re
“No problem.” The Guardian pulled a small wireless microphone from behind his shield and spoke into it. “Override stall-out command. Initiate power-up and ignite turbines.”
The Whiz Wagon’s engines suddenly roared to life.
“Holy smokes!”
“Do you mean to say—?”
“You shut us down . . . by remote control?!”
“Well, don’t look so surprised.” The Guardian no longer tried to hide his own grin. “You’re not the only ones who can play it sneaky!”
6
Hundreds of miles away, in a remote section of the Midwest, the ground began to shudder. Spooked by the underground rumbling, a flock of crows abandoned their perches, filling the sky like a living cloud. A stag stood stock-still, listening for the sound, and then bolted as he realized it came from beneath his hooves. The ground itself began first to shake and then to heave, as the Creature pounded and dug his way to the surface, his progress impeded by the bonds still immobilizing his right arm. And then, with a final, wrenching punch, he broke through to the surface.
Sinking his knuckle spurs into the compacted soil, the Creature slowly inched his way up out of the newly hewn hole. Little of the fresh air filtered through the material of his restraining garment, but he did not seem to care. He strode to the top of a nearby hillock, surveying the surrounding wilderness through the thick goggles of the enshrouding hood. For nearly an hour he just stood there in the dwindling sunlight, as still and unmoving as a rock.
As twilight came, a tiny goldfinch, its curiosity getting the better of it, fluttered in for a landing on the outstretched hand of this strange figure. For a moment, a pair of crimson eyes glared out through the goggles at the peeping little bird. Then, like a vise, his fist snapped shut, crushing the life from the goldfinch. A horrible growl of laughter echoed from beneath the hood.
Dropping into a crouch, the Creature bounded skyward, his leap carrying him thousands of feet into the air and fully a mile away. He landed in the midst of an old growth forest, squirrels scattering at his approach. The Creature lurched forward toward a huge oak which stood in his path. In minutes the tree, which had stood on that spot for well over a hundred years, lay in splinters on the ground.
Again the Creature leapt, this time covering nearly two miles, and then again. From the apogee of one leap, he caught sight of something shining far to the east, and he set out to discover what it was.
Night had fallen when the Creature finally came to rest on a high embankment overlooking an interstate highway. The small cluster of speeding vehicles fascinated him, and he leapt directly into their path.
A late-model Ford pickup braked and swerved in an attempt to miss the hulking form that had suddenly appeared on the roadway. The Creature seemed to take this as a challenge, lashing out with a punch that sent truck and driver rolling over and over into oncoming traffic. A cacophony of squealing brakes and car horns was quickly joined by the crunch of metal and the whoosh of igniting gasoline. An approving howl came from the Creature as he charged headlong at the abutment of the highway overpass. With one arm still tied behind him, he struck and clawed at the reinforced concrete, slamming into the weakened supports with his back and shoulders until, finally, the entire overpass fell in a mass atop the crash scene. The Creature looked around him. No signs of life came from the crushed cars and trucks. No other shiny challenges were to be seen. With almost an air of disappointment, the Creature leapt on, following the highway.
Chuck Johnston stifled a yawn as his rig flashed past the road sign. TOLEDO. SIXTY MILES. He’d have to hustle if he was going to make it there by daybreak. These overnight hauls’re
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