The End of the Trail by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

could have sworn he heard Phil Cohen yelling at him from the back of the truck, but through the armor he couldn’t tell what was being said.
    The trees opened into a clearing. A wooden structure loomed up ahead.
    â€œThe bridge?” Joe said.
    â€œYes, that’s the bridge,” Rhonda said.
    â€œThen we’re almost out of town,” Frank said.
    â€œYou know,” Joe said, “maybe you were right when you said we shouldn’t get too excited before we’re completely out of this place. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
    Frank slowed as he approached the bridge. It didn’t look especially rickety, but it was obviously old and he wanted to cross it as slowly as possible. He eased the truck onto the wooden surface.
    Each plank made a groaning noise as they passed over it, but the bridge seemed to be solid. Joe held his breath but was prepared to let it out in a sigh of relief.
    Then everything seemed to spin in a circle in front of them. The bridge was tilting to the left. The truck slid to one side and hit the wooden guardrail, which snapped in two like the fence they had driven through earlier.
    Then the truck fell off the bridge and plummeted toward a small stream below!

15 Stream of Unconsciousness

    Frank awoke to the splash of cold water across his face. Where was he? He figured he must have lost consciousness for a while.
    He was lying on his left side, a heavy weight on top of him. He turned his head to see both Rhonda and Joe lying on top of him. They were all in the cab of the truck, but it had been rotated ninety degrees. Water was flowing through every tiny crack in the vehicle.
    â€œHey, you guys!” Frank shouted, spitting water from his mouth as he spoke. “Get off me before I drown!”
    â€œHuh?” Joe said. “What happened? Oh, yeah, we took a header on the bridge. Well, not a header exactly..
    â€œJust get off of me!” Frank shouted again. “And get out of this truck! Fast!”
    Rhonda moaned. Joe reached up and opened the passenger side window, which was now directly above them. He pulled himself up on the edge of the window, then reached down to pull Rhonda up after him. Frank pushed from below as Rhonda groggily allowed them to drag her out of the truck.
    The three of them crawled out of the window and jumped to the water below. The truck was lying on its side in the middle of a shallow stream about twenty feet wide.
    â€œNow what do we do?” Joe said. “How are we going to get this truck out of here?”
    â€œLet’s get everybody out of the back first,” Frank said, opening the rear door. Phil Cohen came tumbling out, landing in the water with a splash.
    â€œI take back what I said,” Phil groaned. “That was just mildly lousy driving before. This was really bad driving!”
    Loraleigh and Jack clambered out after him. Biff took a little longer to maneuver. He was barely able to use the crutches now because he was in so much pain.
    â€œWhat happened?” Loraleigh asked.
    â€œLooks like the bridge finally collapsed from old age,” Rhonda said.
    â€œNo,” Jack Mason said. “It wasn’t old age. Look over there.”
    He walked to the bridge. A large section in the middle had broken off and was tilting precariously to one side. At the points where it had broken away from the rest of the bridge the wood had a cleanly sawed look.
    â€œSomebody deliberately cut the bridge so that nobody could get across it,” Jack said. “Probably those Brookburn boys. They wanted to make sure there was no way you boys could leave town.”
    â€œSo what are we going to do with the truck?” Joe asked again. “Pull it out of here by hand?”
    â€œMaybe we should just walk to the highway,” Frank suggested. “We can hitch a ride to the nearest town.”
    â€œNo,” Rhonda said. “That would take too long. By then Sheriff Brickfield will be out of those