Invisible Terror Collection Part 37

Philip did not stop to watch.

Ttocs' new attacker, Wraith, was a ghoul, fifteenth cla.s.s. Normally he wouldn't waste time on someone as weak and defense-less as Ttocs had become, but Scott had been pretty ruthless in the beginning, and what goes around comes around. It was pay-back time.

The dice fell worse than before. Wraith relentlessly stripped Ttocs of his armor and weapon points, smas.h.i.+ng, parrying, and dissolving them with deadly acid from his fangs.

Scott hunched over the keyboard in the back room of the store, typing for all he was worth. Sweat dripped from his face, but he didn't notice. His heart pounded furiously, but he didn't care. It was no longer his sweat or his heart. It was Ttocs'. And he was no longer in the General Store; he was somewhere in the crypt, fighting for his very life.

He rolled the dice to retreat, but Wraith was far too clever.

He cast a spell on Ttocs, paralyzing him. Then, a.s.sisted by the powers of h.e.l.l, he levitated Ttocs and turned him around, forcing him to face a giant sword made of dragon teeth. Teeth that would embed themselves into an opponent's throat and eat his flesh.

The sword flew swiftly toward his neck. Ttocs tried to move, to duck, but the spell was too powerful. The sword hit its mark.

Scott cried out in pain, grabbing at his own throat. Now the teeth began their deadly job, gnawing and tearing. Ttocs gasped for breath, but it did no good. He staggered and clutched at his neck, coughing and wheezing. Everything around him started to spin, the light grew dim, color faded.

He fell. Hard. Try as he might, Scott could not get him to move. His unbeatable creation lay motionless.

It was over. Ttocs was dead.

Scott stared at the screen, his heart thundering in his head, his breath coming in short gasps. It couldn't be! Ttocs was too great. Scott had spent too much time making him powerful, unstoppable, undefeatable. But there on the screen lay the character, his eyes frozen in what had been a brutal, agonizing death.

Scott closed his own eyes. How could this be? How could Ttocs be gone? He lowered his head into his hands as a lump of emotion rose into his throat. His friend was dead. His creation.

His self ...

Scott sat there silently a long, long time. And then he began to weep.

Philip bounced out of the driveway and slid onto the main road.

He tromped on the gas and the Jeep fishtailed. He fought the wheel and managed to bring it back under control. A hundred yards ahead, the silvery ball of light hovered ten, maybe fifteen, feet above the road. It seemed to be waiting for him to catch up.

Philip was happy to oblige.

He pushed harder on the accelerator. But as he picked up speed, so did the light. It was the same cat-and-mouse game they'd played before. The faster he went, the faster it went. Philip barely saw the road. He kept his eyes fixed on the object. It was hard to make out its exact size and shape. Sometimes it seemed as round as a ball, maybe seven feet across. Other times it looked like a flattened saucer, twenty feet in diameter.

But none of that mattered. All Philip knew was that somehow, some way, Krissi was a part of that light - and somehow, some way, he had to help her.

They hit the bend in the road. It curved to the right. He straightened it by cutting into the other lane. The General Store lay ahead. He screamed past it, doing between sixty and seventy miles an hour.

Suddenly, just past the store, the light took a hard left and disappeared into a newly cut driveway that wound deep into the woods.

Philip hit the brakes. Immediately he knew he'd made a mistake. The damp fog had frozen, leaving a thin, icy glaze on the road.

The Jeep started to slide.

Everything turned to slow motion. He could feel the car sliding out of control. Spinning. Instinctively he cranked the wheel.

It did little good - he was going too fast.

Carnival rides flashed through his mind - the rides you have no control over, where you can only sit and scream until they're over - but this ride was short-lived. The left front wheel caught the loose dirt of the shoulder. That was all it took. The dirt slowed the wheels, but the Jeep kept flying sideways.

The Jeep began rolling!

Philip clutched the wheel with his right hand and threw his left arm over his face. Tree trunks, the steep bank, and the road were all jumbled as his body slammed into the driver's-side window, then was thrown up into the roof. The steering wheel jabbed into his legs as gla.s.s sprayed in all directions. He wondered dazedly how many times the vehicle was rolling when suddenly it came to a bone-jarring stop.

He'd hit a tree.

Thank G.o.d! He was upside down, but at least he wasn't rolling anymore.

No sooner had Philip thought this than the Jeep shuddered and slid down a bank a dozen or so more feet before it finally came to a complete stop. A few pieces of gla.s.s tinkled; some clods of dirt fell from the spinning tires. But other than that there was silence ... except for a faint crackling and popping.

Philip opened his eyes. He was inside, lying on the roof. A blue light flickered in rhythm with the crackling and popping.

It took a moment to register before he realized he hadn't hit a tree - he'd hit a power pole.

He tried to move along the inside of the roof, but the s.h.i.+ft-ing of his weight caused the car to creak forward. He looked out the winds.h.i.+eld - and froze. A drop-off loomed directly ahead - seventy-five feet of sheer nothing.

Fear rose within him, but he fought it back. He moved again, more cautiously, and again the Jeep started to tip. He stopped.

Now he understood. The car was on its top, balancing on a rock or ledge or something. He was safe, but just barely. One wrong move, and he'd send the whole thing plummeting off the cliff.

Chapter 9.

Scott heard the squealing tires and the sickening sound of crunching metal. He knew there'd been an accident just outside the store, but he didn't care. How could he? His best friend had been brutally murdered. He had been brutally murdered.

With that type of tragedy, how could he pay attention to bother-some things like reality?

Still, he heard customers shouting to one another and rus.h.i.+ng outside, so he figured he'd better join them. Reluctantly he snapped off the laptop, rose, and headed for the front door.

He hadn't felt this bad since his father had died.

Becka and Ryan bounced down the driveway in the Mustang, heading as fast as they could toward the main road. Ryan threw the car into a hard right, and they slid onto the asphalt. As he accelerated he shouted, "Where did that thing come from? It just exploded in front of us. One minute it was dark, the next minute brighter than daylight."

"Remember what Z said about them popping in and out of another dimension?"

Ryan glanced at her. "You're thinking the spiritual world again?"

Becka looked straight ahead, hoping she was wrong - fear-ing she was right.

They rounded the bend in the road. Up ahead was the General Store. A handful of people were rus.h.i.+ng out, running across the road.

"There's Scotty!" Becka pointed to the front porch of the store, where her brother slouched against the stair railing, his hands in his pockets. Ryan turned the Mustang into the parking lot and skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Where're they going? What happened?" Ryan shouted out the window.

Scott motioned across the road. "Some sort of accident." Ryan spun around to look, but Becka stared at Scott. Something was wrong with her brother. "You okay?" she called.

He shrugged.

"Scotty, what's wrong?"

"Don't worry about it."

Before Becka could pry any further, they heard the owner running back toward the store. He was red faced and puffing.

"Got to call 9-1-1!" he cried. "Some kid flipped his car." Becka froze. Ryan was already opening his door. "What kind of car?"

"Jeep. The whole thing's balancing on a ledge - could go any second."

Becka leaped out of the car and joined Ryan. They started across the road. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Scott still looking lost. "It's Philip!" she shouted.

He did not move.

"Will you come on?! It's Philip!"

She turned and continued to the other side. When they arrived, they saw what the store owner had described. The Jeep had smashed into a power pole, which had stopped it from flipping over the edge.

The car had slid down the soft bank on its top a dozen or so feet until it came to rest on a narrow outcropping of rock. There it balanced precariously, teetering on the edge of the drop-off. The entire scene was bathed in the eerie blue-and-white sparks of a power line that snapped and crackled on the roadway.

"Oh, man ... ," Ryan whispered. Becka shook her head in stunned silence. They moved past the three or four spectators who were keeping their distance from the dancing cable.

"Philip?" Ryan called. "Philip, can you hear me?" A faint voice answered from inside the Jeep. "Ryan, is that you?" But even as he spoke, the car s.h.i.+fted forward.

"Don't move!" Becka cried.

Ryan carefully negotiated past the sparking wire. Becka followed gingerly.

"Be careful!" an older woman shouted. "Better wait for the EMS." The others agreed.

But Ryan knew they couldn't wait. Not only was there Philip to worry about, there was Krissi. They moved to the edge of the road. A gentle slope of dirt and gravel led ten or fifteen feet farther to the outcropping of rock where the Jeep was balanced. Just past that was the cliff - and a whole lot of darkness.

Ryan called out, "Looks like you're playing teeter-totter on this here cliff."

"I figured it was something like that," Philip shouted. "Listen, I've got to get out of here. I've got to help Krissi."

"One catastrophe at a time, ol' buddy."

"You don't understand." Again the car s.h.i.+fted.

"Philip!" Becka warned.

"Let's see if we can take care of you first," Ryan suggested.

"We've got to hurry, we've got to - " Again the car s.h.i.+fted.

"Philip!"

Philip quit talking and remained still.

Ryan motioned down to the outcropping of granite the Jeep balanced on. There were two, maybe three, extra feet of rock on the right side of the car. Plenty of room for a person to get a foothold and reach out to help Philip.

Becka followed his gaze, then turned on him. "Are you crazy?"

Again the car s.h.i.+fted.

Ryan looked at her. There was her answer. Even if they decided to wait for an EMS, it was doubtful the Jeep would. Already they could hear tiny rocks and bits of granite crumbling and slipping out from under the car. They had to act. Now.

Without another word, Ryan turned and began sliding down the soft slope toward the outcropping of rock. Becka started to follow until he turned to look up at her and demanded, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Same place you are."

He looked at her, trying by sheer intimidation to force her back up the slope. It didn't work.

"Guys?" Philip called. "The side window's popped out.

Maybe I can crawl over to it and - "

Again the Jeep tilted forward, only this time it slid an inch or two.

The spectators gasped.

"Philip!" Becka cried.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Ryan suggested. He turned to give Becka one last look. She motioned him forward, making it clear that if he didn't take the lead, she would. Reluctantly he turned and continued down the slope. The dirt and gravel slid with them, covering their shoes as they made their way down to the granite outcropping.

Since Ryan had the lead, he was the one to step onto the rock and stoop to look inside at Philip. He grinned. "Hey, bud, got anything for a black eye?"

"Oh, man," Philip groaned. "I didn't mean to do that. I don't know what came over me."

"That's okay. Just don't go getting yourself killed till I get a chance to even the score."

Becka sighed. She hated "machoese." But having a brother, she knew that type of talk was part of the male routine. Either that or one too many Schwarzenegger movies. She could never tell which.

She went to join Ryan. There wasn't enough room for two on the rock, so she dug in and planted herself in the soft dirt beside him. She also grabbed on to a good, solid bush just to be safe.