trunk of a car. A tire lay beside him, and the jack ground into his back. It had to be the jack he was just removing. He was in the trunk of his own car! He tried pushing against the hood, then pounding on it. "Of all the times to get nailed," he muttered.
Joe tried to twist his body so he could push the lid with both legs, but he was too groggy to make much of an effort.
"Hey!" he shouted.
He waited for a response, but heard only the wind rustling through pine trees and the sound of the river roaring below.
"Hey!"
He rested for a moment, trying to gather his strength. Then he heard something stirring outside.
With renewed effort, Joe pounded on the lid. "Open up!" he yelled. "In the trunk!" He kicked at the metal.
He stopped, waiting for a response. Instead, he heard footsteps move away, toward the front of the car. He felt the car shift slightly as someone climbed into it. Then, after a moment, the weight shifted again, as whoever it was got out.
"Hey! Back here!"
Suddenly the car moved. The brakes were off! Someone was pushing the car from the front!
"Stop it! I'm trapped back here!"
Slowly at first, the car slid backward. Then, gaining momentum, it moved faster.
Joe could hear the pavement under the car and knew when it hit gravel. Then he heard the car brush through weeds and bounce over rocks. The roar of the river became louder. He was heading for the lip of the ravine!
He started fighting with all his strength to open the trunk. But the hood didn't budge.
Then the car tipped as the rear wheels rolled free of the ground. Joe was thrown against the hood as the car teetered. ... "No! No!" he yelled.
Joe bounced around helplessly in the trunk as the car tumbled down the slopes of the canyon. He heard the windshield shatter, and a crunch of metal as the roof caved in.
Then the car backed into something large, springing the trunk lock. The lid swung up as the car bounced off a huge rock and flew high into the air. Joe had a look at where he was heading — into the boulder-strewn river of roaring white water!
Chapter 3
"Any word yet?" Frank Hardy couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice. "Has Joe called?"
His mother shook her head. "No word. This isn't like Joe. It's been two whole days."
"Where's Dad?" Frank asked, sitting down at the kitchen table in their Bayport home.
"Notifying the authorities of Joe's disappearance." Laura Hardy stared at her son for a long moment. "Frank, what's going on?"
Frank avoided her eyes. "Where's Aunt Gertrude?"
"Don't change the subject. I'm worried about Joe." Laura Hardy said sharply. She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm sorry, Frank. I guess we're all wound up a bit too tight over this."
"It's all right, Mom," Frank said. "I'm worried about Joe, too." He reached across the table and took an apple from a bowl of fruit. But he wasn't really hungry. "I think I'll go for a run," he finally said.
The morning air was salty as Frank ran along the beach of Barmet Bay. Most mornings, before breakfast, Frank and Joe would run together to the beach and back. And, most mornings, Joe won.
Frank hated to admit it, but it drove him crazy. He spent his mornings exercising, doing weight training and karate workouts. Joe rolled out of bed an hour after him, and did nothing but play a little football or baseball. He was as good an athlete—or better—than Frank.
Joe jokingly referred to Frank as the brains of their operation and himself as the brawn. He was slightly shorter than Frank but stockier and more muscular. They made an excellent team. Frank sometimes wondered if the underlying competition between them was what made their team so successful.
Frank smiled, pushing himself to run faster. No, that wasn't it. They worked together so well because their abilities meshed perfectly. Because they were brothers. He'd hate to see what would happen if they ever found themselves on opposite sides.
Just as Frank returned home from his run, Fenton Hardy walked into the
Joe tried to twist his body so he could push the lid with both legs, but he was too groggy to make much of an effort.
"Hey!" he shouted.
He waited for a response, but heard only the wind rustling through pine trees and the sound of the river roaring below.
"Hey!"
He rested for a moment, trying to gather his strength. Then he heard something stirring outside.
With renewed effort, Joe pounded on the lid. "Open up!" he yelled. "In the trunk!" He kicked at the metal.
He stopped, waiting for a response. Instead, he heard footsteps move away, toward the front of the car. He felt the car shift slightly as someone climbed into it. Then, after a moment, the weight shifted again, as whoever it was got out.
"Hey! Back here!"
Suddenly the car moved. The brakes were off! Someone was pushing the car from the front!
"Stop it! I'm trapped back here!"
Slowly at first, the car slid backward. Then, gaining momentum, it moved faster.
Joe could hear the pavement under the car and knew when it hit gravel. Then he heard the car brush through weeds and bounce over rocks. The roar of the river became louder. He was heading for the lip of the ravine!
He started fighting with all his strength to open the trunk. But the hood didn't budge.
Then the car tipped as the rear wheels rolled free of the ground. Joe was thrown against the hood as the car teetered. ... "No! No!" he yelled.
Joe bounced around helplessly in the trunk as the car tumbled down the slopes of the canyon. He heard the windshield shatter, and a crunch of metal as the roof caved in.
Then the car backed into something large, springing the trunk lock. The lid swung up as the car bounced off a huge rock and flew high into the air. Joe had a look at where he was heading — into the boulder-strewn river of roaring white water!
Chapter 3
"Any word yet?" Frank Hardy couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice. "Has Joe called?"
His mother shook her head. "No word. This isn't like Joe. It's been two whole days."
"Where's Dad?" Frank asked, sitting down at the kitchen table in their Bayport home.
"Notifying the authorities of Joe's disappearance." Laura Hardy stared at her son for a long moment. "Frank, what's going on?"
Frank avoided her eyes. "Where's Aunt Gertrude?"
"Don't change the subject. I'm worried about Joe." Laura Hardy said sharply. She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm sorry, Frank. I guess we're all wound up a bit too tight over this."
"It's all right, Mom," Frank said. "I'm worried about Joe, too." He reached across the table and took an apple from a bowl of fruit. But he wasn't really hungry. "I think I'll go for a run," he finally said.
The morning air was salty as Frank ran along the beach of Barmet Bay. Most mornings, before breakfast, Frank and Joe would run together to the beach and back. And, most mornings, Joe won.
Frank hated to admit it, but it drove him crazy. He spent his mornings exercising, doing weight training and karate workouts. Joe rolled out of bed an hour after him, and did nothing but play a little football or baseball. He was as good an athlete—or better—than Frank.
Joe jokingly referred to Frank as the brains of their operation and himself as the brawn. He was slightly shorter than Frank but stockier and more muscular. They made an excellent team. Frank sometimes wondered if the underlying competition between them was what made their team so successful.
Frank smiled, pushing himself to run faster. No, that wasn't it. They worked together so well because their abilities meshed perfectly. Because they were brothers. He'd hate to see what would happen if they ever found themselves on opposite sides.
Just as Frank returned home from his run, Fenton Hardy walked into the
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