by D. B. Magee
“Even if it is a treasure map,” Lisa huffed, “how do you know someone hasn’t already found the treasure? It may be nothing but a useless ornament.”
“If the treasure’s already been found, then why are those two clowns still looking for it?” Ryan said defensively. “Willy heard them say it’s going to make someone rich and famous.”
Just then muffled voices were heard coming from above.
William scrambled up the slide as far as he can and listened.
“You let them get away?” Mr. Smith raged.
“There was nothing I could do,” Bubba maintains. “It was already closing when I got here.”
“Why didn’t you stick your arm in and stop it?”
Bubba’s eyes almost popped out of his head as he looked over at the safe. “It’s not an elevator, Boss. I would have lost my arm.”
“Hmm, no great loss,” Mr. Smith muttered. “Well, open it, you idiot!”
“I tried,” Bubba replied. “It won’t open. I think they changed the combo before they went in.”
“Drats!” Mr. Smith slammed his fist on top of the safe.
“Maybe we can break in,” Bubba suggested. “Do you want me to see if I can find some tools?”
Mr. Smith considered his options. “No,” he said, finally. “If they were able to call for help then we probably don’t have much time. We’ll come back later and blast this thing open, if we have to.” He turned and headed toward the ladder.
Bubba had started after Mr. Smith, when out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. He stepped over to the settee and pulled from its recessed shelf — the Frequency Glasses.
From part way up the ladder, Mr. Smith looked down to find Bubba wasn’t behind him. “What the devil are you doing?” he hollered down.
Bubba set the glasses down and hustled to the ladder. “Sorry, Boss. I was just looking at something.”
Mr. Smith resumes gimping his way up the ladder. “You are just like a child, always gawking at things.”
Bubba started up the ladder after him. “It’s just that they were the weirdest-looking glasses I’ve ever seen.”
Hearing the word glasses, Mr. Smith stopped dead, and looked back so quickly that he almost fell off the ladder. “Glasses? What did they look like?”
Stopping just below Mr. Smith, Bubba looked up and shrugged. “I don’t know. Like some antique 3D video glasses. You know, with blacked-out lenses and a boxy compartment on top for circuitry and such.”
“Hurry, you dunce, go back down!” Mr. Smith nearly kicked Bubba off the ladder in his haste to return to the cave.
Bubba obeyed and moved down the rungs as quickly as he could, but ended up constantly losing his grip, trying to stay ahead of his boss’s hot-footed descent.
Reaching the bottom, Bubba hustled to retrieve the glasses. “Here, Boss,” he said, handing them over.
Mr. Smith snatched the glasses out of Bubba’s hand and looked them over. Having memorized their image from an old newspaper photo, his hateful expression slowly turned to elation. “I can’t believe it!” he thundered. “I’ve finally found them. I’m going to be rich! Quick now,” he bellowed, shoving Bubba toward the ladder. “Let’s get out of here!”
“What about them kids, Boss? They might suffocate in there,” Bubba said, looking back. “Maybe we should help them out first.”
“Nonsense!” Mr. Smith growled. “They got themselves in there, they can get themselves out. Besides, it serves them right for not coming out when I gave them the chance. Now, go!”
Ryan Saves the Day
Still standing on the slide with his ear turned upward, William quickly looked back at the others, his face wrought with fear. “They weren’t after the map!” he said, pointing to the hubcap that Ryan still held, guardedly. “They were after the glasses — and they got them!”
The girls gasped.
“What?” Ryan said, perplexed. “Why in tarnation would they think they could get rich off them?”
“Weren’t they in the safe?” Stacy asked.
William hung his head. “I left them on the shelf next to the bench and forgot all about them.”
Devastated, Stacy slumped down to the ground, her hands on her head, mourning the loss of what she felt was the greatest gift to mankind. “How are we going to unite the two worlds now?” she said glumly. “Just think of all the kids we could have benefitted, both on Earth and in the spirit world.”
Feeling despair also, Lisa dropped down next to Stacy. “We won’t be able to go back, either,” she added. “We won’t be able to see the new friends we’ve made. We won’t be able to visit SPAZ anymore. And Ryan,” she said, looking up at him, “you won’t be able to see your great-grandfather anymore.”
“It’s worse than that,” William interjected. “We lost something that doesn’t even belong to us.”
Ryan leaned back against the wall, letting his arm go limp, and dropped his treasured gold slug to the ground. He stared down at his boots, contemplating their predicament and his selfishness concerning the map. What was I thinking? he pondered. The Frequency Glasses are more important than any stupid treasure map. Besides, I reckon Lisa is right; any treasure there might have been is probably long gone.
“That’s it!” he declared. “I’m getting them back!” He grabbed a flashlight and tore off down the narrow sub-cavern.
“Wait for me!” William yelled, bolting out after his friend.
Seconds later, with William on his heels, Ryan made a right turn into the perpendicular exit tunnel and raced onward, toward the small dot of dim sunlight in the distance.
Momentarily stunned, Stacy and Lisa looked blankly at one another. Then, without a word they shrugged, jumped up, and chased after the boys.
With his yellow flashlight beam streaking wildly ahead, Ryan sprinted down the long, dark passageway. Dust flew from his boots. Their echoing sounds reverberated off the walls around him.
Behind Ryan, William ran his short little legs flat out trying to catch up, with the girls racing after him. All three huffed, puffed and choked on the clouds of dust that preceded them.
Finally, reaching the end of the tunnel, Ryan skidded to a halt and quickly fought his way through the brush-covered opening in the right side of the wall. Stumbling out into the bright sunlit meadow, right next to the descending road from God’s Thumb, he dove to the ground, gritting his teeth and grunting in pain as gravel pelted him from the tires of the thugs’ old clunker careening past.
William broke through the brush next, and stopped dead as he saw the goons driving away. “That’s it!” he said, kicking the weeds. “There’s no hope of getting them back now.”
Ryan, now on his feet and scanning the extent of the Walborgs’ property, remained quiet while he evaluated the situation. “We’re not through yet,” he finally said. “I have an idea, but we have to act fast. Come on, I’ll tell you on the way.”
Together the boys raced up the road toward the house, panting, sweating, and hurriedly discussing Ryan’s plan.
Stacy and Lisa eventually pushed their way through the thicket and emerged from the tunnel, breathless and coughing.
Lisa leaned against her knees as she attempted to slow her breathing. Looking up, she saw the goons’ car working its way down the property’s long, gravelly road in one direction, and Ryan and William racing across the backyard in the opposite direction. “What are they up to now?” she said, watching the boys. “It’s too late to do anything more.”
Stacy finally caught her breath. “I guess we’d better go find out.”
Barreling along the Walborgs’ private road, dirt and dust spraying out from behind his car, Mr. Smith was jubilant as he took triumphant glances at the Frequency Glasses lying next to him on the seat. “I can’t believe my luck!” he boasted. “Those brainless kids must not have known what they had, to just leave them sitting there. They didn’t even bother to take them along into that safe thingy.”
Bubba started to p
ick up the Frequency Glasses, but Mr. Smith slapped his hand away. “Nobody touches those. They’re mine and mine alone!” he barked.
“What’s so special about them, Boss?” Bubba asked, gazing down at the homemade oddity.
Mr. Smith returned his attention to the road. “They’re the answer to mankind’s greatest mystery.”
“What’s that, understanding women?” Bubba snickered at his own joke.
Mr. Smith scowled at Bubba. “Life after death, you idiot,” he said.
Bubba tried again. This time he snatched the Frequency Glasses up quickly, before Mr. Smith could stop him. He turned them over in his hand. “Are you trying to tell me that these glasses see into the spirit world?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Now put those down, you lummox, before you break them.”
Bubba ignored the order and continued examining the glasses. “I don’t believe it. No one can see into the spirit world.”
Mr. Smith glared at Bubba. “Who cares what you believe?” he snapped. “Now give me those.” He reached out to take the glasses from Bubba.
Bubba pulled back, keeping the glasses out of Mr. Smith’s reach. “Even if that was true,” he said, “how do you expect to get rich from them?”
“I will mass-produce and sell them,” Mr. Smith said, with an ear-to-ear grin. “The demand will be incredible. How can it not be, when everyone since the beginning of time has wondered about the existence of life after death? People will finally be able to prove for themselves that life doesn’t end, and I’ll be the one responsible for that. I’ll be rich and famous!” Mr. Smith began imagining his fame and fortune as he turned right, off of the private gravel road and onto the paved road back past the Walborgs’ property and toward town.
I’ll believe it when I see it, Bubba thought. Without a word, or being noticed by Mr. Smith, he slipped the Frequency Glasses on.
“Remember!” Ryan shouted, running out the front door, “right in front of those trees.” He pointed to a small group of trees near the edge of the main road at the end of the lake. “We’ve only got one shot at this.”
“I know!” William said, dragging his newly built electric glider and remote control unit out the door behind Ryan. “You’re going to owe me another glider for this!”
“As many as you want, pard!” Ryan hollered, stuffing a plastic shopping bag, the type with handles, into his back pocket. Shoeless and hatless, he streaked across the grass, then gravel, down the wooden stairs to the dock, and onto the Jet Ski. Throwing the anchor rope off the watercraft, he fired it up and took off down the lake in an attempt to beat the thugs’ car to the main road. Unable to see the car or the main road over the shore’s bank, Ryan could only hope that he’d get there first.
Midway down the lake, he suddenly saw a shadow appear on the water’s surface. Looking up, he saw Williams’s electric glider. He watched as it banked right and headed away from the lake. “Wait!” he yelled into the wind, “I need more time.” He lay down tight against the aerodynamic body of the Jet Ski and cranked the throttle for all it was worth. The machine pitched high in the water, accelerated to max speed, and bucked like a baby bronco as it bounced off the gentle waves.
Ryan watched the shoreline slowly approach. He checked the plane’s position. It was beginning its loop back. He knew this meant the goons’ car must be close. He looked forward — twenty yards to go. “Come on!” he cried. “A few seconds more . . . Bingo!” He beached the watercraft and jumped to the shore.
Scrambling up the embankment, he scaled the top rail of the short wooden fence and dashed over behind the small clump of trees. He yelped as the dry weeds and sandspurs pierced his feet.
To his left Ryan saw his target barreling along the main road toward him. He shaded the afternoon sun from his eyes and looked up and to the right. William’s glider was lined up over the road and descending fast. Ryan glanced between the car and the plane, quickly evaluating the situation. Oh no, he thought, not yet. I’m gonna be exposed!
He looked right — the plane was speeding closer. He looked left — the car was about a hundred feet away, now. He looked right again — the plane was five feet off the ground. It passed the clump of trees in front of him. “Shoot!” he shouted. “It’s too soon!”
“Whoa! That was weird,” Bubba muttered at the feeling of being pulled from his body. “I don’t see any dead people,” he announced, “but I can see me sitting next to — me. This is very strange,” he added.
At Bubba’s comment Mr. Smith glanced over. “Give me those, you ninny,” he yelled, grabbing for the glasses.
Through his astral eyes Bubba saw Mr. Smith’s hand approaching, and threw up his own real arm to block him. “Not so fast, Boss. Let me try them out for a minute.” Then noticing that Mr. Smith was still glaring at him, Bubba said, “You might want to keep your eyes on the road.”
Mr. Smith looked back just in time to see something drop out of the sky, heading straight toward them. “What’s that?” he screamed, throwing his hands up and slamming on the brakes.
Bubba turned his astral head to look out the windshield. Seeing the rapidly approaching danger, he screamed as well, as both his astral self and his physical self quickly threw their hands up over their eyes.
Kneeling behind the clump of trees, Ryan peered through the windshield of the approaching car and saw both thugs throw their hands up over their faces, just as the glider hit the windshield. CRASH! The glass shattered, and the car screeched as it skidded past Ryan.
“Bull’s-eye!” Ryan hollered, watching the car come to a stop a few feet to his right—right on target. You’re a genius, Willy! he thought.
Suddenly, the car doors flew open.
Ryan heard Mr. Smith shouting at Bubba to get out and clear the windshield.
Bubba exited the passenger seat and looked around for the culprits, cursing under his breath and shaking his fist in the air. Then, lumbering around the front of the car, to the driver’s side, he pulled the remains of the shattered plane from the windshield and tossed it to the side of the road.
Struggling with his gimp leg, Mr. Smith pulled himself out of the driver’s-side door and shook debris from his clothes.
I reckon now’s my chance, Ryan thought. Staying low to the ground, he hustled to the open passenger door and peeked inside. There they are! The Frequency Glasses lay folded up in the center of the bench-style seat. Without waiting another second, he reached in, grabbed the glasses, and rushed off the road and out of sight.
Seconds later, Ryan had ducked behind the clump of trees, vaulted the fence, and was scurrying across the short section of weed-infested meadow, once again grimacing from the pain in his feet. Then it was a short slide back down the embankment to the shoreline—and his waiting Jet Ski.
Before placing the Frequency Glasses into the plastic bag he’d brought with him, Ryan looked back to make sure the coast was clear, and brushed the sandspurs from his feet. He then hung the bag over the handlebars of his watercraft, and as quietly as he could, pushed the small vessel off the shore and into the rippling, glistening lake. He fired it up and was off, laughing as he wondered how long it would take the thugs to realize they’ve been had.
The Jet Ski danced rhythmically across the surface of the lake on Ryan’s trip back to his friends. Behind him he heard a chuffing sound in the sky and turned to see a big, black, low-flying helicopter pass over the lake, heading in the general direction of town. I wonder if that’s one of them aerial firefighters Granny told me they use out here.
Meanwhile, back on the road, Mr. Smith was frantically searching the car for the missing Frequency Glasses. “Where are they?” he screamed at Bubba, who was dusting broken glass from his seat.
“I don’t know, Boss,” Bubba said, just as confused over their disappearance as his employer. “I think I set them on the seat when that airplane hit us.”
“Well they couldn’t have just vanished,” Mr. Smith screamed. “Now find them!”
Bub
ba pushed the passenger door full open and kneeled on the ground in order to peer under his seat. As he did he heard a chuffing sound in the distance. He looked up and listened. It was coming closer. Squinting, he could just make out its silhouette. It must be one of those Air National Guard choppers, he thought, returning his attention to his search.
“Well, are they down there?” Mr. Smith barked.
Bubba swung his arm back and forth under the seat probing for the glasses. “No, Boss. I don’t feel them under here,” he called back.
“Blast it! You imbecile, what did you do with them?” Mr. Smith ranted. Just then an idea hit him like a ton of bricks. He stared suspiciously at Bubba. “You hid them. You’re trying to steal them from me,” he accused.
“No, Boss,” Bubba insisted. “Really, I don’t know what happened to them. Maybe they fell out on the street. Let me have a look.” Bubba stood up and began searching the area around the car. As he stooped down to peer underneath the automobile, a large, loud object suddenly blocked out the sun, casting an ominous shadow over the immediate area. Bubba looked up to see a stealthy looking black helicopter hovering above them.
“Now what?!” Mr. Smith blared, climbing back out of the driver’s seat. “What in blazes is this?” he shouted, shaking his walking stick at the noisy menace above him.
The Black Hawk helicopter drifted sideways and landed on the other side of the road in a neighbor’s field. Then, with the slamming open of sliding doors, two men dressed in camouflage uniforms and carrying MP4 assault rifles rushed across the field, hopped the short fence bordering the property, and were on Mr. Smith and Bubba in mere seconds.
“Freeze!” one of the soldiers yelled as he approached. “Drop your weapons!”
“What weapons?” Mr. Smith barked. “This is my walking stick, you idiot! Who are you guys? And what do you want?”
