In Plane Sight (9 page)

“Ahead of us, I think,” Frank replied from his position behind a nearby rock. “It's hard to tell in this fog. I'm surprised he can see us at all.”

Crack!
Another shot whizzed over their heads.

“We'd be sitting ducks if we headed onto the ice,” Joe said. “We'll have to go back.”

“Or deeper into the woods,” Frank said. He gathered a small pile of snow into his hands and made a snowball. “I'm going to throw this toward where the shots are coming from. When I do, head for the tall timber as fast as you can.”

“Check,” Joe said.

Frank ducked out from behind the rock and lobbed the snowball. Simultaneously Joe sprinted from behind the tree, heading inland.

Crack!
A shot whizzed by Frank. The elder Hardy bolted, following his brother.

“You think it's that guy from the plane?” Joe asked as they ran.

“The skydiver?” Frank said. “Probably. I don't know who else it could be.” He jumped over a fallen log and nearly lost his footing. Another shot whizzed over the brothers' heads. They kept running.

“A disgruntled landowner maybe,” Joe said. “Or maybe the pilot of the plane. Did you see if it landed after I fell out?”

“I was too busy worrying about you!”

“Hey, heads up!” Joe called.

Frank ducked, barely avoiding a hanging tree
branch in their way. They began running downhill, through low brush and powder snow. Pine needles and dead leaves skidded from under their sneakers, and they struggled to stay on their feet.

They heard another gunshot, but didn't hear the bullet hit anything this time.

“Maybe we're losing him,” Joe said.

“Let's hope,” Frank replied.

“Any idea which way we're headed?”

“East, more or less,” Frank said. “Assuming I haven't lost track of where the lake is.”

“I think I could lose track of anything in this fog,” Joe said. “We're not getting any nearer to the rescue site either.”

Frank shook his head. “I know. It'll be a wonder if they find us, if this sniper doesn't find us first.”

“Do you hear something?” Joe asked. “Like wind blowing through the leaves?”

They didn't dare stop, but both brothers concentrated as they ran. A sound was steadily building ahead of them. A muffled roar filled the air, as if a strong rainstorm were approaching through the forest.

They broke through the edge of the woods and onto a rocky slope. Joe stabbed his hand out and grabbed Frank by the shoulder, just before the elder Hardy toppled down a rocky embankment. At the bottom of the slope a swift-running river surged downhill.

“Dead end!” Joe said.

The river was wide—too wide to jump or ford—and more treacherous than any stretch of white water the brothers had ever navigated.

They looked both up and down the river as far as the fog allowed, but they saw no easy way to cross.

Crack!
Another shot whizzed over their heads.

“If we stay here,” Frank hissed, “we're sitting ducks!”

With a silent nod of agreement, both brothers jumped off the embankment toward the raging river below.

10 Ice Man

The Hardys hurtled through the air, over the intervening rocks, and into the frigid waters.

The river surged around them, trying to drag them under. Joe returned to the surface first. A moment later Frank's head popped up. They swirled downstream amid huge boulders and dangerous white water.

They swam with all their might, trying to stay away from the big rocks and dangerous eddies that might suck them below the surface. Joe got turned around but righted himself just in time to avoid hitting his head on a stony outcropping. Instead he hit the boulder with his leg and grunted in pain. “Man!” he said. “I
told
you I didn't want to go swimming today.”

Frank would have laughed, but just then a wave splashed over his head and into his mouth. He coughed the water out and kept paddling downstream.

Another shot rang out—this time far away. Neither brother heard the bullet whiz by since the roaring of the river made it almost impossible to hear anything.

The water was freezing, and the brothers were quickly losing their ability to swim in it.

“We need . . . to get out!” Frank said, barely keeping his head above the white water.

“First chance . . . we get,” Joe replied.

They looked for a shoal, but none presented itself. The banks of the river had grown higher, becoming something like a small canyon. Tall rocks lined the shores, and the clinging fog made it difficult to see anything beyond them.

“W-What's that up ahead?” Joe called, pointing toward a dark shape looming before them in the river.

Frank peered at the vaguely rectangular shape that jutted out over the swirling waters.

“A bridge!” he said. “Try to g-grab one of the pylons!”

“As if y-you had to tell me,” Joe replied.

The water near the right side of the bridge seemed more calm and less treacherous, so both brothers aimed for there.

As they drew closer, they saw that the bridge was built from big logs—like telephone poles—expertly joined together with metal bolts. Its pylons were anchored on concrete pads, set at the edge of the waterline.

Joe and Frank kicked as hard as they could, but the water kept trying to pull them back toward the center of the river. They heaved up over a big submerged rock, and, with one final surge, grabbed on to the cement base of the nearest pylon.

The water pressure was terrific and threatened to pull them off the concrete and hurl them downstream once more. Ever so slowly they dragged themselves around the side of the pad and onto the rocky shore at the bottom of the bridge.

Exhausted and chilled to the bone, Frank and Joe lay there for a moment. They tried to recover their breaths.

“Man,” Joe said, shivering, “that was like a water park ride gone bad.”

“I wouldn't want to try it again,” Frank said, “even in the summer. Even in a kayak.”

“I hear that,” Joe replied.

They rested another few moments, then wrung out their clothes as best they could. Slowly they climbed up the slope to the bridge.

“Thank heaven for the park service,” Frank said, gazing at the well-tended trail leading in either direction.

“If I remember the big area map I studied on our way to the show,” Joe said, “the river through the park runs north and south. There's an entrance to the park on the west—”

“And another on the south,” Frank said, “but I agree that we're probably closer to the western one.”

“So we should go this way to find civilization—and heat,” Joe said, indicating the trail leading away from the bridge on the side they were standing on.

“I agree,” Frank said. “Let's get going. It won't be getting any warmer tonight.”

Joe nodded, and the two of them jogged down the trail into the fog-shrouded forest.

They tried Frank's cell phone, but two dunkings with a trip down the rapids had made it useless. Building a fire seemed out of the question as well. The only thing to do was to keep moving and hope to build up their body heat.

Three-quarters of an hour later the trail crossed a pitted dirt road.

“What do you think?” Frank asked.

“Roads have to have traffic,” Joe said, “or at least lead to civilization.”

“North or south, then?”

“Jewel Ridge and Scottsville are to the south,” Joe pointed out.

“South it is,” Frank said.

The fog cleared a bit as they jogged down the road. Soon they could make out the dim shapes of
the hills and trees ahead. However, they saw no buildings or other signs of civilization.

About a half hour later, a sound drifted through the fog.

“A car engine!” Joe said. For a moment excitement flashed across his face, quickly followed by a look of concern. “Do you think it's the sniper?”

Frank shook his head. “If it is, he found a way to skirt around us and come back from the opposite direction where we last saw him.”

“It's possible,” Joe said.

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

“Let's put an obstruction across the road,” Joe suggested. “That way whoever it is will have to stop, and if the person has a gun or any weapons, we can hold him.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Frank said. “I'd be more than happy to pay that guy back for what he put us through.”

The brothers quickly searched the brush on either side of the road. In no time Joe located a big rotting log. The two of them hauled it out of the woods and dropped it across the dirt road. They picked up a couple of stout branches to use as weapons and took up positions on either side of the rutted track. The boys chose concealed spots close to the road. That way, when the car stopped and the shooter got out, they'd be able to jump him from behind.

They tried not to shiver as they waited for the approaching vehicle.

The green-and-brown four-by-four roared out of the fog. The driver spotted the big log laid across the road and skidded the vehicle to a halt. He got out to look at the blockage. The man was dressed in a tan park ranger's uniform and hat.

The Hardys came out of the woods and hailed the man. They held on to their sticks, since they'd never gotten a good look at the sniper. It seemed unlikely that this ranger would be the shooter, but . . .

“Hey!” Joe said. “Are you with the park service?”

The driver turned, surprised to see them. The brothers noticed that he wasn't wearing a sidearm and surreptitiously dropped their sticks. The ranger peered at them through the fog and darkness.

“Are you Frank and Joe Hardy?” the man asked.

The brothers exchanged a puzzled glance. “That's us,” Frank said.

The ranger smiled. “I was sent out to look for you boys,” he said, “but they told me you'd be out by Lake Kendall. How'd you get this far south?”

“That's a long, wet story,” Frank said.

“We'd be happy to tell you once we're in a nice, warm car, though,” Joe added.

“Hop in,” the ranger said. “I'll get some blankets out of the back.”

The brothers helped the ranger move the big log out of the road, then the three of them got into the
Jeep. The ranger grabbed some blankets from the back of the four-by-four. The brothers huddled together as the ranger turned up the heat inside the vehicle.

“That was pretty clever, putting that log across the road to get me to stop,” the ranger said. “You guys must be pretty resourceful. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised to find you alive. They told me that you jumped out of a plane, and one of you didn't have a parachute.”

“Two planes, actually,” Joe said.

“We were chasing some airplane thieves,” Frank said, “but they got away.”

“They stole a plane belonging to one of our friends,” Joe added.

“Out at Scott Field,” the ranger said, nodding. “I heard about that on the news. They said the plane stolen this afternoon disappeared over the park.”

“Have there been any other planes that disappeared over the park before?” Frank asked.

“You mean aside from the one stolen last night?” the ranger asked. “Not that I've heard.”

“We were thinking of sometime earlier—this year or maybe last,” Joe explained. “Maybe even longer ago than that.”

“Not that I'm aware of,” the ranger said, “and I've been working here for five years. Why do you ask?”

Joe and Frank exchanged furtive glances and decided not to mention the plane under the ice
at the moment. “No reason,” Frank said. “We're just trying to see if there's a pattern here.”

“Could we use your cell phone?” Frank then asked, noting one plugged into the cigarette lighter next to the Jeep's two-way radio.

“Be my guest,” the ranger said. “The reception is pretty spotty out here, but I think we're close enough to the relay tower for it to work all right. Help yourself. I'm going to call in the news that I found you and you're okay.” He handed Frank the cell phone and picked up the two-way radio receiver for himself.

The ranger called into park headquarters while Frank dialed Jamal. The brothers arranged to have Jamal pick them up; the ranger called off the search-and-rescue operation that had been sent out to find the boys. The brothers then called their parents to let them know that they were okay.

“Jamal's renting a car,” Frank told Joe. “He'll meet us at the ranger station at the southern edge of the park.”

“I told the search-and-rescue guys to keep the media away,” the ranger said. “I figure you guys have gone through enough for one day.”

“Definitely!” Joe exclaimed.

In half an hour they arrived at the ranger station. Jamal showed up soon after that. He'd brought a fresh change of clothes for the brothers, who were more than glad to get out of their wet clothes.

“So, you told the rangers about the sniper in the woods,” Jamal said.

“We said that we thought someone was shooting at us,” Frank replied.

“They said that the property on the north side of the lake was private land and out of their jurisdiction, but they'd look into it,” Joe added. “They're checking for the other parachutist too. But I doubt they'll find him. It's a pretty big area to search.”

“They seemed to think the shooter might have been a hunter who mistook us for a game animal in the dark,” said Frank.

“You guys don't think so, though,” Jamal said.

“The person with the gun chased us,” Joe said. “You might fire one shot at a shape in the darkness by mistake, but not a half dozen.”

“So, do you think it was the parachutist?” Jamal asked.

Joe shook his head. “If that guy had a weapon handy, why did he attack me with a parachute?”

“Maybe he had an accomplice on the ground,” Frank said.