109 The Prime-Time Crime by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

9 Deadly Fumes

* * *

Frank shoved his unconscious brother aside, grabbed the steering wheel, and desperately turned it to the left. The van skidded back onto the road. Frank heaved a sigh of relief.

But they weren’t out of danger yet. As it veered away from the sidewalk, the van swung in front of a delivery truck that was barreling down the road. Frank grabbed the wheel and turned it just in time to avoid the truck. He swung back onto the road—right into the path of a car that was pulling out of a parking space. With another quick turn of the wheel, he avoided the car, too.

Other drivers had begun to honk loudly as the van zigzagged back and forth down the street. Frank jostled his brother urgently, trying to bring him back to consciousness.

“Joe!” Frank shouted loudly. “What’s the matter with you?”

His brother didn’t respond. Instead, he slumped down into the seat. As he did, his foot slipped off the accelerator. Frank pushed him against the door of the van, then he squeezed halfway into the driver’s seat, and stomped on the brake with his foot.

The van screeched to a halt in the center of the road. Trembling, Frank put the van into park, turned on the flashers, and then fell back into his seat. Suddenly he realized that his head was spinning—and not just from the effort of trying to control the van. He felt as though he had inhaled some kind of poison gas.

Frank leaped out of the passenger door and gulped down breaths of fresh air. Then he ran around the van and yanked open his brother’s door. The younger Hardy tumbled out of the van into his arms.

“Hey, are you kids out of your minds?” a man shouted angrily.

Frank turned to see a nearby driver jump out of his car and run toward the Hardys. He was about to yell something else when he saw Joe slumped unconscious in Frank’s arms.

“Something’s wrong with my brother,” Frank explained. “He collapsed while he was driving.”

Frank dragged Joe’s limp form to the curb in front of the van, out of the way of traffic. After a few seconds, Joe began to stir groggily.

“Want me to call an ambulance?” the driver asked. “Sorry I yelled at you. I thought you were one of those reckless drivers.”

“Not usually,” Frank said. “I think my brother’s starting to wake up. Thanks for the offer, though.”

After the man had left, Frank leaned into the cab of the van and looked around the driver’s seat. He smelled the same acrid odor he had smelled earlier. He looked under the seat and saw the corner of a metal canister.

Frank reached under the seat and pulled out the canister. Holding it at arm’s length, he placed it on the pavement some distance from where Joe was lying. The canister was open, and there was a foul-smelling liquid inside. The label on the outside of the canister was covered with chemical names that Frank didn’t recognize.

He remembered how Joe had noticed earlier that the door of the van was unlocked.

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