Danger Guys Hit the Beach (6 page)

GRRR!
A motor growled and sputtered down below. We watched as the clown zoomed up the mountain on a sleek blue snowmobile.

“Hey, where's he going?” said Zeek. “Shouldn't he be tying balloons or something?”

POP!
A chunk of something fell off our ski lift. I think it was a chunk of ski lift.

“Zeek? This doesn't look good—”

ERRRCH!
The lift jerked to a stop.

It swung there for a second or two.

I looked at Zeek. He looked at me.

“Oh.” My voice went sort of weak. “Now I know what the bad news is.…”

KA-CHANK!
—The lift cable suddenly swung loose, and we dropped like stones to the icy ground below.

TWO

My whole life flashed before my eyes.

WHOOSH!

It didn't take very long.

By the time I started to scream—
Floo!
—I couldn't. My mouth was full of snow, and I was buried headfirst in a deep drift, a mess of skis and poles and arms and legs.

“I'm smushed!” I cried, yanking my head out.

But, as Zeek would say, that was the
good
news.

The bad news was—no Zeek.

His skis were resting on the snow close by, but he wasn't in them.

I pulled myself together, stood up in my skis on a little mound of snow, and looked all around. There wasn't anyone in sight. “Zeekie!” I yelled.

“Maa-rrrrmmmf!” came the answer.

I looked down. There was a little pink mouth sticking out between my skis.

“Maa-rrrrmmmf!” it said again.

“Zeek!” I stepped off the mound and started digging around the mouth. A minute later Zeek burst out of the snow.

“Wha-wha-what happened?” he cried.

“We fell,” I said. “About fifty feet. From there.” I pointed up at the lift. “I knew it would break, I just knew it!”

“Hey!” Zeek shouted. “My skis!”

I whirled around. His skis were starting to slide across the snow down toward the lodge.

“I'll get them,” I cried. I dug my poles deep into the snow. I leaped forward. My style was terrific.

Umph!
My skis didn't move. I fell on my face.

“Ski, Noodle! Ski!” Zeek yelled.

I tugged and tugged at my legs. They didn't budge. It was like I was glued to the snow.

Meanwhile Zeek's skis were zooming downhill as though an invisible skier was wearing them. They were really flying.

I tried to lift my legs again. “Aren't skis supposed to
slide
?” Finally, one ski pulled loose. Big clumps of snow were stuck to the bottom.

“You need to wax them up,” said Zeek in a kind of flat voice. “See mine?” He pointed to his skis, just vanishing over a distant ridge. “Mine are waxed great.”

“Oh,” I said. “I guess my dad did say something about
wax
, but I thought he said
snacks
, so I grabbed an ice cream bar.” I laughed a little.

Zeek didn't think it was too funny.

Then I had an idea. “Hey, since my skis don't slide too well, maybe we can make a signal.”

I took off my skis and formed an X in the snow with them. “This way, anybody looking for us will see them. My dad will be so proud I used his skis.”

“Yeah,” said Zeek, still staring at the spot where his own skis had disappeared. “That's the main thing. Come on, let's go.”

I took a step.
SLUP!
My right foot, with just a sock on it, plunged deep into the snow.

“My boot got untied in the fall,” I said, shivering. Zeek rolled his eyes while I pulled the boot from the snow, stuck my wet foot back in, and retied the laces.

We slowly started down the mountain, but we stopped at the top of a high ridge.

I looked over it. “The good news is, we can see the lodge.”

Zeek nodded. “The bad news is, we can't get there from here.”

He was right. Just below the ridge a deep chasm ran like a gash across the mountain. It was total ice all the way down, and so deep we couldn't see the bottom.

“I guess the snow buried the sign,” Zeek said.

“What sign?”

“The one that says ‘Pit of Death—This Way.'”

“Very funny,” I said. “Let's hit the trail.”

Zeek looked around and frowned. “What trail?”

I smiled. “The one
you're
going to make and
I'm
going to follow.”

“Oh,” he said. “That trail.”

We started back up around the ravine. It took us a long time, plowing through the deep snow. An icy wind bit into our faces.

“It's getting colder,” Zeek said.

“At least it's not snowing.”

That instant, a tiny snowflake fluttered down and landed on the tip of my nose.

“Never mind,” I said.

Two minutes later we were in the fiercest blizzard this side of the Ice Age. The air was white with huge flakes. The temperature zoomed down. Snow was freezing on my eyelashes. I didn't like it.

Rrrrrrr!
Something rumbled.

I didn't like that, either.

Zeek turned. “Not that old stomach joke, Noodle? You see the lodge and you think log cabin and then you think maple syrup, and then you think waffles. And of course when
you
think waffles, your
stomach
thinks waffles and—”

RRRRRRRRR!
The ground quaked, and the air roared all around us.

“Um … that's not me, Zeek,” I said. “Really.”

The sound was coming from behind us. It was deep and booming, like a thousand bulldozers starting up. Or a stampede of cattle.

But I knew it wasn't bulldozers or cattle. They don't have those in the mountains.

They have something else in the mountains.

“SNOW!” I screamed.

“SNOW COMING FAST!” Zeek screamed.

“AVALANCHE!” we both screamed.

THREE

WHOOM!

A huge wall of white thundered down at us. It swallowed everything in its path. I watched it plow over my dad's old skis, toss them high in the air, and roar closer and closer.

“Noodle!” yelled Zeek. “We're doomed!”

Zeek was waiting for my brilliant plan to save us.
I
was waiting for my brilliant plan to save us.

Wump-wump-wump!
The avalanche charged at us. Zeek was waiting. I was waiting.

“You're right,” I cried. “We're doomed!”

Suddenly—
Thwank! Thwank!

Two warped brown boards plunked down in the snow just inches away.

“Your skis!” cried Zeek.

My brain worked lightning fast. “Surf's up!” I yelled. In a flash we each jumped on a ski. Good thing my dad's old skis were so wide!

WHO-OOM!
The wall of snow broke and crashed behind us, scooped us up, and sent us surfing down the mountainside.

Snow was still sticking to the skis, but the avalanche was pushing us so hard, even those ancient boards took off!

“Goin' for the gold!” Zeek yelled out.

We curled over and under the waves of snow like Olympic snow surfers!

“New category!” I shouted. It was incredible. We were really moving.

I figured at the rate we were going we'd be down the mountain in no time. I figured we'd end up right at the lodge, leap off the skis, and dig into some birthday cake. I figured—

I figured wrong.

Just ahead was something familiar. A long shadow in the snow. The avalanche was pushing us straight for it. What
was
that thing …?

“The Pit of Death!” Zeek cried.

My life flashed before my eyes—again. In three seconds I got from the hospital where I was born to the Pit of Death, where I would probably die.

Ka-Voom!
The snow picked us up, and we went flying over the Pit.

My dad's skis kept going, hit the far side of the chasm, and soared high up in the air.

Zeek and I dropped straight down.

“Ahhhhhh!” we screamed as we plummeted deep into the Pit of Death!

We would have screamed the whole way down, except about halfway there—
SPLAT! SPLAT!
—we crashed on a ledge.

“Ohhh!” I groaned. “Smushed again!”

I lay there in a heap for a while.

When my mashed-up brain could think again, I sat up and turned to Zeek. “Are you alive?”

“No.” He sat up, dusted the snow off, and wiggled his legs. “Well, maybe I'm alive, but I'm definitely shorter than I used to be.”

I looked around. The ledge led into an icy cave a few feet deep. On the back wall was an opening in the rocks about the size of a small pizza.

The cave floor was covered with a thin coating of snow that had drifted in from the chasm. Beneath that snow was total ice. I know. I slipped about a hundred times getting to my feet.

Then I saw it. Something on the wall just above the pizza hole. I slid closer to see.

It was a drawing. An old drawing. Right on the cave wall.

“Zeek, look at this. It's … a cave drawing! Do you know what this is?”

“A drawing some person did in a cave?”

“No, a drawing some
cave person
did in a cave! I've seen pictures like this in art books. Holy cow, there are … ten figures here! Boy, they're big! Cavemen, I bet. And these things are their clubs. Big clubs. Big hair, too. Very hairy.”

“All right, let me see.” Zeek slid over. He studied the drawing. “What's with this big guy's feet? They're really long.” He pointed to two things coming out from one of the caveman's legs.

I thought for a second. “He's got skis on!”

“The ones your dad gave you?”

I made a face. “If only we could get back to the lodge and tell everybody—”

“The lodge!” cried Zeek. “I'm missing my party!” He slumped on the floor. “At this very moment, Emily is probably eating all my cake. She loves cake like you love waffles.”

I felt sorry for Zeek. Then I had a brilliant idea. I stooped down and started pushing some snow into a pile on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a snow cake. For the birthday boy!” Zeek laughed. We both slid around the floor and pushed more snow into a pile.

Suddenly, we stopped. We looked at the icy floor. We looked
into
the icy floor.

“Zeek?” I whispered. “I think there's something under the ice here.”

We stood up to look at the dark shape.

Zeek shuddered and backed away. “It's a bear,” he whispered. “A huge bear!”

“Zeek…” I said.

“Noodle, don't even say it. It's a bear, okay?”

I just pointed down at the ice. “Bears have fur, Zeek. That's not fur. It's—”

“Don't say it!”

“Zeek, it's a … a … beard!”

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Danger Guys on Ice
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About the Author

Over the last two decades, Tony Abbott has written dozens of mysteries, comics, and adventure books for young readers aged six to fourteen, with series including Danger Guys, the Time Surfers, the Weird Zone, Underworlds, Goofballs, and the long-running fantasy series the Secrets of Droon. He is also the author of the fantasy epic
Kringle
and the realistic novels
Firegirl
(winner of the 2006 Golden Kite Award for Fiction),
The Postcard
(winner of the 2008 Edgar Award for Best Juvenile Mystery), and
Lunch-Box Dream.
Among his latest novels is
The Forbidden Stone
, the first installment of the twelve-book saga the Copernicus Legacy. Tony has taught on the faculty of Lesley University's MFA program in creative writing, is a frequent conference speaker and visitor to schools, and presents workshops to creative writers of all ages. His websites include
www.tonyabbottbooks.com
,
www.thecopernicuslegacy.com
, and the literary blog
www.fridaybookreport.com.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.