The Hubby Hold (IQ Testing Book 2) (14 page)

Duchie nods, touching the sleeping bag. “Wished, we had some cotton, too.”

I raise the white soft ball, giggling.

Duchie drops her mouth, viewing the cotton boll. “Wishes do come true, mama! And, I wish to get outta here, pronto! Where’da’at come from?”

I giggle. “Your wish is my command, ma’am. Lamis and I visited a cotton field, during my first visit into the red color tone. I guess, some of the teens used this truck, also, here, inside the green color tone, for something else both slimy and creepy, too. I found it under the driver’s seat, when I was securing the cot.” I exhale, nodding and viewing the cab. “We are ready.” I break the soft cotton boll, giving her an even piece.

Duchie accepts the cotton ball, nodding. “Ya climb in, first. Get positioned inside the cot. I will tie your knee around the steering column. The sound wave is both going to knock us with an invisible punch to both eardrums. We will pass out…”

“Then, the jolt of the truck, from the mud puddle, will awaken the two princesses into consciousness.” I giggle.

Duchie rubs her face with her dirty then smiles. “Yeah, you understand, too much with me. Sometimes, I wish that I wasn’t smart.”

I giggle. “Ya fib. Let’s do this and boast to Marsilla about higher IQs with escaping from the red color tone.”

I climb over the bench seating then strand the cot.

Duchie climbs inside, using the screwdriver to rip out the stereo equipment. She fiddles with the different colored wirings, searching for the horn trigger.

I smile. “How’da ya know to connect the horn to the stereo? How’da ya know, what proper wire to touch and twist for the horn?”

“I work with my daddy on the broken equipment on Dandine. The equipment is very ancient, always needing repairing. One day, I was tired to listening to the wind, so I kinda did this thing, to the old truck, using more advanced tools. But, it worked fine.” Duchie twists the wires together then attaches to the horn trigger. She exhales, viewing Ketona. “Alright, I’m ready on this end.”

I nod. “I’m ready on this upper end.” I slide onto the cloth, standing my feet between the steering column, without touching the truck horn.

Duchie exhales. “A truck horn has a sound level of 110 sound decibels. But, I really don’t know how high the sound wave needs to be for vibrating the water molecules, under the tree wood, so I’ll continue to tune the dialing mechanism high and higher and highest, until we both pass out. You have to slam your kneecap upon the horn truck, first, before I start…

“Naw, fiddle with the wiring, first, then I’ll slam my kneecap into the horn. Then, the sound will cause the tree to split.”

Duchie shakes her curls. “Naw, if I have dialed the frequency too high, then I’ll pass out, too. Our experiment will fail and we fail and then we’re be stuck here. I’ve start with the tolerable lower musical octave chime then work up to the highest octave chime, or this won’t work. And, I gotta tie your kneecap around the truck horn, so after you pass out, the horn will be blasting the loud amplification.”

I nod. “Okay, right!”

Duchie exhales. “So, put the cotton balls into both your ears then wrap your neck and head with sleeping bag, first. Second, position your kneecap above the truck horn, but maintain an upright balance. Don’t fall over. Then I’ll slap your leg, you lower the kneecap onto the truck horn. It will be very loud, so cover your ears. Your part is done. I will tie your kneecap then place the sleeping bag over my face, while I twist the wiring for the right frequency. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see the tree split…”

“Unfortunately, we get to feel the dang tree, splitting in half, then booming to the ground. We’ll know, if this works, immediately.”

Duchie nods and smiles. “Yeah, I estimate the tree falling in about ten seconds…”

I grin. “Fifteen seconds…”

“You count for me.”

I wink. “I will. Good luck to us!” I place the cotton balls into both my ears then wrap the sleeping bag around my face. I see darkness. I hear Duchie, fiddling with equipment of the stereo. I feel her hand near my leg.

Duchie places the cotton balls into her eardrums then wraps the sleep bag partially around her skull, keeping her eyelashes exposed to see the wire inside the stereo. She slaps Ketona on the leg.

Ketona slowly lowers her kneecap then hits the truck horn.

The truck horn blasts in a musical note of bong, like third octave G-chord.

I cover my wrapped skull with both hands, humming, trying to knock out the annoying truck horn sound. I feel the rope tighten around my knee and leg.

Duchie ties the rope around the kneecap of Ketona then shifts her hand to the twisted wiring. She dials it, clockwise.

The truck horn blasts in a musical note of a higher bong, like third octave A-chord.

She dials the wiring, clockwise, again.

The horn sings in a higher pitch, like second octave D-chord.

She dials the wiring, again.

The horn sings in a higher pitch, like first octave G-chord.

She dials the wiring continuous in a clockwise movement.

The horn sings in a higher pitch, like first octave A-chord.

My head spins from the high pitch of the truck horn, starting with a low bong then quickly moves into a shrieking scream, hearing it the sound, inside the sleeping bag. My cot faces the rear window. I feel the cool dampness of the cool forest on my exposed naked hands, covering my wrapped head. I taste the salt from the nervous bile, coming from my fluttering stomach muscles with permanent failure, inside the red color tone. I feel, like vomiting, so I’m glad that I followed Duchie’s advice, not to eat.

I hear the cracking of wood.

I gasp with shock.

Duchie twists her fingers over the exposed wiring, feeling the tiny particles of electricity, flowing back and forth. She isn’t worried about getting electrocuted from the good casing over the live wiring. Her head spins. She holds her breathe from puking up the fruit and nuts eaten inside the pink color tone, early morning. She leans to the side with dizziness, covering the sleeping bag over her burning eyeballs and stinging eardrums.

She twists the wiring, again.

The truck horn sings in a new pitch, like beyond the highest octave in music.

My head spins from the new high pitch.

She leans into the console, dizzy. Then, she twists the wiring, again.

The truck horn sings into a higher pitch, ear-piercing shriek.

I forgot to count the number of seconds, feeling dizzy and sleepy. My eyelashes close, when I hear more cracking sounds of wood, coming from the front window of the truck.

Duchie twists the wiring, again then leans into the console, feeling asleep.

The truck horn blasts in a super loud sound, amplifying throughout the woodlands, when the frequency is captured by the dripping water droplets, inside the wet leaves stuffed, inside the exposed wood of the damaged tree.

The water molecules shake then vibrate, rippling in two semi-circles of sound wave in all geographical directions, around the landscape.

The sound wave hits then slices through the exposed wood, slowly eating away tiny splinters of yellow pine millimeter by millimeter. The tiny splinters jump away from the sound wave, landing in the grass. More tiny splinters separate then jump from the tree wood, creating a horizontal gash into the wood. The gash grows sideways and deeply from the willingly departing tiny splinters, when the tree groans, sliding from down 60 degrees to 58 degrees of an angle.

The sound wave beats the tiny splinters, making them jump away further from the wood, when the tilted tree bark quickly slides down 25 degrees of an angle.

The tree top of heavy limbs, and leaves weigh, too much, down the tree bark then the tilted tree falls down zero degrees of an angle, flat into the wet grass.

The front wheels of the truck squeal from the tension of the chains around the rubbers, slowly lifting from the red mud ditch.

When the tree topples to the flat ground, the front wheels, of the truck, leap into the air for 1.2 seconds. The truck lifts then rolls an upward motion upon the two rear tires from the muddy ditch. The truck slides over the mud, the grass, and tiny wooden splinters then falls down on its front wheels, with a jolt.

I awake, blinking open my eyelashes, hitting my face on the rough cot.

The truck horn blasts in an ear-piercing shriek, within my eardrums.

I lift my buttocks upward then lift my kneecap, slightly, permanently stopping the annoying noise of the truck horn.

The truck shakes side to side from the hard impact of the chain movement of the sound wave.

I scratch the sleeping bag from my heated face, yelling with excitement. “Duchie! Duchie, slice the rope. Get the rope off my kneecap. It worked. The truck moved from the mud hole. Duchie, wake up.” I wiggle then fling sideway away from the cot and the truck horn, landing on sorta top of the bench seating, shifting my kneecap from the truck horn.

My kneecap is still tied to the truck horn.

I am being very careful. If I continue to play the special musical notes resounding from the modified truck horn, then we both will pass out, again.

Duchie feels the heavy jolt, seeing the darkness. The sleeping bag is wrapped around her face. She is lying on the floor of the truck mats. She moans then scratches the sleeping bag from her sweaty face, tossing the fabric, onto the seating.

I smile down at Duchie.

She giggles. “I see ya, Ketona. And you’re smiling. I don’t hearing the truck horn, anymore. It worked, perfectly. Can you hear me?”

“My ears are buzzing, but I can clearly hear your question and your reaction. It worked, perfectly. Get me out of the rope, before my foot slides onto the horn. Okay?”

Duchie struggles upright, standing on her knees. She unties the rope around Ketona, then cuts off the stereo, in case, the truck horn blasts its special musical song, again.

The truck horn will cause them to pass out, again.

I scoot along the seat then climb out of the cab. I swing around then crawl over the seat, pushing the cot through the empty window, then onto the truck bed, out of the driver’s seat.

Duchie stores the dangerous tools, inside the glove compartment then slides into the driver’s seat.

I slide out the door, running around the front bumper, quickly surveying for any damage. I shout with excitement. “It looks good. The tires are inflated. The engine isn’t damaged.” I slide into the seat, webbing into the safety belt. “The truck appears in working order, so gun it towards the room, but don’t wreck. Let’s get outta of here and back into the Cubby Hole.”

Duchie giggles, starting the engine. “I bet the me-chee host is going to be surprised to see us.”

I giggle. “Forget the me-chee! I bet Marsilla’s going to be totally surprised to see us, inside the golden circle. Go girl!” I slap her arms, giggling and laughing with happiness.

Duchie stomps the gas pedal, carefully maneuvering around the split tree then swings the engine hood towards the red room of mirrors.

I frown. “You’re supposed to drive backwards, scaring the snakes from the tires.”

She speeds on the dirt road, swerving around the tree limbs, the tree stumps, and the low bushes plants, while taking out some wildflower beds. “The noise of the tree has scared every single creature into hiding. I don’t see on dangling snakes from the trees, either. We are clear for a going back into the Cubby Hole. I’m driving this truck right up, into the archway then slide my fanny onto the concrete,” she laughs with Ketona.

Duchie slams the brakes on the wet grass, sliding the truck sideways. The truck stops parallel to the archway. She opens the driver’s door then scoots onto the floor the room, bouncing towards her me-chee chair, in the center of the red room of mirrors.

I scoot across the bench then plop into the floor, skipping with happiness. I circle around Duchie and her me-chee chair, giggling and smiling. “We did it. We beat the Cubby Hole…”

Duchie grabs Ketona, pulling close to the me-chee chair, says. “We go back into the Cubby Hole for the next color tone, but I need to land, first, inside the green color tone.”

“Why?” I stop bouncing, frowning with confusion.

“Snakes versus knives?”

I drop my mouth. “What?”

Duchie exhales. “The fear question from our app for the Citizenship Day, you fear knives. I fear snakes. We both have landed, first, and exposed our fear factor. You landed, first, again, using up your love answer. The cats became the cougars, within the orange color tone.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“I’ve not landed, first position, twice. I still have left my love answer of sunflowers…”

I nod, grinning. “Okay, that should be safe enough to finish the green color tone then advance…”

She nods. “So, I gotta drop down from the Cubby Hole, first, landing inside the green room of mirrors.”

I drop my mouth. “Ya gotta drop, first. How’s that’s going to be possible? The academic questions are timed with fifteen seconds, max. I can’t miss a question. I mean, I can miss one question for the passing value of 75 percent. The math problems are getting more complicated, taking me almost the full fifteen seconds to answer…”