Free Field of Screams by R.L. Stine Page B

wasn’t until I was on my second burger at the barbecue that it hit me.
    Hold on a second!
    â€œWhat am I still doing here?” I gasped.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Gibson asked inside my head.
    â€œI’m still here,” I muttered. “That’s what’s wrong! On TV the time traveler gets to leave after he does what he’s supposed to do. What’s the deal?”
    Boog, who was standing nearby, turned and stared at me.
    â€œAre you talking to me?” he asked.
    â€œUh—no,” I said quickly. “I just said, ‘What a meal!’ There’s so much to eat!”
    â€œYeah. Isn’t it great?” Boog laughed and stuffed half a hot dog into his mouth.
    â€œMaybe this doesn’t work like TB,” Gibson suggested.
    â€œTV,” I said under my breath.
    â€œWhatever. What I’m saying is, maybe you can’t go home.” Gibson’s voice was unusually quiet, for him. “Maybe you’re stuck here. With me.”
    â€œYou think?” My heart sank. “No. It can’t be. There must be some delay or something. That’s all.”
    â€œI hope so,” he said. “But just in case—are you any good at schoolwork?”
    I had to laugh.
    Boog gave me a strange look. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
    â€œOh, nothing,” I answered.
    â€œCome on, boys. Loading up,” Coach Johnson called.
    We all climbed on the bus. Soon it was whizzing down the road and we were on our way home. Everybody but me.
    I closed my eyes. Maybe I even drifted off. Because I don’t remember how long we’d been on the bus when it stalled.
    Hrrrn, hrrnn, hrrrrrnnn, the starter moaned.
    I sat up, bleary-eyed. “What is it?” I asked Boog.
    â€œThe bus is stalled,” he answered.
    The noise of the starter continued. “Don’t flood it,” Coach Johnson advised.
    I peered sleepily out the window. Then I stared in horror.
    A double thread of track ran below the bus and curved sharply to the right.
    We were stalled on the railroad tracks!
    My plan—it didn’t work! We were all going to die anyway!
    â€œWe have to get out!” I yelled. “Now!”
    â€œSimmer down, son,” Ernie called. “It’ll start in a minute.”
    â€œNo. The train. The train!” I wailed. “It’s going to hit us. Why won’t you—” I broke off. Listening.
    Oh, no. No!
    The train’s rumble came right through the floor of the bus.
    â€œThe train! It’s coming!” Johnny Beans screeched.
    â€œOh, no!” Coach shouted. “Ernie, get us out of here!”
    The starter whined. I could see the light from the train now.
    â€œLet us out!” someone screamed.
    But there was no time. The train barreled around the curve. Its light blared in my face.
    We were done for!

23

    â€œN o!” I yelled.
    It couldn’t be! Not after I’d been through so much!
    HRRRN! HRRRRN! The engine whined. The train roared closer. Its whistle shrieked.
    Then the engine caught. The bus lurched and surged forward.
    WHAM! Metal crunched as the train clipped the rear corner of the bus. We shot forward as if the bus were a rocket.
    Ernie struggled with the wheel. The bus careened crazily back and forth across the road.
    â€œHold on, everybody!” he bellowed.
    We were all yelling and screaming now. The smell of burning rubber filled my nose. I clutched the metal bar across the top of the seat desperately.
    Then the bus ran off the road. I lost my grip and went flying. My head crashed against the window.
    And that’s the last thing I remember.
    *   *   *
    â€œBuddy? Buddy? Are you okay?”
    I opened my eyes and saw the coach— my coach, Mr. Burress—looking down at me. I glimpsed Eve’s face over his shoulder. Her mouth hung open so wide, you could have fit a baseball in there.
    â€œAll right!” I whispered.
    I was back!
    Coach Burress