Alaska hunched down to reach the breaks. She ripped out a few panels and connected a few wires. The car roared to life. This only worked because the mist was not currently hindering the car, as it had been doing before.
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| Source: YouTube |
Yukon was shell-shocked. Alaska took no notice of him as she got the car going forward again.
As the car began to move, broken glass from the frame whizzed towards the back of the car. Part of it hit Alaska near the eye, causing her to swerve the car. Yukon yelped.
Alaska got the car back on a straight path again. The little moment had caused their lead on the mist to be all but completely diminished. It was gaining speed, coming closer, closer!
100 miles per hour, then 200. Alaska forced the car to go faster and faster, pushing the pedal with all her might.
Yukon was holding onto the sides of the car with a death grip as wind started flooding in at them. He closed his eyes tightly and started to hum a soothing song. It was lost above the sound of the wind, however.
"YUKON!!" Alaska screamed with all her might. He opened his eyes, though his hands remained glued to the car's sides. "Look and see where the mist is!" she yelled, her vocal cords beginning to hurt in the process.
Yukon looked back and screamed.
Alaska then realized that she had a mirror right in front of her. She glanced at it. Her resolve began to crumble.
The mist had formed itself into a giant hand. It was grabbing for them. The hand was only a few hundred feet from them.
Alaska finally reached the maximum 300 mark on the miles per hour gauge. The pointer looked like it was going to break as it pushed, trying to go further. Alaska could only hope for a miracle.
She wouldn't get one. Not yet, anyways.
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| Source: Club Penguin News |
Alaska suddenly realized the rule of car mirrors: "Objects may be closer than they appear."
She turned back and saw a horrific sight.
The mist was no longer a hand. It was now a lasso, eerily mirroring her own. The lasso was firmly wrapped around Yukon's head. Yukon was swaying back and forth as though he was dizzy. He had become a very pale green.
Alaska filled with anger. She had tried to tell Mr. Sir that it was mistake to have HIM along! He knew what she wanted to say!
Alaska turned to the front again, having only left it for a mere moment. But, going at 300 miles per hour, that makes all the difference.
They were coming up to a tree! They were going to crash! This was the end!
Alaska turned the wheel violently and went onto another path.
The mist, having been caught off guard, went straight for the tree and continued sailing onward. The lasso around Yukon had been pulled with the rest of it. Yukon sat there, in a daze. The only reason he hadn't been pulled too was because he had his seat belt on.
Alaska, having seen this in the corner of her eye, breathed a small sigh of relief. But, only a small one. In fact, it was a microscopic one. She still was determined to get away from that beast.
Turns, which were nonexistent until that fateful moment, became a common thing along the rest of the path. Alaska kept taking them, not caring where she ended up.
Yukon slowly returned to normal. He was soon on edge again, though a tad bit calmer compared to when the mist was after them.
The car sputtered again. It was out of gas.
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| Source: Tom Yellow Central |
Alaska and Yukon got out of the car, zombie-like. They - or should I say Alaska - had put miles between them and the monster.
Alaska decided to take the first watch of the night, while Yukon got some shuteye. Then again, there really was no deciding about it - it was more by force; Yukon was asleep the moment he hit the muddy ground of the otherwise grassy clearing in the forest of tall trees.
Alaska was so exhausted. Eventually, she got Yukon up and greeted sleep's warm arms.
As she drifted off, she realized a horrible thing. These events - the detour, the mist's awareness of the two, and the fact the car was out of gas - would put the expedition days behind. That meant spending more time with HIM.
Little did she know, what was in store would be much worse than hearing Yukon recount his Christmas sweater fiasco for the seventh time.
To Be Continued
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