The Great Flying Adventure

By Brian Bakos

Sequel to "Adventure Bike Club & the Tire Giant"

Amanda and Quentin fly to an alien world where Quentin competes in a brutal tournament to save the Earth from invasion, but Amanda falls for the enemy team captain, and things become terribly complex. "Purple Nazis" control half the alien world but are unable to topple the legitimate government even after years of struggle. All will be decided in a final flame ball game. Eddie Hawkes, grown to maturity after 5 years of alien time, calls Quentin back to help in the great game. Quentin is only three weeks older in Earth time and is the smallest team member. His human speed and coordination may or may not make up the difference. Political intrigue, kidnapping, and mysterious alien beings add to the fun.

Book 4, "Time Before Color TV" series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Bakos
• Release date: Apr 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301143306

Brian Bakos

I like to write and travel. I'm from the Detroit area originally and try to see other places as often as possible. My most recent travels have been to China, Ecuador, and Belize. Am thinking of my next destination. It's wonderful how travel inspires the writing process. Attended Michigan State University and Alma College.Not much more than that. Anything else I have to say comes out in my books. If you really want to know more, please contact me through my website, https://www.theb2.net/. May life bring you many blessings!

Book preview

One: The Adventure Begins

What Happened Before

Three weeks earlier, the Adventure Bike Club had a shocking encounter at the Tire Giant alongside the new freeway. Members:

Quentin Mays – leader

Amanda Searles – brains of the outfit

Tommy Velasco – extra brawn

Melissa Jordanek – had the fastest bike

Inside the Tire Giant, which was really a disguised space ship, they discovered four young kidnapped aliens. They also met runaway delinquent Eddie Hawkes.

They defeated the kidnap plot, and Eddie left with the aliens to find a new life in another universe. The club members lost their bikes but escaped unharmed.

For the full story see: Adventure Bike Club and the Tire Giant.

1. Nightmare Alley

Every night for the last three weeks has been a trip down Nightmare Alley.

Bathed in the soft red glow of my lava lamp, I relive the events of the Tire Giant adventure, as Quentin calls it. Some adventure!

I was never so terrified in my life, and the terror keeps coming. I can’t get the image of that hideous guard out of my mind. He chases me through each nightmare, his face ghastly pale like a vampire starving for blood—yellow eyes flaming, clawed hands grabbing for me.

Then I’m on that frightful bike ride around the space ship’s dynamo. Faster and faster, flipping upside down. Falling…

I wake up, heart pounding and pajamas soaked with sweat. Thank heaven, the dreams have become less severe over time. I’m hoping they will soon fade away, but I’m afraid of that happening, too. It could mean everything is ready for a new episode of terror.

I have a powerful sense the story isn’t over yet. Somewhere, in the mysterious void between two universes, Act 2 of this drama is waiting to play out. And I’ve got a starring role.

2. Grim Saturday

Saturday morning looks very gloomy without a bike.

Streets and sidewalks roll away, but I am stuck at home. Quentin arrives on his striped-down English bike with the handle bars curled under, racing style.

Hi Amanda, he says, hop on.

I don’t know… I inspect the mismatched carrier stuck onto the back end. Where’re we going?

Do you care? It’s not like you can go anyplace by yourself.

Quentin has a point. I get on and the adventure begins. Just like that, on the street in front of my house.

* * *

The world is a lot more pleasant when riding through it on a bike. Fresh September wind brushes my hair, and the smells of summer still linger.

Quentin holds out his arms like airplane wings. Someday I’ll be the youngest pilot to fly across America!

The bike swerves, and Quentin grabs the handlebars.

You’d better hold on, or you won’t live long enough to be the youngest pilot.

My dad teaches flying at the little airport outside town; Quentin is one of his students. To pay for his lessons, Quentin does our odd jobs—trash, lawns, etc. I doubt it covers the training expenses, but Dad doesn’t seem to mind.

I didn’t expect you until tomorrow, for the trash, I say.

I heard there were garage sales around here. I need some stuff.

Okay. Any excuse to be out riding is fine with me.

At a garage sale down the next block, Quentin buys candles and an old button pin that reads:

SMILE It Kills Time Between Disasters

Usually, I don’t examine Quentin’s motives; it’s easier that way. But I’m getting curious.

Why do you want this stuff? I ask when we get rolling again.

It’s for my new club.

I stiffen on the bike rack. What kind of club is it this time?

I’m not sure yet. I’m just following my inspiration.

"Here’s an inspiration for you: count me out."

Quentin chuckles. I know you don’t mean that, Amanda.

Oh yeah?

I let the subject drop. Quentin better not pick it up again after all the trouble he got us into with his last club.

At another garage sale Quentin buys a plastic Viking helmet, complete with horns, and sticks it on his head. I look around frantically, hoping that nobody I know sees us.

Do you have to wear that thing? I say.

It’s too big for the handlebar bag. Do you want to wear it?

No! It’s embarrassing enough to be seen with you.

Quentin turns back toward my house. Then he stops suddenly, right in front of Mrs. Kraft’s place.

See that? He points to a little sign stuck to Mrs. Kraft’s high wooden gate.

GARAGE SALE TODAY

(by invitation only)

Mrs. Kraft has been our next-door neighbor ever since we moved into our house, but I really know nothing about her. Neither does anybody else on the street. Everyone seems to prefer this arrangement.

We don’t want to go there, I say.

Why not?

Mrs. Kraft’s… weird. Besides, we’re not invited.

All the better.

Before I can stop him, he runs to the gate and knocks.

I catch up. Let’s get out of here.

Come on, Amanda, this could be interesting.

I give him my most devastating icy stare.

Quentin wilts. Oh, all right, let’s go.

But then the gate cracks open and Mrs. Kraft’s probing eyeball appears.

Yes? a reedy voice asks.

Uh… hello, I say.

The gate creaks farther open, and Mrs. Kraft’s long nose pokes through, followed by her leathery face. Why, it’s Samantha from next door.

Th-that’s Amanda, and this is my friend, Quentin.

I elbow Quentin, and he takes off his Viking helmet. Hello, Mrs. Kraft.

Glad to meet you, Winston, come on in.

She leads the way into the yard. Her tall, willowy form seems more like a walking sapling than a person.

This must mean we’re invited, Quentin whispers.

We step into the yard, and the big wooden gate clicks shut behind us.

I was about to close up, Mrs. Kraft says over her shoulder. There haven’t been many people by today.

I can understand that, Quentin whispers.

Trellises overhang the driveway. Thick vines wind through the lattice work, hanging down like twisty little claws. A sweet, sickly smell wafts from them.

Those things look ready to grab you, Quentin says.

The rest of the yard hadn’t been too bad the last time I visited, but I’ve never been in this spooky area before. I feel like Dorothy in Wizard of Oz creeping through the haunted forest.

Are you coming? Mrs. Kraft calls back to us.

Let’s get this over with, I say.

We make it into a big two car garage with no cars in it. Tables along the walls hold all kinds of tacky stuff—outdated ladies’ hats, filmy bits of cheap jewelry, stacks of yellowing magazines. One item catches my eye, a bracelet carved out of wood with all sorts of interesting patterns in it. I can’t tell if the patterns are part of the wood or were added later. I slip the bracelet onto my wrist. My hand is just small enough to get through.

I open an old cookbook. Dust billows out, making me sneeze several times.

Cool! Quentin says.

I’m glad you’re entertained, I say, wiping away tears with the back of my hand.

No, no, Quentin says, look at this.

I move out of the dusty air and join Quentin at another table. He holds a shiny black ball with the number ‘8’ inside a white spot.

What’s that?

A Magic 8 Ball, Quentin says. It can tell the future.

Yeah, right.

Ask it a question.

I try to think; it’s kind of hard in this creepy atmosphere.

Tell me, Magic 8 Ball, I finally say, will I live happy ever after?

Quentin shakes the ball, then turns it over. An answer bobs up in the ‘spirit window:’

Don’t Count On It

Quentin laughs, but I can’t see the humor. I turn away and notice something horrible leering out of a dark corner.

Ah!

What’s the matter? Mrs. Kraft says.

She drifts over, like she’s rolling on silent wheels under her long dress. I point into the corner where an evil face is glowering at me.

Oh, that’s just my husband’s old Tiki head, Mrs. Kraft says.

She reaches a long, bony arm into the corner and pulls out the horrid thing. It’s a hollow cylinder, about two feet long with fierce eyes and a gaping mouth. It looks like something off a totem pole.

He used this during his, uh, Luau parties. Mrs. Kraft brushes away some dust. He’d put a flame inside on these occasions. Very picturesque.

Well, don’t I feel dumb?

She gives it to me. It appears to be carved out of stone but is actually made out of some light, plastic-ish stuff.

She notices I’m wearing the wooden bracelet. You like that, dear? Why don’t you keep it?

Oh, I couldn’t.

Go on. It’s so old I don’t remember where it came from. I’ll probably just toss it out otherwise.

Okay, thanks.

I can’t live without that Tiki head, Quentin says. How much?

Mrs. Kraft thinks this over. Along with the Magic 8 Ball, 75 cents.

Quentin hands over a dollar bill.

I’ll be back momentarily with your change, Mrs. Kraft says.

She whooshes toward the house, hands fluttering and dress billowing as if it’s caught by a strong breeze. The air is still, though.

Why did Mrs. Kraft give me the bracelet, did she feel guilty about the Tiki head scaring me? She doesn’t seem the type of person who would care about that. Maybe she’s trying to buy me off so I don’t say anything negative about her spooky yard.

Anyway, I like the bracelet. It feels kind of weird on my wrist, though.

What are you going to do with all this junk? I ask.

Beats me, Quentin says. I’m just following my intuition.

Let’s follow our intuition out of here. This place gives me the creeps.

Me too. Quentin glances over his shoulder. Is her husband still around?

I’ve never seen him.

I look about to make sure nobody else can hear, then I put my hand alongside my mouth, confidential like.

Quentin leans in. What?

You’re standing on top of him, I whisper.

Oh! Quentin jumps back.

3. Haunted Tracks

Change in hand, we make our way back through the Tarzan jungle and onto the bike.

The Magic 8 Ball thunks around