Lost Mummy: Dangerous Adventures, #3

By Robby Robertson

LOST MUMMY: Book 3 of the Dangerous Adventures Series

A Haunted Relic Drags Two Teens into Death Valley's Hellish Depths

 

After their harrowing journey in Bhutan, Max and Hillary should be able to handle anything, right? Wrong. When Hillary recklessly brings home an ancient Native American basket containing a unforgiving infant mummy, they find themselves drawn into the hostile heart of Death Valley on a cryptic quest.

 

The mummified "wee one" issues a chilling ultimatum: return it to its ancestral burial grounds and mother or it will mystically bind itself to Hillary as its new mother. With the supernatural relic's power growing, Max and Hillary have no choice but to brave the scorching, unforgiving desert in a frantic search.

 

But finding the burial site is just half the battle. Death Valley lives up to its name, throwing grueling challenges at the adventuring duo - from lethal heatwaves and precarious slot canyons, to terrifying rock slides and a devastating car crash. As their reality blurs with Native legends, Max's innate metaphysical sensitivity may be the key to survival. 

 

With their very souls at stake against the wee one's dark magic, can Max and Hillary endure the brutal elements and supernatural threats long enough to break the curse? Or will the desert's vast emptiness prove inescapable, even for them?

 

In this latest book of the Dangerous Adventure Series, author Robby Robertson authentically transports readers into Death Valley's scorching dangers and haunting mystique. Inspired by his own extreme travels, Lost Mummy seamlessly fuses heart-pounding outdoor survival with real Native American lore. One thing's for certain: this is no ordinary hike.

 

Buy Lost Mummy now to experience this bone-chilling, supernatural thrill ride into hellish terrain where the valley of death holds no remorse. Max and Hillary are in for their most perilous adventure yet...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis Robertson
• Release date: Jul 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223426387

Book preview

CHAPTER 1, THE PICTURE

(THURSDAY IN SEATTLE)

The picture of Hillary in the fancy gold frame glowed in the evening sun. Ty had printed it from some Google News article as a gift. He was a good friend, so I put it on the desk in my room.

Anyway, I never looked at it.

The one hidden on my phone was kind of blurry—but it showed happiness in her face. I’d screen shot it from a YouTube video the dude on the trek took of Hillary watching me. Every time I looked at it I started dreaming. I mean, it was all there in her face, wasn’t it? But that pic was a month old, and we hadn’t talked since the Bhutan trek and—

Max, Mom shouted up the stairs. Have you finished your speech yet?

The white, blank page in the laptop screen stared across the desk at me. Almost.

You’re stalling, she yelled, much louder.

I hated it when Mom butted in.

You’ve had two whole weeks. I could hear her stomping her way up the stairs. Just write what you’re going to say at the school assembly tomorrow. Something short you can practice tonight. She knocked so hard my door swung open.

I hunkered over my phone, keying Hillary’s picture back into hiding.

Are you texting again? You’re supposed to be writing. Where’s your sense of responsibility?

I shuddered. I despise that word.

CHAPTER 2, RESPONSIBLE BEHAVIOR

(FRIDAY IN SEATTLE)

It was so quiet. Nothing but soft whisperings from their hidden faces. I thought about tiptoeing away before the lights came back on. It’d be so funny. I laughed, wondering what our always responsible principal, Mr. Thompson, would say if I did? Especially since I had his wireless mic? The assembly was over and I’d survived. I started sneaking to the right, off our school’s auditorium stage. Angry whispers from behind the curtain stopped me. Huh? It sounded like Mom and Mr. Thompson. Why would Mom be arguing with him?

Enough. Gramps’s clear judge voice cut through the darkness. I would suggest you listen to Max’s mother, or proceed at considerable risk, sir.

Okay, okay. Max doesn’t have to say more about supporting my Responsible Student Behavior program. But he’s a ninth grader. He should be able to answer a few questions from his fellow students, right?

I’ll agree to questions, but nothing else. He’s done enough penance for one day.

Mom sounded angry. Why didn’t she just say it was over? No one’s gonna ask any questions ‘cause no one cares. I turned to hurry off the stage.

The lights came on.

Squinting, I stumbled to a stop. Ty waited on the right, behind the side curtain. My friend. He’d stuck by me, kept telling everyone I didn’t do anything bad enough for a stupid apology, especially at a school assembly. He even came over and tried to talk to Mom about the thing that happened at the airport. Ty told Mom it wasn’t that big a deal, surely not enough to treat me like a terrorist. Ty’s the only one I can trust.

Max, Mr. Thompson yelled, as he slipped from between the curtains, will now answer questions about the presentation he gave on Responsible Behavior. But he will not answer a single question concerning his irresponsible YouTube videos. Is that clear?

I looked out at hundreds, maybe thousands, of bright eyes. They were all whispering, ignoring Mr. Thompson. I shook my head and tried to decide which side of the stage I should leave on. Mr. Thompson slid to a stop next to me. His pudgy body leaned forward, reaching for his microphone.

I jammed it in his fat hand. Whirled to leave—he grabbed my arm before I even made a half step toward Ty and safety. He forced me to turn, walk to the center of the stage. This was so stupid. They weren’t going to ask me anything.

Besides, hadn’t I done enough for his stupid assembly on Responsible Student Behavior? I’d had to say I was sorry for the things he thought dangerous in the YouTube videos. Like that little thing at the airport. All I did was let that long nosed lady reporter run into me. It wasn’t my fault she fell. Anyway, she shouldn’t have shoved the mother carrying the baby out of her way.

Wait Max, I’m sure there will be questions. The beady eyed principal grabbed my right hand, shoving the mic back in. He smiled as he wrapped my fingers around it.

Facing the kids, he bellowed, Does anyone have a question for Max? He did a great job saying how irresponsible his actions were. His words supporting my Responsible Student Behavior program were right on, but a little brief. Mr. Thompson gave me his too quick smile. Therefore, there must be a question or two left about Responsible Behavior from one of our wonderfully responsible students, right?

I’d barf if he said that word one more time.

Thompson left.

I scanned the crowded auditorium. This was so lame, nobody was going to ask anything.

Someone yelled, Max, how is Rex, that dog you met in Bhutan, doing?

Huh?

What about the dog? Mark, a quiet dude who sat next to me in Algebra, whispered from the first row. You and a big black dog appeared to be friends in the YouTube video. Mark never spoke up, ever.

He’s fine, Mark. I got an email yesterday from Tashi, our guide in Bhutan. I waved at Mark. Tashi said Rex was the king of the big public market in Thimpu, their capital. They’re giving him more food scraps than he and his whole pack can eat.

Mark shouted, Great!

I turned to leave. But from somewhere, way in the back of the auditorium, a girl shouted, What about the tiger cubs. Like, did you really save them?

I stopped. Two nice tiger cubs got rescued by us, all of us on the trek. Their fur was soft and just like you’d expect. I rubbed the scars on my arm through my shirt and knew I’d lied about the nice part. But no one here was likely to run into scared mountain tiger cubs. Unless they were very, very unlucky.

What happened to them, the girl shouted, even louder. I looked and still couldn’t see her.

I’m not supposed to talk about that, but I’m sure they’re okay. A lame answer.

We can’t hear, please speak into the microphone. One of the PE teachers yelled from the back of the auditorium.

Max said he can’t talk about the cubs however they’re safe. Ty shouted as he hurried onto the stage.

Mr. Thompson charged past me, trying to block him. Ty easily dodged the chubby principal. Upset, Mr. Thompson waved for him to get off the stage. Ty ignored him.

What about the girl, Max? The red-haired girl you met in Bhutan. A new sixth grader who I’d helped find a class asked from the second row. She seemed to like you in the YouTube videos.

Horrified, I panicked. I was still trying to make my first phone call to Hillary. I mean, I hadn’t even gotten to talk to her once since we were on the trek and—oh no, a bunch of kids were now waving.

Ty snatched the mic out of my hands and gave everyone his huge smile. Nothing but an awesome amount of texting going on between them. Hillary lives in Scotland, you know.

It was good Ty was helping but—

The bell for our next class rang. An unhappy looking Mr. Thompson hurried over, grabbed the mic from Ty, and shouted how everyone should give me a big hand.

It was over. I’d survived.

I would have beat it except I couldn’t. Ty held tight to my arm, making me stand with him until the last of the clapping and cheers stopped.

CHAPTER 3, BEST BUDDY FAVOR

I THINK IT was just like, like the best assembly ever dude.

I didn’t bother to look at Ty. He’d talked about nothing but the awesomely miserable assembly all through lunch and was still doing it after our last class.

Yeah, I didn’t swear or puke or nothing. I really didn’t want to talk about the assembly anymore. Come on, we gotta go. School’s over. We’ll be late for soccer practice if we don’t hurry.

You worry too much.

I pushed the school’s front door open and led Ty out.

Oh, no! A white Channel 8 TV van sat just across the street. The huge cameraman with his equally huge camera leaned against it. And the long-nosed, ugly chienne of a TV reporter lady stood next to him. I froze.

Max?

I pointed.

That’s the cameraman and reporter we fooled into crashing into the tree, Ty whispered. Frowning, he added, The ones who edited me out of their video.

You should be happy. Being on the news is horrible. Why didn’t anyone believe me?

A bunch of kids rushed past us. They were lucky, no reporters bothered them. What do you think she wants? Ty asked in an excited voice.

Probably an interview. I stayed frozen while the camera man hurried toward us, his video cam aimed at me the whole time. The reporter lady pulled a hair brush out of her huge purse.

Let’s go. I grabbed Ty’s arm, swung him around, yanking him back inside. If we run, we can get out the back and around the stadium and out to the street before they can follow. I shoved him into a full sprint down the hallway.

We can’t run inside school. Ty tried to stop.

I kept shoving him even faster. Ty leaned back, trying to stop. I didn’t want to face the reporter again. Not today, not any day. I pushed harder. Ty gave up and ran. We tore down the hallway, our packs banging around everywhere. We dodged several surprised younger kids, swung around the corner, and saw Mr. Thompson, way down at the end.

We slid to a stop.

What now, Ty asked as we started backing up around the corner. He’s coming our way, maybe even saw us. He’s seriously into his stupid responsible behavior rules about running in school, too.

I can’t go out the front, not with the chienne of a reporter waiting. I followed Ty back down the main hallway as I thought about how bad I needed to get away. Would you do me the biggest, best buddy favor, ever?

Of course.

We stopped just inside the big metal front doors. They want me, not you. I know we both need to get past them to get to soccer practice. But maybe you could just go talk to the reporter for a couple of minutes, she doesn’t want you so you’ll be able to, you know, get away, while I…

You want me to stall them while you sneak away? What if they recognize me from the van crash? What if they put me on TV?

Before I could answer Ty added, Are you sure?

They won’t. But if they do, you’ll be fabulous.

CHAPTER 4, CHOKING

I STUMBLED INTO the kitchen, pushed a whining Fat Willy out of the way, and leaned against the counter while I swung the fridge door open. The milk carton sat way in the back of the crowded top shelf. My chest was heaving, my hand shaking. Running all the way home after soccer practice had been fun, but hard.

I’d survived the assembly. Mom even got mad at Mr. Thompson, and I’d escaped the chienne of a reporter after school. It’d been a great day.

Shaking, chest still heaving, I reached in and snagged the waxy milk carton. On the way out it banged against the ketchup, then bumped a small pitcher of Mom’s ice tea, spilling some of it into the butter dish.

It was only tea and Mom shouldn’t have filled the pitcher so full, anyway. I slammed the door shut, grabbed a clean glass out of the cupboard, and collapsed into a chair.

Mom walked into the kitchen. Max, what in the world is the matter with you? At that same moment, Fat Willy climbed into my lap. Not a good idea since I was sitting at the kitchen table and Mom had said puppies didn’t belong at the table.

Go. I pointed to the blanket in the far corner and sent him a stern thought about laying down. He got the idea, whined once, and left.

I concentrated on pouring milk. I’d spilled enough for one afternoon. Glass full, I glanced up at Mom. Nothing’s the matter. I bet Ty I could run all the way home even though soccer practice was hard.

Well, you need to be more careful, and clean up after yourself, she muttered while staring into the fridge she’d just opened. You ruined the butter.

I shrugged.

She glared, then smiled. You did good at the assembly this morning. The kids sure seem to like you.

No way. I didn’t remember a good thing about it.

She was still smiling. They clapped and cheered for you at the end. You should think about doing more speaking, maybe even run for class president this year. I did when I was in the ninth grade.

It didn’t matter we had the same short, curly black hair. There was no way we could be related. You’re kidding. I waved the half empty glass. Anyway, I’m going to change and ride my bike over to Ty’s. I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.

Okay. Mom closed the fridge and headed out of the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back at me downing the last of the milk. Smiling, she ever so calmly announced, A nice young woman from Scotland named Hillary called while you were at practice. She said she’s buying something called WhatsApp Messenger, I think. She said it would allow her and you to do calls and texts the British press couldn’t hack. We had a pleasant talk about that, and other things. Then Mom gave me a bright smile and left.

I desperately wanted to ask more, but I couldn’t. I was choking on the milk.

CHAPTER 5, WHAT HAPPENED?

TY WAS SITTING at his desk and didn’t look up when I entered his room. Instead, he kept staring at something on his phone.

Mom said I missed a call from Hillary by only two minutes.

Tomorrow’s Saturday, maybe she’ll call then, Ty mumbled.

Tomorrow morning I have to go to my French language lessons with Grandma. She says it has to be early in the morning because she’s cooking a huge lunch for Gramps and his golfing buddies. They’re planning a golfing trip to somewhere called Furnace Creek in Death Valley.

Still not looking up, Ty just nodded.

So, trying to see if he was listening at all, I added, And Grandma wants me to make my awesome peanut butter, jelly, mayonnaise, and honey sandwiches for Gramps and his buddies for lunch.

Ty laughed. But it was short and strange. In fact, he’d been weird ever since he’d showed up at soccer practice, a half hour late. Something was wrong. So, tell me what happened with the reporter lady, I asked.

Like I told you at practice, she kept asking questions about you. I finally got tired of saying I don’t know and left.

I stopped looking out the window at the perfectly cut, bright green grass in Ty’s backyard and fell on to his bed. Yeah, but you were almost an hour late for practice.

Why are you bugging me? Ty sounded angry. Did Hillary text you after she called your mom?

No, she’s even afraid to do that now. She told Mom she’s worried about being hacked. Says the nosey British newspapers are hacking private phone calls to get stories. According to Hillary, everyone in the British Isles is just to interested in her and me since all those stupid YouTube videos from Bhutan showed up.

What did your mother think of the assembly this morning? Ty asked.

She thought it was so good she said I should run for class president. God.

That got Ty to look at me. Yeah, you did good.

He stood and spun to face me. Do you think we’re good enough to be on a premier team? Would you stay on ours if I, like, got cut? Or quit? Do you think we should both try out for the high school soccer team next year? Ty was rambling and he had his edgy looking face.

I didn’t feel like talking. Not about soccer. I wanted to ask him if he had any ideas on how Hillary and I could text or email safely. I’d heard about encrypted text apps and wondered if you had to have the same app on both phones? Nothing bad’s going to happen in soccer. You’re our second highest scorer.

That didn’t make him look any happier, and I didn’t want my good day ruined. Gotta go. Mom made a big deal about me being home for dinner on time. I lurched to my feet because