Now Lump was really mad. His face turned beet red, which made me laugh—and made him even angrier. He frantically scrolled around again on the phone, mumbling to himself, trying to figure out what went wrong. Then he went dead silent and his jaw dropped almost to the train floor.

     He read out loud as words scrolled across the phone's screen. "Future transport error . . . subject does not exist . . . future travel limited to ten months from today."

     Lumpy looked up at me like he had just seen a ghost. I've seen him worried, but never anything like this . . . ever. We both knew what the message meant.

     It was the end of the summer. Lumpy and I were about to start our last year of middle school. Only problem was, I, Hank "Bones" Martin, had less than a year to live.

     That's the story or at least the beginning of it; our amazing journey to find a cure and an epic battle against time. And who's better to tell it all than Lumpy?

     Nobody. The Mad Dash begins.

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