Danger at the Fair (14 page)

ELLEN WAS
glad The Great Sybil was going for help; she had no doubt that it was needed. She was just as certain that she could not wait for it to arrive before she went after her brother.

Tucker’s tool kit sat on the platform, next to the control box. Ellen opened it and removed a hammer. She wasn’t eager to fight with anyone but if she needed to do so, she would have a weapon. Gripping it tightly in one hand, she stepped into the water of The River of Fear ride. She walked past the row of boats and into the enclosed ride where the boats immediately went over the edge of Whiplash Waterfall. Even with the ride turned off, she didn’t see any way to go down the waterfall on foot. It was too steep and too slippery.

She returned to the boarding platform and then climbed into one of the boats and out the other side. To her left, she saw the outline of a door in the painted picture of monsters. She opened it and stepped through to the back side of the ride, the part the public never saw. As she had hoped, there was another
set of steps. They were more like scaffolding than an actual stairway. There were also two landings, with doors that opened into the ride. Apparently, this was how maintenance was done.

She did not see the ride operator. Had he gone into the ride or had he run down these back stairs and left the area altogether? Maybe he had decided to make his escape before Ellen could go to the police.

Quickly, Ellen climbed down the scaffolding to the first door, which was less than a third of the way down. It probably opened to the middle of the waterfall part of the ride. Since the message specified the tunnel, Ellen continued down the steps to the lower door.

Putting her hand on the knob, she turned it as quietly as she could and pushed the door open. A dank, rotten odor drifted out of the darkness. Ellen put her hand over her nose and mouth, not wanting to inhale it. What was she getting into, anyway? Maybe she should wait for The Great Sybil to return with help.

Ellen peered into the blackness, blinking to adjust her eyes. Was Corey somewhere in that foul-smelling hole, in need of help?

She stood still, listening. If the man was in here, she thought she would be able to hear movement. She heard nothing. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she stepped inside, onto a walkway that extended into the ride. Noiselessly, she closed the door behind her so that if the man was still outside, he would not realize where she was.

It was completely dark and silent. Too silent. If Corey was trapped inside this tunnel, surely he would be calling for help. Unless, she thought, he’s unable to.

The odor was worse with the door closed. Ellen kept one
hand over her face. The other hand, which held the hammer, she extended out in front of her. She took a step forward.

She wanted to call out for Corey but if Tucker was in here, she didn’t want him to know where she was.

She took another step and another—and walked off into air. The walkway had ended. As she flailed her arms, grasping for something to break her fall, she dropped the hammer. She plunged down, landing in cold water that came partway up her leg. The hammer splashed somewhere in front of her.

Ellen stood in the water, feeling behind her for the walkway. It hit her at shoulder height. She bent her knees, testing her legs for injury. Although the fall had scared her half to death, she was not hurt.

If Tucker was in here he would have heard the splash as she fell; he would have no trouble finding her. She listened, turning her head, but still she heard nothing, no indication that anyone else was near.

The concrete floor under the water was slick and she realized that the damp, moldy smell which filled her nostrils originated under the water. It’s like walking through the sewers, she thought, and shuddered.

She believed she was in the middle of the ride, where the boats go through the tunnel. If Corey had come into The River of Fear at the beginning and not come out at the end, he had to be somewhere in this darkness.

She moved forward carefully, feeling with one foot before she inched her body forward.

She went a few more feet and bumped smack into a huge, furry beast. Stifling a scream, Ellen stood perfectly still, waiting to see if the beast was real. Her brain told her: of course it is not real, it’s only a prop for the ride. Although she believed
her brain, she could not keep her heart from pounding wildly as she tentatively put out a hand and felt the creature’s coarse fur.

It was a bear or a wolf or some other large wild animal. It did not move at her touch and she told herself again that it was only a fake. She moved her hands along the animal’s back, toward its neck. When she reached the head, her fingers touched flesh. Warm, human flesh.

She jerked her hand away and, for one brief instant, swayed dizzily. It would have been a relief to faint. Instead, she clenched her teeth tightly together, took a deep breath, and reached out again. She had touched a human arm. She forced her hands to keep moving. A body lay on its stomach across the animal’s enormous head, one hand on the beast’s back, the other hand dangling.

The person, Ellen knew, was not part of The River of Fear ride. Fake bodies are not warm.

Like a blind person reading Braille, Ellen moved her finger-tips across the body’s narrow shoulders. It was a child. Corey? Ellen’s breath came faster. There was a lump on the side of the head, as if someone—or something—had struck the person with a heavy object.

“Corey?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

She moved her hands more slowly as she reached for the body’s face. It was easier to feel a shirt than bare skin. Her fingers inched carefully across an ear, toward the cheek.

Ellen froze for an instant and then patted the face frantically, feeling as quickly as she could. The Batman bandage was gone, but the scab of Corey’s cut still slashed diagonally from cheek-bone to chin.

“Corey!” she said. “Wake up!”

There was no reply.

Ellen slid her hand between Corey’s chest and the back of the beast, feeling for a heartbeat. Before she knew who the person was, her touch had been tentative; now, her hands pressed firmly against her brother’s T-shirt.

Was he breathing? She couldn’t find a heartbeat. Remembering how her mother always took her own pulse when she was exercising by feeling the sides of her throat, Ellen quickly put her hands on Corey’s neck.

Tears of relief stung Ellen’s eyes as life throbbed beneath her fingers. He was alive. He was unconscious but at least he was alive.

She dipped her hands in the cold water and patted it on Corey’s neck, slapping him lightly to try to rouse him. He groaned but did not wake up.

Ellen grabbed Corey’s limp arms and pulled. “Stand up,” she said, but Corey seemed stuffed with cotton. She would have to get him on her back and carry him.

She put her hands under Corey’s arms, held tight, and lifted. He slid toward her, across the back of the beast. His feet splashed into the water, touched the bottom, and kept on sliding. Ellen staggered backward in the water, trying to keep her balance.

“Wake up, Corey,” she pleaded. She had hoped to maneuver him onto her back and carry him out but in his unconscious state, he seemed to weigh two hundred pounds.

“Ohhh,” said Corey.

Keeping her hands clasped tightly around his chest, to keep him from sliding further into the water, she tried to shake him. “Wake up!” she repeated.

Corey groaned again.

She tried to hoist him upward, across her shoulder, but he was too heavy.

I can’t carry him, Ellen realized. I’ll have to drag him out of here.

Still clutching Corey around the chest, she began to walk backwards through the tunnel. Corey’s head hung down, with his chin on his chest; his feet trailed behind him in the water. She wondered how Corey got the lump on his head. Who hit him? How much damage was done?

Suddenly, Ellen remembered reading that an injured person who was unconscious should not be moved until a doctor arrived because there might be a spinal cord injury. It was possible to break the person’s neck and cause permanent paralysis. Visions of Corey in a wheelchair flashed across her mind.

What have I done? she wondered. I should have left him where he was and gone for help. Well, it was too late now. She sloshed backwards, dragging the limp Corey with her.

Her arms ached and it was all she could do to hold onto him. Thank goodness the door she had come through was not too far. Her shoe slipped on the algae and she could not put her arms out to regain her balance. She sat down, hard, in the water.

She scrambled quickly to her feet and stood for a moment, with Corey’s wet body pressed against her chest, letting the pain in her rear end subside. She was soaked and scared and sorry she had come into the tunnel alone. The man who ran the ride must not have come inside the tunnel looking for Corey, after all. If he had, he surely would have heard her splashing around and talking to Corey.

Well, she told herself, it won’t do any good to stand here and cry. I have to get Corey to a doctor.

Mentally, she repeated part of her favorite childhood story: “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”

She started moving again, toward the walkway by the door. She would not let herself wonder how she was going to get Corey up on the walkway when she reached it.

CHAPTER
14

WHEN MITCH
and Joan, with Tucker on their heels, reached The River of Fear, the midway around it was empty.

“It’s almost time for the fair to close,” Tucker said.

“Maybe they’re still inside,” Mitch said. “Both of them.”

He went around to the back side of the ride, to the bottom of the maintenance stairs. Joan followed. “I still don’t think we should do this,” Joan said.

“You’re the one who wanted to work the fair.”

“I wanted to lift a few wallets. I didn’t want to kill any children.”

“You don’t have to.”

Mitch climbed to the lower of the two doors. Joan hesitated and then climbed after him.

“If anyone comes,” she told Tucker, “start the spiel.”

Tucker did not answer. Why should he stand guard for them while they did this? There wasn’t anything in it for him. He would be guilty of helping them and he wasn’t sure they would
get away with it. One kid falling off the platform was believable; a pair of kids falling off the ride was too unlikely. The cops were sure to be suspicious. And what about the fortune-teller? How much did she know?

A new plan hatched in Tucker’s mind. He would wait until Joan and Mitch were way inside the ride. Then he would turn it on, send the boats whizzing through, and make Joan and Mitch fear for their lives.

He would leave Joan and Mitch in the ride and drive the Mercedes away from the fair himself. He would sell the valuables they had stolen, take the cash, and deliver the car to the stripper. That would show Joan and Mitch who was an idiot and who wasn’t. If Alan had a fit, well, Tucker could always abandon him on some country road.

Tucker went around to the front of The River of Fear and climbed the steps to the platform. Smiling at his own cleverness, he stood beside the On/Off lever and waited. He wanted to be sure Mitch and Joan were far from the door, deep in the Tunnel of Terror, before he turned the ride on and left.