The Rules (23 page)

Footsteps in the darkness.

Crammed into his hidey-hole, Hiro clutched the sodden white envelope containing a copy of the same clue they had found around Heather’s neck. His entire survival strategy was based on hiding until the sun came up. Sweat popped on his forehead. Had he been discovered?

“Damn it,” he muttered.

Mick wouldn’t put down that stupid crowbar. Any fool could see that it was a burden, not a weapon. Then he realized Mick was
afraid
to let go of it. Mick was arming himself against
him.

Okay, sure, he had lost it. A couple of times. Who wouldn’t? But to treat him as if he were the killer…

So yeah, he had split. Stomped down onto the mushy, waterlogged beach. The tide had gone back out, and the sand was covered with all kinds of weird crap that he stumbled over in his boiling, frightened anger. In his mind’s eye he saw Drew falling from the cliff, heard his scream. His corpse was in the water now. Hiro would never, ever go swimming in the ocean again.

He had come to hate Drew. Drew the addict, the destroyer, the plagiarist. But there was also the Drew who had gotten Maximum Volume together, made the demo, connected with Pascha. Drew before drugs. He had been missing that Drew for years.

But I did not push him. And I didn’t do anything to Stacy.

The tunnel had appeared; it looked like someone had taken a huge bite out of the stones, weeds, and dirt. His heart had gone
ka-thumm ka-thumm
as he weighed the wisdom of disappearing inside. Finally he’d made his move, less than thrilled to find a glowing lantern about ten feet in because that meant someone else either was there or had been. But he picked it up and that was when he saw a tattered white envelope dripping with what had to be blood. Shocked, he almost dropped it. Barely legible were the same words that had been attached to the envelope taped to Heather’s chest:
You killed them, you sick bastard.

He swore and inched open what was left of the envelope. It looked like something had been chewing on it. He was so freaked out he almost dropped it.

It was the same clue as before:

Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink.

If you ever want to leave here, now’s the time to think.

On my words now you must dwell.

For your sins fetch from the well.

So did that mean no one had found it yet? Was there more than one envelope with the same clue? Was the killer’s hunt just some random joke, and he was going to kill them all anyway?

Is this Heather’s envelope?

Rattled, he dropped it. Then he thought better of it and picked it back up. It was so
bloody.
There didn’t appear to be any other information on it.

Then he heard screaming, then
more
screaming, and then even
more
screaming. Then silence.

He waited.

He had begun to wonder if he was the sole survivor. But now someone was coming, and he wasn’t about to stick around to find out who it was. He looked left, right, a useless exercise since he was essentially blind in the darkness, and eased himself out of the crevice. Ever so cautiously he tiptoed toward the mouth of the—

Wait,
he thought.
Is this the right way?

He stood still and tried to orient himself. It was pitch-black. He had kept the lantern but turned it off once he’d hidden himself away. Whoever had said that the tunnels were gross was correct. The jury was still out on the drug dealers. Hiro hadn’t explored the tunnels very much. Hadn’t zoomed around looking for weapons or a clue as to the killer’s identity. He had just hid.

The footfalls were coming closer.

He turned his head in their direction. A gentle blur of light floated in the darkness. A flashlight.

He swore and went the other way. Toe-heel, toe-heel, trying so hard not to make a sound. Then he saw a light up ahead and knew that if he stepped into it, whoever was approaching behind him would see his silhouette.

Hiro put his hand on the tunnel wall and it curved to the right. He followed it with his hand and then his toe hit something hard. Flailing his arms, Hiro fought for balance, but he fell forward. His palms slammed down on hard surfaces with strange protrusions. He smelled oil and battery acid.

Oh God, the car batteries,
he thought.

Suddenly the air was thick with the smell of blood. It made his stomach clench as he jerked back to his feet. His lids fluttered as he completely lost control for a brief second, and then he scooted back out the way he had come.

He didn’t see the blurry light.

He didn’t hear the footfalls.

That could be great news, or the worst. His breath was jagged as he poured everything he had into the soundlessness. Surely whoever was in here had heard his fall.

Shambling forward, he stuck his right arm out and brushed the wall with his fingertips and then lost contact. He panicked again, but shuffled on. The wall came back. It canted toward the right. He trusted it and made a turn.

The moon hung in the sky like a silvery disco ball.

He had reached the mouth of the cave.

Swearing with relief, he popped out like a rabbit. He didn’t take time to breathe. He just hauled ass, going right because that was in the opposite direction he had come.

On the beach, cutouts in lunch-size paper bags revealed a candle burning inside each one. A luminaria, common in Northern California. About ten feet farther down, there was another one. And another one. And a glow-in-the-dark sign that read
CHEATER THEATER
.

He considered the clue in his hand. The killer had hijacked the scavenger hunt; possibly this cheater theater thing was the right way to go. Then again, he wasn’t about to be herded to his death. Furrowing his brow, he put the envelope in his jeans pocket.

A noise.

He wheeled around, bracing himself to see some crazed maniac in a long coat and hood charging at him with a machete. Nothing. He looked in the opposite direction. He didn’t know what to do.

Then, slightly ahead of “Cheater Theater,” perched on an inlet of water, squatted a tumbledown building with shingled siding. It was on the way to the theater, so he hung a left and trotted over to it. Windows were blackened and broken. There was no light but he could see the outline of frayed ropes hanging in loops in front of some of the blackened windows and a half-open door. Moonlight poured in from a stove-in ceiling, revealing rusted blocks and tackle hanging from hooks. Something squeaked back and forth, back and forth.

He heard movement on the beach behind him. Drawing closer.

“Shit,” he murmured, and darted inside the building. As soon as he did it, he was sorry he had. Now he
was
being herded.

A noise like shuffling shoes echoed behind him. He darted past a stack of dinghies and what looked like a wooden clothes dresser, the varnish peeling off, a drawer hanging open. Fungus was crawling up and over the edge. On the top of the chest, a porcelain-headed doll with no eyes lay on its side next to a moldy catcher’s mitt. Some kids had left their toys in there a long time ago, maybe so long ago that they’d grown up and died of old age.

A large portion of the interior had no floor, and the ocean rushed in and swirled along pylons at a frenetic pace. An ancient, used-up skiff that looked as if it was being held together by rust bobbed in the water.

There was a growl. A
growl.
Like from an animal. Dog? Hungry dog? Not like that crazy little Chihuahua, but something big. A coyote? There was food at the party; it might have drawn animals or…

He yanked the envelope out of his pocket. He didn’t know whose blood it was.

A roar shook his eardrums. He turned only enough to see a flash of fur, claws, teeth. Mountain lion! He began to run. Running into boxes, slamming into a post; it gave way and birds flapped and dry rot and dirt showered him. He kept running; there was hot breath on his back.

The floor gave way beneath his feet.

KYLE’S RULE #3:
Never date the coach’s daughter.

“We should put Praveen in the Maximum Volume van,” Kyle said. “Out of harm’s way.” He had taken her from August, who sagged with exhaustion. Flames danced along the warehouse roof and Robin wondered how long it would be before the other buildings caught fire.

Beth sucked in her breath and quivered; Robin traded looks with Kyle. “Maybe after…Jackson’s car…we should stay away from cars. Maybe we should put her in the little shed behind the warehouse.”

“That’s where I found Jacob’s phone,” August said. “Behind the warehouse, in line with the shed.”

“The shed is close to Jackson’s car,” Kyle said.

“Nowhere is safe,” Beth murmured in a strangely disembodied voice. Kyle knew that what she was missing was called “affect,” an observable emotion. Praveen had shifted her affect into her intense scratching. But Beth was just lost.

“We have to continue the hunt,” August said. “We need to keep the killer happy.”

“Maybe we could put Beth in the shed with Praveen,” Robin said, and a shadow crossed her features. He understood; it sounded kind of like they were stashing the two of them out of the way. Well, weren’t they?

Beth gave her head a shake. Kyle’s arms were getting tired. He had had a very long night.

Then Beth turned her attention to August. Tears spilled down her sooty cheeks. August’s pale brows shot up as she took a step toward him, and then she glided up to him and as if it were his only option, August put his arms around her.

“Beth,” he said. “Beth, I’m sorry.”

She made a muffled sound against his neck and he looked at Kyle and Robin with consternation. “Maybe we can start looking,” he said. “You find a good place for Praveen and then you can find us.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Robin said. Kyle had to agree. But Beth nodded like a ventriloquist’s dummy and August shrugged.

“I guess that’s what we’re doing,” he said.

“Wasn’t August the one who insisted we shouldn’t split up?” Kyle asked as he shifted his weight. He headed for the shed, with Robin beside him, and she held the door while he carried Praveen inside. When Robin turned on the flashlight, monsters stared back at them—fun-house mirrors installed, no doubt, by August.

Robin gathered up all Praveen’s tablecloths and then laid her on the ground. She murmured very softly and Robin caught her breath. She pressed her ear to Praveen’s lips.

“She’s asking for water.”

Kyle shut his eyes. “Didn’t think of that.” He shook his head. “We shouldn’t risk it.”

“Wadder,”
Praveen begged. She moved a little, moaned.

Robin made moves to stand, but Kyle held up his hand. “I’ll do it.”

“No,” Robin said. “I’m the one who wants to go. I should take the risk.”

“I said I would protect you.” A fleeting smile crossed her lips. “A kiss before I go,” he said, moving in and placing his mouth over hers. When she exhaled, he sucked her breath into his lungs. It felt so final.

Goodbye, just in case.

“Lock the door after me,” he told her, and then he darted out into the night.

AUGUST’S NEW RULE:
Move on.

August and Beth skirted the warehouse. The fire was growing, and it bathed their section of the cannery in an orange glow. The pine trees to their left stood like tempting targets, teasing the night winds to blow some burning embers their way.

“I wish that was the sunrise,” August said while walking to the cliff that overlooked the sea. He stared at the moon and the black, black water, willing the sun to come. Beth remained silent. Her head was hung low, and he heard her sniffling.

“Yes, you were a bitch,” he said, “and yes, you screwed me over. I’m still mad at you. But as God is my witness, if we get out of this, I will pay for your tuition to Oberlin.”

They were silent for a moment. Then she said, “You have to stop bleaching your hair. You look like a Morlock from
The Time Machine.
”