Going Where It's Dark (22 page)

With the four boys gaping after them, Buck and Mel continued pulling their cargo until they were back to the old mill road and the waiting pickup.

It was the main topic of conversation at dinner that night.

“I don't know,” said Mom. “Do you think that was the best way to handle it? Maybe you should have gone to Pete's dad instead and let him deal with it.”

“And let him beat the stuffing out of his kid? I've seen enough of Ed Ketterman to know the kind of discipline he'd use.”

“But maybe Pete will tell him you tore down his duck blind, and his dad will come after you,” said Katie.

Mel chuckled. “If that was a duck blind, I'm a fried doughnut. Nope. Won't happen. Pete would have to explain how he got the plywood in the first place. I don't think one of those boys is about to tell his parents.”

Buck thought he was right, but wished that Mel had not told Pukeman he could build the duck blind better than Pete had. Just stuck to the facts.

“I suppose you could have let it stand and made the boys pay for it,” said Dad, helping himself to the turnips and onions.

Mel was getting a little tired of defending himself. “We didn't know who it belonged to, Don, and I wasn't about to sit around there waiting for the owner to come back. I'm on another truck run tomorrow, so what's done is done. Art wanted that lumber back and he's got it. Wanted to know who was doing the thieving, and now he does.”

Gramps nodded. “Topic closed.”

Buck sure hoped so.

T
hey could hear the calliope music pumping out each bright note into the night air even before they reached the crossroads at Bealls' Junction.

“Look at the way it lights up the sky!” Katie said, her cheek pressed against the passenger window in the backseat of their dad's car, Buck crammed in beside her, and Nat at the far window. Joel was driving, his friend Kyle beside him. “They've got one of those searchlights or something to show people the way.”

As though folks the whole county over didn't know where to find it. Mr. Beall said that what he got for renting out the land to be mowed and the wire fencing dismantled and put back up again was almost as much as he'd get if he tried to farm the “dad-gum place.”

“I heard that the Ferris wheel guy will keep it going a ride or two after midnight if you give him a dollar,” said Nat.

“
I
heard he'll stop the wheel when you get to the top if you want to propose to your girl,” said Kyle, and Katie whooped.

“Don't look at me,” said Joel. “I'm not even
thinking
about getting hitched till I'm thirty.”

Buck grinned, and let all the talk swirl about him as he tried to pick out the Wildcat over the head of his brother. The only time you saw this much traffic on the road was at carnival time, and there was a slow line of cars funneling in through the gate, as drivers handed over their five dollars for parking.

As soon as Nat opened the door, he and Buck spilled out on one side, Katie on the other, all staring up at the Ferris wheel, the small lights of the frame a circle of blue and yellow against the night sky as the bucket seats rocked back and forth, and yelps of laughter greeted their ears.

The carnival covered an area as big as two football fields. Looking down one long grassy strip, Buck could see the Tilt-a-Wheel just visible beyond the huge orange and red letters of the Cliff Hanger ride, and farther still, Zero Gravity and Freak Out.

“Hey!” Joel called as Katie started off, and Nat almost bumped into her when she stopped. “Everybody back here by eleven, you got that? Kyle and I want to play a few games at the B&I before it closes at twelve.”

“See you!” Katie said, and she headed for the ticket booth where Colby, Buck was sure, was waiting for her.

Buck turned to Nat. “What's first?”

Nat grinned. “What else?” he said, and they raced for the Wildcat.

They were hemmed in on both sides by booths selling huge purple hippos, orange teddy bears—anything to buy for a child or even a girlfriend if you weren't lucky enough to win a prize at the ring toss. Every ride, every booth had a brightly colored skirt around the bottom to hide its wheeled carrier, so that the whole carnival looked as though it had been solidly built in that very place, not towed in a week ago, to be wheeled out again just as quickly.

It was difficult, though, not to stop first at the other rides, for there were lines at the Dragon, at Pharaoh's Fury, and Fire Storm, each one seemingly guaranteed to make your heart race, your head swim, or your stomach lurch. But Buck could see the line growing longer at the Wildcat, and he and Nat took their places beneath the crazed look of the giant feline's eyes, which rolled up and down and left and right as the huge head twisted and turned.

There were eight paws extending outward like the spokes of a wheel, each ending in a clawlike cage holding two seats each. When it was their turn at last, Buck and Nat slid into the neon yellow seats, pulled the bar shut, and watched the sharp metal claws clamp around their cage, as though to squeeze them in tighter.

Then the ride started up with a catlike hiss. The paws began to lift into the air, and soon the boys were whirling around and around, rising up so high they would almost fall out, it seemed, then suddenly they plunged downward with an earsplitting yowl. At some unexpected moment, each arm would telescope, jerking a cage inward and spinning it this way and that, like a cat playing with a mouse, then thrust it outward again.

Buck and Nat tumbled out when the ride was over, counting the times they had bumped heads, uncertain whether they wanted to ride again or try something new. But the other rides lured them on, and they headed for the Death Drop, and after that, they tried Soar, each lying on their stomachs, strapped to small platforms no bigger than a child's sled, with nothing else around them, arms outstretched. When the ride took off, they found themselves flying in wide circles around and around, the wind blowing their hair.

“Hey, look,” Nat said as they waited in line at Vertigo, and Buck turned to see Katie and her boyfriend slowly coming to a stop on the Ferris wheel, holding hands.

The four of them met up at the funnel cake booth. Colby was holding the paper dish and laughing, as Katie tried to navigate a piece of the powdery stuff into his mouth. Her own cheeks and chin were christened with powdered sugar.

Buck and Nat bought cakes and went over to stand beside them. Buck took a deep breath and faced Colby. “How do you lllllllike the rides?” he asked.

Colby gave a surprised grin and motioned to his mouth, and they all laughed.

“You gggggotta try the Wildcat,” Buck told them. “It's fantastic!”

“I know! I heard!” Katie said. “We're doing that next.”

Buck nodded toward Nat, who was holding both their drinks. “Colby, you know Nat WWWWaleski?”

Colby wiped one arm across his lips. “Hi. I've seen you at school.”

“I've seen you on the court,” Nat said.

“Yeah, when I finally get a chance to play,” Colby said. But Katie gave him a proud smile, and they wandered off after a bit, heading for the Wildcat.

After they'd finished their cola, Nat wanted to find the toilets, so Buck said he'd be at the ring toss. They had gone on most of the big rides, but still had about thirty minutes left before Joel wanted them back at the car.

He had just taken his empty cup to the trash can when he saw the bumper cars stopping across the grassy thoroughfare. Stepping out of the black-and-red car were Pete and Isaac, with Rod and Ethan in the car behind.

For a fraction of a second, Buck and Isaac locked eyes, then he saw Isaac nudge Pete, and Pete looked in his direction. His heart thumping, Buck dropped his cup inside the trash container and as nonchalantly as possible joined the passing crowd. Still remembering the afternoon that Pete and his buddies had come up behind him in Bealls' parking lot and edged him over into the woods—he knew that no one would pay much attention if it happened now unless he began to cry or yell, and he wasn't about to do that.

He ducked between the merry-go-round with its painted ceiling of old-fashioned ladies riding white spotted horses, and the movie-set front of the haunted house. It pictured an openmouthed Dracula with bats flying around him, as though daring customers to come inside. But the fake front was like a giant postcard propped against a trailer that was only half its width. Screams and rattles came from the electronics somewhere inside.

Without thinking twice, Buck lifted the canvas skirt around the base of the trailer and crawled beneath, knowing that if Pete's gang had seen him come back here they would be after him like bloodhounds after a fox. He breathed through his mouth so he could listen more acutely.

He didn't just hear them coming; he saw their feet.

“I
know
he came back here.” Ethan's voice.

“Yeah, I saw him too.” Isaac's.

“You think he got on the merry-go-round?” Ethan's again.

“And be a sitting duck?” Pete's voice. “He's hiding somewhere.”

“What are we going to do if we find him?” asked Rod.

“Give him a scare he'll never forget,” said Pete. They were walking right beside the trailer.

“What you fellas doing?” A man's gruff voice.

“Just hanging out,” said Pete.

“Well, the public's not allowed back here. There's machinery and stuff. Now scram.”

“We're leaving,” said Isaac, and Buck watched their feet head back to the grassy aisle between the rows of rides.

He also heard Pete murmur, “The heck we are.”

B
uck realized he had made a mistake when the footsteps came back, though he'd known they would. He should have stayed with the crowd, no matter how embarrassing it might have been.

He could have just yelled at them, “Leave me alone!” if they'd tried to edge him behind the rides. At least
someone
would have stopped them. Here in the darkness beneath the trailer, wheels turned and rods moved back and forth only inches above his head. Screams and laughter came from inside when the whole trailer shuddered and shook, and little bits of loose rust and dirt came raining down on him. If they found him here, no way could he escape.

He wondered what time it was. The last time he'd looked at the clock there in the belly of the mechanical clown, it had been twenty-five of eleven. He had to get back to the car.

His best chance, he figured, was to get to the trailers parked in a long row at one side of the field, homes of the workers who traveled year-round with the carnival. If he could make it over there, he would dart behind one, then another, until he reached the end of the field and the row of portable toilets. And if he could make it all the way past them and into the swarm of parked cars blanketing the entire left half of Bealls' lot, he was home free.

He laid his cheek on the ground to see through the two-inch space between the earth and the trailer skirt. He could see the red stripes on Rod's white sneakers, and lay stone still.

“Not behind here,” Ethan called, probably inspecting the trash cans back by the fence.

Then the man's voice again. “I told you guys to clear out. Now
do
it!” A large boot appeared only inches from Buck's face, but he didn't move an inch until both the man and the boys had left.

When several minutes had passed and there were no more noises, Buck peeked tentatively out and saw no one. Carefully, he worked his way out on his elbows, crouched like a runner on his mark, then tore across the short open stretch to the row of house trailers, around a picnic table squeezed between an old Ford and a silver Citation and lurched behind it, as a dog began a frantic barking.

He'd cut his hand on the green-and-black license plate of the Ford, and he crept over to a large Fleetwood Prowler, making the dog inside it bark all the louder. A woman came to the door and peered out, then told her dog to hush. Buck pressed himself flat against the back of the Prowler, and finally the woman went inside again and shut the door.

Buck thought about Nat, hoping he'd simply gone on some rides without him. He heard a gong, and a loud speaker announcing a prize from the fish tank, another contest. “We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen,” the voice said. “Every fifteen minutes, another prize!”
Eleven o' clock,
Buck guessed.

How much farther to the end of the row? Five trailers? Six? Some of the spaces between them were only a couple yards wide, others room enough for a table, a grill, and some folding chairs. If Pete or any of the others were looking this way, they'd see him make the run.

They were searching, all right. They had moved away from the haunted house to the snow cone stand and the fortune-telling machine, each looking in all directions.

Buck made another run, crouching low. As he darted behind a gray-and-white Palomino, an old man, sitting on a box and smoking, eyed him without expression and took another drag on his cigarette. But above the calliope music, Buck heard Ethan yell, “Pete! I saw him!”

There was nothing left to do now but run. He tore past the row of toilets—no use hiding now—and plunged into the sea of parked cars on the far side of the field, trying to remember how far in Joel had parked.

With four boys spreading out in all directions, however, he knew he was going to be caught. Pete was up ahead between an SUV and a convertible, shouting at Rod to grab him. Ethan had hold of his shirt, and then Buck heard another voice:

“Buck? C'mon! We're ready to go!” Joel was standing on the hood of his car, yelling at him.

Pete emerged from behind the SUV and punched his arm—hard—before he disappeared, and Ethan let go of his shirt. As David had once said, the other boys followed Pete like ducks, and they all disappeared into the shadows.

“What was
that
all about?” Joel asked, jumping down. “Were those the guys who…?”

“Just horsing around,” Buck said, panting, and collapsed against the car.

“Well, get in. We're ready to leave,” Joel told him.

The others were inside and waiting.

“Where
were
you?” Nat said. “You didn't show up, so I went on the Whiplash without you. Man, I liked that better than the Wildcat.”

“I ddddon't know what happened. Goofed up, I guess,” Buck told him. His arm ached where Pete had punched him, but he was sort of glad in a way that it had happened. Did that mean they were even now, for his tearing down their shack?

As the car moved toward the exit, there was a loud
whang
as a stone hit the fender.

“Somebody throw a rock?” said Nat, half turning in the seat.

“Just Pete's goons acting up,” said Buck. He wasn't too afraid. What else could they do? They were lucky Dad and Gramps hadn't reported the stealing, or they'd really be in trouble. The car reached the end of the lot and turned onto the main road, leaving the lights and the music far behind.