“To lull you into a false sense of security? Yes.”
“And the blood oath?”
“A spur-of-the-moment lie. Just to keep things interesting.”
“So basically you’re telling me nothing you’ve ever said to me was true.”
“Except the part about sacrificing you. I was dead serious about that. Enough talking. Let’s get on with this.” Using the gun, he shoved me deeper into the fun house. The rough prod tipped me off balance, and I stepped sideways to catch my footing, landing on a section of floor that began undulating up and down.
I felt Rixon grab for my wrist to steady me, only something went wrong. His hand slipped down over mine. I heard the soft thud of his body landing. The sound seemed to come from directly below. A thought brushed my mind—that he’d fall en down one of below. A thought brushed my mind—that he’d fall en down one of the many trapdoors rumored to be scattered throughout the fun house—but I didn’t stay around long enough to see if I’d guessed right.
I bolted back the way we’d come, searching for the clown head. A figure sprang out in front of me, a light flashing overhead to ill uminate a blood-soaked ax wedged in a bearded pirate’s head. He leered at me a moment before his eyes rolled back in his head and the light faded.
I drew several sharp breaths, telling myself it was pretend, but unable to steady myself as the floor quaked and shifted under my shoes. I went down on my knees, crawling over the grime and grit pressing into my palms, trying to calm my head, which seemed to tilt with the floors. I crawled for several feet, not wanting to stop moving long enough to let Rixon find a way out of the trapdoor.
“Nora!” Rixon’s rough bark carried up behind me.
I pulled myself up, using the walls to support me, but the walls were coated in slime that oozed onto my hands. Somewhere overhead, laughter boomed, tapering off to a cackle. I shook my hands hard to slough off the slime. Then I fished my way into the sheer blackness that lay ahead. I was lost. Lost, lost, lost.
I jogged a few steps forward, rounded a turn, and squinted at the faint glow of orange light several yards down the path. It wasn’t the clown’s head, but I was drawn to the promise of light like a moth. When I reached the lantern, the tacky Hall oweenish light ill uminated the words TUNNEL of doom. I was standing on a boat dock. small plastic boats were parked nose-to-bumper, water from the canal lapping their sides.
I heard footsteps on the path behind me. With no time to second-guess, I stepped into the boat closest to me. I’d just found my balance when the boat lurched into motion, jerking me down onto the slat of wood that served as a seat. The boats were moving in a single-file line, the tracks below clacking as they steered the boats into the tunnel ahead. A pair of saloon-style doors flung open, swallowing my boat into the tunnel.
Feeling my way to the front of the boat, I climbed over the safety bar and onto the bow. I stayed there a moment, one hand anchoring me to the boat, while my other hand reached ahead, trying to grab the rear bar of the boat one up. I was a few inches short. I would have to jump. I scooted up the bow as far as I dared. I tucked my legs under me, then leaped, managing to skid onto the back of the next boat up.
I allowed myself one moment of relief, then went back to work. Once again, I moved up the bow, with the intention of jumping boats all the way to the end of the ride. Rixon was bigger and faster, and he had a gun. My only hope of survival was to keep moving, to keep drawing out the time it took for him to catch me.
I was on the next bow, preparing to jump, when a siren blasted and the sudden ill umination of a red light overhead blinded me. A skeleton dropped from the ceiling of the tunnel, smacking into me. I lost my footing and felt a wash of vertigo as I skidded sideways, overboard. Frigid water rushed through my clothes, closing over my head. Instantly I put my feet down, broke the water’s surface, and waded through the chest-deep broke the water’s surface, and waded through the chest-deep water back to the boat. Gritting my teeth against the cold, I clamped my hands around the boat’s safety bar and hauled myself back inside.
Several loud shots ricocheted through the tunnel, one of the bullets whizzing past my ear. I dropped low in the boat, while Rixon’s laugh carried from a few boats back. “A matter of time,” he called.
More lights were flashing overhead, and between the pulses of light, I could see Rixon making his way across the boats toward me.
A faint roar sounded somewhere ahead. My stomach slid out from beneath me. I felt my concentration peel away from Rixon and shift to the spray of moisture in the air. My heart stopped for a half moment, then started pounding much too hard.
Grabbing hold of the metal bar, I braced myself for the fall.
The front of the boat tipped, then plunged over the waterfall. The boat splashed at the bottom, sending water spraying over the sides. The water might have felt cold, had I not already been drenched and shivering. I wiped my eyes dry, and that was when I saw a small maintenance platform carved out of the tunnel wall to my right. A door marked DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE sat just back from the platform.
I looked back at the waterfall. Rixon’s boat hadn’t fall en yet, and with only seconds to spare, I made a risky decision.
Jumping over the side of the boat, I waded as quickly as I could to the platform, hoisted myself up, and tried the door. It opened, letting out the loud hissing and clanking of machines, hundreds of gears churning and grinding. I’d found the mechanical heart of the fun house, and the entrance to the underground tunnels.
I closed the door most of the way behind me, leaving a thin crack to see out.
With one eye pressed to the crack, I watched the next boat fly down the waterfall. Rixon was in the boat. He was leaning over the metal sidebar, searching the water. Had he seen me jump out? Was he looking for me? His boat continued down the track, and he eased himself overboard, landing feetfirst in the water. Using his hands to hold his wet hair out of his face, he searched the murky surface of the water. It was then that I realized his hands were empty. He wasn’t looking for me—he’d dropped the gun in the fall, and he was looking for it.
The tunnel was dark, and I found it impossible to believe Rixon could see all the way to the bottom of the canal. Which meant he was going to have to feel his way to the gun. That would take time. Of course, I needed more than time. I needed a stroke of impossible luck. The police had to be combing the park by now, but would they think to look in the underbelly of the fun house before it was too late?