Page 192 of Stay Scared

“…repeat…” It’s Owen.

I press the transmitter. “Last Ride. Moving track. Rook has us.” Rook roars and tears one hand free. Ash grabs him around the throat. The radio spits static.

Owen answers. “Salem, give me your location.” A sign flashes past outside. LOWER GRAVEYARD CURVE.

I hit the transmitter. “Lower graveyard curve.” Rook’s elbow catches Ash in the mouth. Ash’s head slams back, and his arm drops. Rook comes for the radio. I throw it beneath the bench. He dives after it. Ash catches the back of his coat and yanks him away. The carriage enters the graveyard chamber. Broken markers rise around us. A yellow maintenance rope hangs beside a door on the left wall. Rook sees me look at it.

The knife appears between us. “Do not.” Ash sees the door too. He shifts toward me.

Rook points the knife at his throat. “Sit.” Ash lowers himself slowly, eyes fixed on Rook. The wound at his side is running freely now. I can hear the wet hitch beneath every inhale. My stomach turns. He is hurt worse than before and still looks ready to kill Rook. The maintenance door passes. I let it. It is too clean and too obvious. Rook expected me to see it. The carriage moves deeper into the graveyard. Four mannequins lean over the track beneath rotting black fabric, wooden hands fixed around a coffin. Behind them, half hidden by torn scenery, a narrow service opening cuts through the wall. The old park plan had a crossover near this curve. There it is. Ash sees it and keeps his attention on Rook.

Rook watches both of us. “What did Owen say?”

“Only static.”

Rook turns the beak toward me. “You heard him.”

“I heard half a word.” The carriage enters the funeral scene. Black fabric sweeps over us. The world disappears. Ash moves. He catches Rook’s knife wrist and slams it into the carriage’s side. The blade drops. I duck under the loose lap bar. Rook grabs the back of my jacket. Ash punches him across the cracked beak, tearing Rook’s hand away. I drop to the carriage floor. My knees hit rusted metal.

Ash locks one arm around Rook’s neck from behind. “GO NOW.” I throw myself over the side. Concrete hits my hip. Skin tears from my palms. The carriage keeps moving. Rook’s boot flashes past my head. Ash still has him. For one second, I see them inside the carriage as it rattles away: Ash’s forearm across Rook’s throat, Rook driving an elbow backward into Ash’s ribs, blood on both of them. Then the scenery cuts them off. I crawl behind the fake coffin and squeeze through the service opening. The maintenance corridor beyond is barely wide enough for my shoulders. Rotting wood presses close on one side. Cold foundation stone scrapes the other. My palms burn. My hip throbs where I hit the floor. I keep moving. Something crashes inside the ride behind me. The sound gives me no clue which man hit what. A radio repeater crackles overhead.

“Salem,” Cade calls. It’s Cade.

His voice comes through static so rough it barely sounds human. “Salem, answer me.” I stop beneath the repeater. The corridor splits ahead. LOAD PLATFORM points left while SERVICE CROSSOVER points right. Cade will be near the platform. Every part of me wants left. I can already imagine his hands grabbing me, checking for blood, putting himself between me and the track. Another crash comes from inside the ride. Ash is still in there. I look right. The service crossover runs toward the next curve, closer to the moving carriage.

I press the repeater. “I’m off the ride.” Static answers first, then Cade.

“Where are you?”

“Graveyard crossover.”

“I’m coming.”

“No. Get to the unload gate and block Rook if he makes it through.” Silence answers for half a second.

Then, “Where the hell are you going?” I look down the dark service corridor.

“To Ash.” Cade swears. I am already running.

Chapter 24

Cade calls my name through the maintenance speaker.

I keep running away from him.

The passage beneath The Last Ride climbs toward Crimson Night’s public route. My scraped palms leave faint streaks on the concrete whenever I use the wall to steady a turn, and pain drags through my hip where I hit the floor beside the carriage.

Metal crashes somewhere behind me inside the dark ride. Ash shouts, but the machinery swallows whatever follows.

I reach the top of the passage and force open a narrow service door.

The abandoned midway waits beyond it, portable emergency screens illuminating pieces of the route with cold white rectangles. Each one carries Rook’s public broadcast through hardwired cameras that should have died with the rest of the attraction.

The nearest image changes when I enter, putting my own body on-screen.

Owen has the feed.

The camera watching the midway predates his surveillance system. Its image skips whenever I move too quickly, but the timestamp keeps running while comments climb beside it, announcing that I got out, asking where Ash is, and demanding someone call the police.