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 onehand 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 believedher 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 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 onehand 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 believedher 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!”
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