Ethan had not yet moved from the spot where they left him when he heard the screams.
His heartbeat pulsed in his throat.
“Graham!”
He charged into the maze of metal railings, leaped over some, ducked under others depending on how his momentum carried him, driving toward the staircase as quickly as he could. By the time he reached the line on the stairs, a series of shouts and gasps rippled down from the crowd on the platform above.
Ethan shoved his way onto the stairs, oblivious to the protests of those he pushed aside. “Let me through, damn it. My son. I have to get to my son.”
His shouts must have reached up the line. It grew easier for him to climb the stairs as the people in line stepped aside. Once he crested the stairs he came to a wall of bodies, crammed together, some pushing backward as if trying to force their way back to the stairs. As if pushing away from some horrible scene.
God, please let him be okay. Please.
His attempts to push his way through the crowd on the platform were met with equal force back. A middle-aged man clutching a stuffed animal prize from one of the carnie games tripped amidst the listing crowd and dropped to the platform, forcing the crowd to split around him at the same time everyone pushed backward. The throng on the platform began to resemble a mosh pit at a rock concert more than a line for a rollercoaster.
“Graham.” He jumped to get a glimpse above the crowd. Toward the front, by the space in the platform that held the tracks, a cut in the crowd had formed. Ethan hopped again, but couldn't see past the bodies. “Graham.”
A garbled voice from a set of speakers melded with the growing shouts from the crowd, dropping words like “calm” and “emergency” into the din.
Something had forced Lazaro's hand. In the middle of all these people he had . . . Ethan squeezed out the thought. He would not speculate on anything until he saw for himself. He would not give up his last shards of hope, no matter how small the pieces. It was probably a form of denial. But it was all he had left.
He glanced around, searching for any avenue through the crowd, and noticed that the ride had stopped running. He could see a line of cars stopped along the tracks beyond the platform. The passengers strained against their safety bars to see what was happening up ahead to keep them from pulling in.
A wooden fence ran along the outer edge of the platform, the top beam about four inches wide with three parallel slats underneath. Ethan dashed for the nearest section of fence at the back of the platform and climbed onto it, using the slats like rungs in a ladder, until he stepped onto the top beam and balanced there. On the opposite side of the fence was at least a twenty-foot drop. He walked along the beam until he came to a wooden column that served as a support for the awning suspended over the platform. He used the column to steady himself, then looked over the crowd toward the front of the line, into the gap of bodies.
He cried out at the sight, a gush of air pouring out from down deep and carrying with it the taint of fear that had collected in his gut.
Graham stood at the platform's edge with his arms awkwardly wrapped around Rain's waist like a backward hug. He held onto her as if she might fly out of his arms at any second. Rain stared down onto the tracks below, her body stiff, one trembling hand reaching down. No sign of Lazaro.
The train of cars that had pulled in had stopped short, a couple cars hanging out beyond the platform. Even at the raised angle, Ethan couldn't see what kept the cars from rolling the rest of the way in, but a splash of red on the platform's edge told him enough.
“Graham,” Ethan shouted, his voice finally carrying over the crowd.
Graham looked over his shoulder. His face was pale and wet. Clumps of hair stuck to his forehead. He refused to let go of Rain. He looked too scared to move. And he looked too old for his age. But he was alive.
He was safe.