Stuart Sanders checked in with his chief then set out in Feeley’s motor-pool car. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew Davey Taylor was close by, close enough to touch if he could just reach out in the right direction.
Up and down the dirt roads he drove, but with no success. He braked hard and sat for a while, pondering his next move. His instincts told him to head for the Wild Adventure Park, the same route he had followed on foot last night. There was something out there, something he’d missed.
It was well after one o’clock when he returned to the camp office to clean up and get on with the day.
Lorrie was sitting on the steps of the motor home. She looked as beat as he felt.
“Hi,” he said, when he got within speaking distance.
“Hi, yourself. Anything new to report?”
Sanders shook his head. “Not yet, but not to worry. Everything is going to be okay.”
Lorrie tilted her head sideways and gave him a questioning look. “How can you be so sure?”
“It’s just a feeling.” He shrugged.
“A feeling,” she repeated.
He hunkered down in front of her, his hands braced on his thighs. “I’ve been in this business a long time, Lorrie, and after a while you start to rely on your gut instinct. And mine tells me Davey is alive and well.”
Lorrie bowed her head. “I hope you’re right.”
He could see the tears welling in her eyes and, without thinking, reached out to touch her face. “When this is all over and Davey is safe and sound, you and I are going to get to know each other a little better.”
Lorrie smiled at him through her tears. “There’s nothing I’d like better but . . .”
“But what?” he asked, worry creeping into his voice.
“I may not be alive after my sister gets through with me.”
“Your sister . . .” Sanders began, anger welling behind his words. “I still can’t believe she refused to come with me. What kind of mother—” He broke off, realizing he had spoken out of turn.
Lorrie leaned forward and put her arms around his neck. “It’s all right. I feel the same way you do.”
The anger Sanders had been carrying around with him dissolved when he gazed into Lorrie Ryan’s eyes. “Lorrie, I . . .” Whatever he’d been about to say was forgotten the moment Lorrie’s mouth pressed against his. Slowly, he rose to his feet, drawing her up with him. Needs that he’d left too long unsatisfied rose to the surface. There were other feelings too—new feelings he couldn’t put a name to. Together they created a terrible hunger.
Lorrie broke the kiss and stepped back, a look of surprise on her face. “What were you going to say?”
Sanders shook his head. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah . . . oh.”
Lorrie smiled sheepishly. “Well, I guess I’d better go inside and fix something to eat.” She started to turn away.
“And I guess I’d better head for the showers,” Sanders said, moving backwards. “I’ll see you a little later.”
Lorrie climbed the steps to the motor home and disappeared inside.
Sanders went to the camp showers, where he cleaned up quickly. Out of season the campgrounds offered cold water only, which seemed appropriate under the circumstances. A loud knock startled him. “Come in,” he shouted as he put away his shaving gear.
“Yeah, what is it?” he demanded of the reflection that met his eyes in the mirror over the sink.
“Your man thought you would want to hear about this.”
It was Officer Delaney. Sanders liked him on sight, from the top of his neat haircut to the tips of his polished shoes that were buffed to a high sheen.
“Feeley? I thought he was asleep. Something come in that sounds important?” He noticed the alert look in the young officer’s eyes.
“Yes, sir. He was asleep, but he sleeps like me, with an eye open. You have to do that when you’re in law enforcement.”
“Tell me about it,” Sanders mumbled as they walked through the sodden leaves. “That was some storm we had last evening.”
“Good thing it was over early. As it was, the power company was out all night working. We get storms like that around here this time of year. I hear there’s another blowing up.” Delaney’s tone was easy but his respect for Sanders was evident. “There was a call from a shut-in who monitors police calls, Citizens Band, short-wave, you name it. He said he didn’t know if it was important or not, but he heard a child calling for help on the emergency channel a little while ago. I have to be honest with you, this turkey calls in on a regular basis. He sees UFOs once a week, hears calls for help, and once he said he heard a gang rape going on in the back of an eighteen-wheeler.”
“The kid have a handle?” Sanders waited, hardly daring to breathe, for Delaney’s answer.
“Yes, sir. Panda Bear.”
“Jesus Christ!” Sanders exploded as he broke into a run.
“Your man has the caller on hold,” Delaney shouted. For a big man, Sanders moved fast as he raced ahead to the offices. Delaney looked after him, wondering if he would ever join the state police. That was the big-time. He’d get to wear a snappy uniform, a snap-brim hat and, of course, those polished sunglasses.
Delaney took his work seriously; he was even willing to forgo marriage so he could devote his life to law enforcement. That was the supreme sacrifice. A talk with Sanders could be helpful. He hoped the caller had his marbles all in one bag this time around, and that the child on the emergency channel was the Taylor kid, and that he was okay. Dr. Ryan was a nice person, she deserved some good news. There was a chance that he would be the one to tell her. He would get pleasure out of that, seeing her eyes light up. Childishly, he crossed his fingers.
He nodded briefly to Feeley as he took his position again behind the desk. Sanders was just hanging up the phone. Delaney waited, not sure if he liked the look on Sanders’s face. It was Sanders’s case and the agent didn’t have to confide in Delaney. Delaney crossed his fingers again.
“Feeley, you stick around and work the phone. Find out if anyone else heard the call. Let’s see if we can’t pinpoint it a little more accurately.” Sanders looked at the scrawled note in his hand. “The guy’s name is Rob Benton. He lives right here in Jackson. Delaney, find out how many turkey farms there are around here. This Benton is certain he heard turkeys in the background.” Sanders grimaced. “He said he hates turkeys—actually what he said was, he’s afraid of them.” He looked directly at Delaney, defying him to say the caller was a crackpot.
Delaney’s gaze was unblinking. “You ever have a bunch of turkeys gang up on you? It’s hairy—I know what he’s talking about. And yes, there are three or four turkey farms around here. As a matter of fact, there’s one right next to the amusement park. The bottom end of the farm runs parallel with the wildlife reserve. An old lady owns the farm—her son is on every cop’s list from here to Forked River.”
“Check it out, Delaney. I’ll see you in a little while.” Sanders wished he had a lucky horseshoe, or a rabbit’s foot.
As he steered the high-powered car down the dirt road, he tried to calculate how long Davey had gone without a shot, but he gave up. Waiting for the lights to change at the main road, he spotted some newspapers in a vending machine on the corner. Leaving the door open and the engine running, he picked up a paper—Davey’s picture was on the front page. The traffic light changed and several horns beeped. He ran back to the car, tossing the paper on to the seat beside him.
“I know you’re on the loose, kid,” Sanders mumbled to himself. “You can find your way back, I know you can. I got a steak dinner going on your getting back okay. You just hang tight. I’m going to find you.”
Ninety minutes later Stuart Sanders was back at the same light, waiting for it to change again. Rob Benton’s story was unshakable. The guy had heard exactly what he’d repeated on the phone. He also reported that he’d monitored the channel from that moment on, and there had been no more calls. Sanders believed him.
Davey started off, looking back over his shoulder every few minutes. He still didn’t feel well, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been a few minutes ago. Something jingled in his pocket—the three quarters Mr. Sanders had given him. They clinked companionably together. The flashlight should be in the zipper pocket on the sleeve of his windbreaker. He felt for it—it was still there. If he could just keep away from that bad man, he would be okay.
He cocked his head and listened. The woods were silent, except for the rustling of the leaves overhead. From time to time a squirrel raced through the treetops. Davey grinned. The squirrels were getting ready for winter. Just like he was getting ready for whatever was going to happen to him next. So far he had missed two lunches, one dinner, and one breakfast. He ticked the meals off on his fingers. Four! He would tell Digger he had missed four meals and was still alive. When you didn’t eat, you turned into skin and bones and died. Digger knew what he was talking about. He said it had almost happened to him on one of his trips to the hospital. They’d fed him with a tube because he was almost skin and bones. Davey’s face puckered up as he tried to figure it all out.
Davey walked slowly on through the woods for another half hour. His leg ached and he wished he had someone to talk to. It would feel so good to have Duffy scampering around his feet, even if he was too tired to play with her. Duffy would be able to smell Cudge if he got too close. She would bark to warn him in time to find a hiding place. Davey would have to tell Digger how good he was at finding hiding places. Digger would appreciate his low-flying dives into the brambles. Poor Digger, he hoped the doctors fixed his legs right this time.
Davey stopped, every sense alert. It was quiet. There were no squirrels, no rabbits running through the brush. He was still safe. Then Davey noticed two things: a loud banging noise, and the way the woods were thinning out. He strained to identify the banging sound. He had heard it before back home, or had it been Aunt Lorrie’s house? He grinned—how could he have forgotten? He himself had helped make the sounds. Last year, Aunt Lorrie had let him bang in the nails for the tree house they’d built in the backyard. Aunt Lorrie had hurt her thumb and then quit to go make lemonade.
He walked slowly to the very edge of the trees, careful to shield himself by not stepping out into the bright sunshine. He dropped to his knees and then to his belly. It looked like the muddy field by the old lady’s house, but different. He propped his elbows on the ground, letting his chin rest in the hollow of his cupped hands. It took a moment to make sense of what he was seeing—all kinds of posts, gravel . . . It was a parking lot, he thought jubilantly. He hadn’t realized it at first because there weren’t any cars. Now he knew where he was—the amusement park. If he was really smart, he might be able to find his way back to Aunt Lorrie without anyone’s help.
In his mind, he had begun to think of Cudge as a wild animal—a wild animal who was chasing him, wanting to eat him. He remembered how Cudge had sounded like an animal tearing through the woods, pounding the ground. Davey had heard its heavy panting and pictured a red-eyed beast with sharp horns and hoofed feet. A hard knot in his stomach seemed to squeeze out his breath, making him feel he was going to be sick.
He needed to find the man who was banging in nails. He had been successful once by crawling on his belly; he would do it again. If he stood up he would be an easy target. The ground was muddy, and a shard of broken glass winked at him from the left. He would have to be careful. When he reached the other side, where would he be? Shielding his eyes from the sun, he peered across the parking lot. He could see the tip of a roof, some trees and bushes, and a very high fence, the kind that had little holes in it. Dad had told him it was called chain-link. Fences had gates, he knew, like at home where the gate was always closed so Duffy couldn’t get out of the yard. Sometimes Dad locked the gate when they went on vacation.
Davey was fifty feet from the end of the parking lot when he heard the animal roar. “Hey, kid!”
Davey’s heart pounded in his chest. He lifted his head to look around and saw Cudge at the far end of the parking lot, pointing at him. Davey shot to his feet and scrambled to the fence. Frantically, he looked for a gate. He couldn’t let Cudge get him. He tripped and sprawled in the coarse gravel, and he saw a small hole under the fence. Using his hands, he dug at the wet earth. He dug faster, sending the loosened earth flying this way and that, the way he’d seen Duffy do it. He heard Cudge yelling at him and knew the beast was close. Lying flat, he pushed his head through the opening, then wriggled one shoulder under, then the other. He winced as the points of the fence dug into his jacket and his back. He worked his way loose and pulled himself through to the other side.
“Get back here, you little bastard! You ain’t getting away this time,” Cudge yelled. He grabbed for Davey’s leg.
Davey shrieked in terror as Cudge pulled at him. He jerked his leg and felt his Reebok slide off his foot. He was through! Safe! Cudge only had his sneaker. Davey struggled to his feet to see Cudge’s rage-filled face staring at him through the fence. Slowly, Davey backed away, then turned and ran.
A roar ripped from Cudge’s throat. “I’ll get you yet! You ain’t getting away from me this time, you stupid kid. This place is all closed up. You won’t be able to get out, and there’s no one in there to help you.”
Davey knew he had to move fast to find the man with the hammer. Screaming for help, he ran toward the center of the park. Where was he? Why couldn’t he hear the banging now? Maybe the man had finished his work and gone home. The thought was so terrible, he wanted to cry.
Cudge dropped the single Reebok as though it had burned his fingers. He’d been so close—he’d almost had him. It was becoming impossible to think; there was a roaring noise in his head, or was it the thunder? Panting with rage, blind with frustration, he was unable to think what his next move should be.
An eight-foot-tall fence separated him from the kid; by the time he climbed it, the kid would be long gone. He twisted the small black-and-white leather shoe in his hands. Panda Bear—it was a stupid CB handle if ever he’d heard one. Only the kid wasn’t so stupid—Cudge would give him that.
Cudge had been smart, too, when he was a kid, but he wondered how smart he was now. Here he was, chasing a little boy, when he should have been planning his own escape.
Stuart Sanders tapped his fingers on the steering wheel while he waited for the light to change. He’d been riding around for what seemed like hours, thinking, reviewing, but always on the lookout for Davey.
A car full of teenagers passed him just as the amber light flicked to green. Surprised, he checked his watch; it was two-thirty already, and the high school was letting out. That was when he noticed a billboard with an arrow pointing to Wild Adventure Park. Maybe he could spot the turkey farm on the way. He allowed a van and a sports car to pass him before inching into the moving traffic.
Within minutes the main gates to the park were in sight, but it was the appearance of a secondary road, probably for employees, which caught his interest. After following a circuitous route for several miles, the road ended in a graveled parking area. The gates were chained shut.
Sanders turned off the engine and surveyed his surroundings, attempting to pinpoint his location. Last night he hadn’t come this far through the woods. On the map, the distance between the park and the campground hadn’t appeared so close. He knew he wouldn’t have any difficulty gaining admittance to the park; all he had to do was flash his credentials. He could even climb the fence if he had a mind to.
Back at the car he retrieved the binoculars he’d borrowed from Feeley. Training the sights on the horizon, he scanned the treetops, spotting the tall girders of the Ferris wheel. Rides, thrills, and adventure, all waiting till spring, when flocks of children would swarm over them, laughing and shrieking. He wondered if Davey Taylor had ever ridden on a Ferris wheel or a carousel.
Lighting a cigarette, Sanders turned to his left, and walked along the fence. He took a drag on the cigarette as he retraced his steps past the gate, along the perimeter of the parking lot. He would have missed it if he hadn’t dropped the cigarette to grind it out with the heel of his shoe. There was a hole under the fence. Dropping to his heels, Sanders saw the small mud-caked Reebok lying close by. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath until it exploded from his lungs, making him lightheaded. Both hands reached for the bedraggled leather shoe. The hole under the fence was just about big enough for the kid to belly through, and it was freshly dug.
“Good boy. You’re almost there. Just a little longer and I’ll find you, Davey.”
The pain that had been gnawing at his stomach stilled. Davey was free, not in Balog’s hands. At least not for the moment. Sanders gripped the shoe hard, as though trying to squeeze information out of it. Looking at it, thinking about Davey, the chewing in his stomach began again. Davey wasn’t the kind of kid who was careless with his things. He would never have left his shoe behind unless something had prevented him from retrieving it. Or someone. Balog.
Davey Taylor was on the run. His path took him across a park-like area littered with outbuildings that looked like the Quonset huts that came with his army and soldier set. All the buildings had wide doors like garages, and there were stacks and stacks of trash cans nestled inside one another. There was no safety to be found here, nowhere to hide. He ran on blindly, not stopping to take his bearings or note his surroundings. Past the utility buildings, alongside the storehouses and equipment garages he ran. His stockinged foot hurt from the pebbles on the ground and his sock was cold and wet from the puddles left by last night’s rain.
Ahead of him was the visitors’ area of the amusement park. The rides looked stark and alien against the vibrant golds and reds of the autumn leaves. To Davey’s right was a tall, semicircular amphitheater with a blue dolphin pictured on the stark white concrete. Beyond this, the brick path widened into an expanse of cement where the desolate rides were located. Between two towers hung a huge pirate ship, painted bright red and suspended over a now-empty pool.
Glancing up at the sky, Davey saw the tall pylons which supported the guide wires for the Sky Ride. There were lots of buildings dotting the area between the trees. Once, for an instant, he drew up short, staring at a candyland structure with peppermint sticks for columns, supporting a sugar-frosting roof and ice-cream-cone facade. He was reminded of how long it had been since he’d eaten, and how good a cupcake would taste right now. The chocolate browns, vanilla whites and shiny reds of the building fascinated him.
Then he remembered his predicament and, with great effort, forced his weary legs on. The knee that usually had the support of the brace was sore and throbbing. Mustering his courage yet again, he ran onward, heading for a small building where he hoped he could hide.
The building had two doors. By stretching back, Davey could see the pictures on them: a lady and a man. He reached for the knob to the men’s room then hastily withdrew his hand. The man would definitely look for him there. Without another second’s hesitation, he opened the door to the women’s bathroom. The heavy hinges stopped the door from closing immediately. Davey leaned against it to push it closed; now he felt almost safe. But then he noticed there was no lock on the doorknob. If he’d gotten in, the man could get in too. Frantically he looked around for something to block the door.
He could see sinks, toilets with doors, and a garbage can—everything looked clean and forgotten, as though no one was coming back. There was nothing here, not even a sliver of soap on the sink. He decided not to wash his hands and dirty the sink, but he had to go to the bathroom. Six of the doors had silver coin slots, and were locked shut, but one door at the end stood open. He had only Mr. Sanders’s three quarters—he didn’t want to spend them going to the bathroom. He looked in the open door as he unzipped his jeans. Carefully, he held up the seat while he urinated. He liked watching the steady stream as it hit the water. As he zipped up his pants a door slammed close by. Arrow swift, Davey had the door closed and locked behind him. He hopped up onto the seat and braced his hands against the door. He sucked in his breath.
He could tell Cudge was mad by the way the door banged against the tiled wall. Davey waited while footsteps sounded. Looking down from his perch, he could see heavy yellow boots, caked with mud, appear and disappear as the man stalked back and forth. With a growl, he moved toward the door. Davey waited for the sound of the door closing, but he didn’t hear it. Did that mean the man hadn’t pulled it closed, or did it mean he was still there, waiting to catch him? Davey wished he could hear the sound of the workman banging the nails. He was tired, and his arms ached, but he would wait a little longer. He couldn’t get caught now, not when he was so close to Aunt Lorrie. He had to be more careful than ever.
Just when he thought he couldn’t stand another second of waiting, Davey heard the snick of the closing door. There were no more footsteps, no muttered curses. The man was gone. Davey gingerly pulled back one arm and then the other. Dropping to the floor, he reached out a quivering arm to flush the toilet, but then quickly withdrew it. The frothy bubbles would have to stay—toilets made a lot of noise in places like this. It wasn’t safe here; he had to leave. If the man came back, he would see the open door, and then he would know Davey had tricked him. The thought pleased Davey—he really had tricked him.
Now, when he walked out of the bathroom, he would go to his left, because if he went right he would end up back at the hole in the fence. He had to keep going in the opposite direction; he had to stay behind the man.
As Davey started out, he listened for sounds of hammering; his entire body was alert to any movement within his line of vision. He shivered, it was getting cold. Now that he was moving again, he realized he still didn’t feel well. If only he could lie down and take a nap, but he couldn’t. It was important to keep going, to find Aunt Lorrie. If he lay down and fell asleep, the man would find him.
Davey gradually slowed as he trudged around the park, bewildered by the shadows the giant rides created. He knew he had to be quick to hide at the first sound that fell on his ears. He wished he could read better so he would know what all the signs meant. Why couldn’t he find the man with the hammer? Why hadn’t he seen anyone to ask for help? Then he saw Cudge, just ahead, stalking the area in front of a hamburger restaurant. The little round tables and chairs were painted to look like polka-dotted mushrooms and toadstools, and Cudge was bending down, peering underneath them. Davey crouched low. Sometimes, like now, he was glad he was small. When you were little, there wasn’t so much of you to see. He maneuvered his way behind a big red trash can and watched Cudge work his way around the perimeter of the restaurant. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt as though the ocean was slapping at his ears.
He was getting colder and he was so tired. He stifled a yawn, never taking his eyes from Cudge’s slouched form. He drew back suddenly. Cudge was standing upright now and looking around, deciding which way to go. Davey risked another quick look and saw him head for a low, white building with a red and black sign. He watched as Cudge opened the door and looked inside. He didn’t go inside, just looked. Then he closed the door and moved on. As soon as Cudge was out of sight, Davey ran across the space and into the building. If Cudge had already looked in there, he probably wouldn’t come back there again.
One wall was lined with lockers, the other with open-stall showers. To the left, in a room littered with cartons and boxes, Davey saw a desk with a push-button telephone sitting on it. Frantically, he dialed 911. He waited and waited but no one picked up the other end. He tried again but achieved the same result. Defeated, he sat down on the swivel chair, his face puckered with despair. Mom had told him to dial 911 if ever he had an emergency. But it didn’t work. There wasn’t anybody there.
Maybe this telephone was broken. Maybe if he could find another telephone it would work. Outside, in the locker room, he saw a pay phone on the wall. He knew it was a pay phone because he’d been with his mom once when she’d used one to call his dad. For almost a full minute Davey stared at the phone. He couldn’t reach it. Maybe if he dragged the bench over and stood on it . . . He had to try.
Pulling and tugging, he managed to drag the heavy wooden bench directly underneath the telephone. He climbed onto it, lifted the receiver and listened to the dial tone. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to put the money in before or after he dialed.
Again, he dialed 911 but, as before, no one answered. He tried it again, putting the money in first. No answer. When he’d gotten out his money, he’d felt Mr. Sanders’s card in his pocket. He would call Mr. Sanders! Mr. Sanders would help him. He would know what to do.
With shaking hands Davey dialed the numbers on the card. A voice came on the line and told him to deposit fifty cents. He dropped two quarters into the slot and waited. Three, four, five rings.
“Hello, this is Stuart Sanders,” a voice said. “I’m away from the phone right now but you can page me at—”
“Hey you,” a gruff voice shouted outside. “What are you doing in here? The park is closed, mister. How did you get in?”
“I climbed the fence, that’s how!” It was Cudge. “My kid got in here by digging under the fence out by the parking lot. I had to climb over, because the hole he dug wasn’t big enough for me. Are you sure you ain’t seen him? He’s about this high, has blond hair? I gotta find him before his mother takes a fit!”
Davey put the receiver back on the hook. He wanted to run outside and ask the man Cudge was talking to for help, but he was afraid to because of what had happened at the farmhouse.
“Mister,” the other man continued, “I haven’t seen any kids around here. I’ve been working all day over by the roller coaster, dismantling the cars and getting them ready for next spring. There’s no kid around here. You’d better be on your way before I call the police.”
Suddenly the man’s voice changed, as though something had choked off his words. “Now look, mister, if you want I’ll go around and ask the shut-down crew if they’ve seen anything.” He was speaking faster, higher pitched, as though he were scared. Davey knew that the man was afraid of Cudge too.
“I want to find my kid. I’m not leaving till I do!”
“I know, I know. I’ve got kids of my own. Come on with me, we’ll go around and ask the other guys. We’ll be punching out for the day pretty soon. Maybe somebody’s seen him.”
Panic-stricken, Davey dropped the phone and jumped down from his perch atop the bench. He had to get away.
He looked around—there was no back door! Saliva dribbled down his chin; he was too frightened to swallow. Into the small storage area behind the locker room he ran, hoping there might be a door through there. He saw some double doors with a big red exit sign above them. Silently, he inched open one of the doors and peered out.
The sun was gone now and the sky looked dark. A strong breeze that smelled of rain was sending fallen leaves and paper spiraling along the ground. He could hear voices outside. His heart pounding, he inched the door back into place then ran. Faster and faster—up the incline, past the miniature golf course, around the bend to the haunted house, down the rise to the old-fashioned carousel. Sobbing, gasping for breath, he ran blindly, not caring where he went as long as he was putting distance between Cudge and himself.
Would Cudge go into the building? Would he notice that the bench had been pulled up to the phone? He’ll catch me! Faster, always faster, Davey staggered onward. He had to keep running away. He had to make himself safe. Safe so Aunt Lorrie could find him.