14

KYLE WAS DREAMING that he was floating in a pond while his father sat on the riverbank, dozing. Kyle saw him there, so close by he could almost touch him. And there was Michael nearby, too. Floating on his back just a few feet away. The sun was shining, the frogs were croaking. It was . . . what was that word . . . in the dream Kyle tried to find it . . . oh yeah, idyllic. That was the word.

But there was one tiny thing that was a little amiss. There was a purple membrane of some kind floating on the pond, just a few feet away from them. It was really kind of amazing looking, bright purple, and sort of curled up at the edges. It looked like . . . a giant jellyfish, but it seemed harmless.

Kyle found it interesting, fascinating . . . because it seemed to be growing . . . getting longer, and now it was turning into something else. Kind of like a giant clam . . .

Only now it was moving toward them, and in a second it had kind of oozed all over Michael, and then devoured him.

Kyle started to scream. He really couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He turned and looked at his father, screaming, “Dad! Dad! It’s taking us. It’s coming to kill us!”

But his father was still dozing on the pond bank, a pleasant grin on his face, as if he was having a really good dream.

Kyle turned back and looked at the thing, and he could see Michael’s head, pushing against the purple membrane, screaming in horror. And now the thing was oozing all over Kyle as well, and he couldn’t breathe . . . the thing forced itself down his throat, squirted itself into his ears, and up his nose.

He was drowning in ooze — and his father wouldn’t wake up.

And he was beating at the membrane, but it just gave with every punch he threw.

And he felt it turning hot and sticky and he knew without a doubt that in a few more seconds . . . he was going to die.

He awoke, screaming, and tried to flail about, but he was still tied tight. The membrane was a blanket the bearded man had put over him. And the lack of breath . . . that had to be caused by the gag, which was tied even tighter.

Why didn’t someone come for them?

Why was his father dozing on the riverbank somewhere?

Who the fuck had done this?

Why?

He looked over at his brother, who was out cold.

The kid looked so peaceful, he hated to do it. But there had to be a way out, and they had to find it before the kidnapper came back and killed them both.

Because that’s what he was going to do. Kyle was sure of it. After all, they had seen his face.

He couldn’t afford to let them go now.

Kyle looked at his ropes. Saw how they were tied to the pipes, which came out of the old boiler.

If he could only untie his hands, get over there. Maybe he could smash the pipes, and then slide the ropes off .

He tried to move, but he could barely get an inch before the ropes dug into his wrists.

“Fuck!” he said. “Mike . . . wake the hell up. C’mon. We gotta get out of here. Mike, do you hear me? Do you?”

And then Kyle felt a terrible emptiness invade his soul.

Mike wasn’t moving. Wasn’t hearing him at all. Mike wasn’t . . . Couldn’t be dead . . .

He saw an old can of Coke on the floor. Took careful aim with his right foot and kicked it at his brother.

Bull’s-eye!

The can hit his sleeping brother right on his forehead.

Still silence . . . Kyle felt sick . . .

And then there was movement. An eye opened, and his brother looked up at him.

“What the fuck was that?” he said. Only it came out through the gag like “Whatfargcat?

He sounded pissed off , like an angry little kid. Kyle smiled.

Nodded. And looked up at the ancient pipes. It took his battered, scared, younger brother a few minutes, but finally he nodded.

Good, Kyle thought. Because the only way they would escape this shithole is if they worked together.