Last Seen. Rick Mofina
shut down the ride,” King said. “We turned on all interior lighting. We’ve got staff inside who know every nook and cranny looking for your son. All the actors at the scenes are looking, too.”
“Does this happen often?” Cal asked.
King’s gaze was fixed on the Chambers as he stuck out his bottom lip.
“It happens. In Kansas City, we found a teenager who’d huddled in a corner of a set, her eyes shut tight. She’d refused to open them. Found the Chambers a little too scary. In Indianapolis, we had an eighty-three-year-old veteran off his medication who wandered behind the butcher’s scene without the actor knowing. Found him sleeping behind the meat props. In Cincinnati, a woman fainted near one of the spinner’s exits. Unfortunately, no one noticed until we searched for her. It happens.”
“What about the exits?” Faith asked. “We never saw exit signs inside.”
“They’re dimmed but activated and illuminated in an emergency.”
“Gage could’ve gone out one of them,” Cal said.
“An alarm goes off when they’re opened. Staff would’ve been alerted and that didn’t happen.”
Ten tense, solid minutes passed without results. King glanced at his watch, then spoke softly into his walkie-talkie. He looked at his watch again, bit his bottom lip and turned to Faith and Cal.
“Does your son possibly have a cell phone?”
King’s question thrust the situation up to a more serious level.
For a second Cal recalled how Gage had begged them for his own phone. Most of his friends had phones. But Cal and Faith had said no—it cost too much, he was too young, he’d be tempted to use it in class to play games. They’d refused to give him his own phone for all those reasons, at first. Then they’d caved and got him one, and Gage promptly lost it. They got him a second one and he’d lost that, too. So that was it. No more phones.
Now their rationale seemed infinitely feeble because, facing what they were facing, they’d have given the world to go back in time and get him another phone.
“No.” Faith blinked back tears. “He doesn’t have a phone.”
King’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. He removed his sunglasses and his blue eyes were tinged with concern.
“I’m sorry, folks, but we can’t seem to find him.”
Cal couldn’t accept what Vaughn King was implying—that somehow Gage had vanished.
“That’s ridiculous. He didn’t just disappear,” Cal said. “He’s in there.”
Faith cupped her hands over her face. “Where else could he be?”
King stared at Cal, then Faith.
“Our people have already searched. Are you certain he didn’t exit ahead of you and wander down the midway?”
“He was with us in the spinner!” Faith said. “Let us search for him.”
King removed his hat, drew his forearm across his brow, a gesture suggesting that allowing the public access during a Code 99 was against company policy. A second later, as if he’d convinced himself that this situation was exceptional, or maybe to diminish potential liability—we did everything to help those parents—King found himself nodding and clicking the speaker on the small walkie-talkie again.
“This is Vaughn. I’m bringing the parents inside to search.” To Cal and Faith, he said, “All right, let’s go.”
His radio crackled. “But, Mr. King, the policy prohibits—”
“I know what the policy says.” King cut the speaker off. “I’m bringing them in!”
The key ring on King’s belt jingled as they all hurried toward the entrance. Moving around the other side of the attraction, Cal saw the Chambers of Dread for what they were: a series of interconnected truck trailers, forming an interlocking network that claimed to be America’s Biggest Traveling World of Horrors! He noticed the empty stool belonging to the fat ticket taker who’d eyed Faith and wondered if he was helping search for Gage.
King led them through the jaws of the Demon King. There was no fog when they entered; bright lights lit the inside. Their footsteps echoed as they rushed through the spinning portal, which was now stationary. Gage had to be in here. The ever-present thud of the midway outside hammered a deadened rhythm as Cal and Faith looked for their son.
“Gage!” Faith called. “It’s okay! Come out now. It’s Mom and Dad!”
All the interior walls were painted black; so were the floors and ceilings, where Cal noticed nozzles of the sprinkler system and the surveillance cameras. Suddenly the air exploded with ear-piercing staccato beeps. A side exit door opened and closed as a young woman in an Ultra-Fun shirt holding a walkie-talkie stepped inside.
“We checked the area around this exit, Mr. King. We didn’t find him.”
“Thank you, Hayley.”
Cal looked at the small exit light overhead and how the door was also painted black. It blended in with the walls, like camouflage, almost invisible.
“Hold on, I want to look out there,” he said.
The girl let Cal step through the door. The alarm bleated as he took stock of the backside of the structure, one not seen from the midway crowd. His heart was thumping faster now as he saw tentacles of huge power cables flowing on the ground and breathed in the smell of diesel and hydraulic fluid wafting from the generators and the pumps powering the rides nearby. The area was congested with an array of truck trailers, positioned to form narrow walkways leading to RVs and campers where Ultra-Fun staff lived while on the road—a netherworld of latter-day gypsies. Cal scoured the area, then the alarm bleated and King appeared on the stairs with Faith.
“Mr. Hudson!” King shouted. “The alarm would’ve been activated if your son used one of these exits!”
Cal took a second sweep under the trailers for anything that would lead him to Gage. Finding nothing, he conceded King’s point and returned.
Resuming their hunt in the Chambers, Faith and Cal came to the large cloaked figure they’d encountered earlier, the one toting a head. The figure had adjusted the costume. In the naked light, Cal and Faith saw that he was an acne-faced young man of linebacker proportions.
“Hi, Mr. King. We’ve searched everywhere in our section. He’s not here.”
“Thanks, Lonnie,” King said, moving on to the area smelling of rotten eggs—the Dungeons of Dread. Opening a door, he led the Hudsons down a few short steps to a cramped dugout set behind prison bars where actors with clawlike prop hands shook their heads.
“He’s not with us, sir,” a young woman—one of the “damned”—said.
Cal, Faith and King kept going, coming to another exit door, tripping the alarm. At this one, Faith exited and took the stairs, which landed tight to a chain-link fence. Trailers were backed against it. An empty lot stood on the other side of the fence, earthen, muddied and pot-holed with discarded tires, a stove and a filthy sofa—a menacing patch of misery.
“Gage! It’s Mom, honey! Gage!”
The fear that had seeped into her voice was unmistakable, Cal thought, joining her and searching the confined area for several minutes before returning inside. Once more they’d activated the alarm, underscoring their desperation on their way to the next set.
The air smelled as if a gas stove had been switched off when they got to where the burning witch queen had cursed them. The room’s temperature had dropped a little from the oven-level it had been during the act. The actress had left her stake and was still