Rude slams and brushes buffeted her, like the best of slap’n’smack dancing, only far more hectic and nowhere near as fun.
They would break free, she and Bowser.
There had to be a way out.
And they’d find it, her classmates be damned.
A mad scurry filled every glance she threw.
They were all out for survival, thought Peach. And not one of them would survive.
PART FOUR. Catching the Ice Ghoul
Most people have ears, but few have judgment; tickle those ears, and depend upon it, you will catch their judgments, such as they are.
Trust not one night’s ice.
18. Fear and Weapons
In the spiffy outfits the State had given them for their delivery into Zane Fronemeyer’s hands, Bray felt-as they explored Corundum High’s backways-like a prince with his princess passing through the scullery, the cramped living quarters of the poor.
Winnie’s gown snagged on a nail and ripped.
The backways were ill-lit and dank, choked with spiderwebs and the threat of rats. The air was close and confining, hot enough to make Bray wish his tux were made of lighter stuff.
“Where are we?” asked Winnie.
“Let’s see,” Bray said, moving toward the next dim lightbulb, waist-high on his right.
Randomly placed along the walls, the bulbs were of minimal wattage. They glowed rather than shone. That and faint copying made the map barely readable, even when it was held inches from the light.
The designated slasher clearly needed a tiny flashlight. Bray supposed that whoever had killed Fronemeyer had taken one from the packet.
Why hadn’t he taken the map? Perhaps he was already acquainted with the backways, a slasher from years past.
“I think we’re beyond the auditorium. We’ve dipped under the corridor on the east. That way,” Bray gestured right, “is the band room. See how it curves off?”
“I’ll take your word for it. What’s over there?”
“Cafeteria, I think. Can’t tell though if it’s the dining area or the kitchen.”
Truth was, they could be completely turned around. Disorientation crowded all about and may already have claimed them. An adventure that had begun with confidence, as they slipped through a panel by the auditorium, now felt full of uncertainty and trepidation.
“Let’s peek out and see.”
“What if there’s someone there? A couple of seniors?” he asked.
“What if?” Winnie was exasperated.
“They see us, they think we’re behind the killings, a crazed student body somehow gets us, it’s all over.”
“Christ, Bray,” she said, “do you expect to spend the rest of your life in here?”
“It’s just safer, that’s all. It’s the prudent thing to do. He’s in here somewhere, I know it.”
“You’re a fucking wimp.”
“We’ll find him. Or he’ll find us.” We’ll fight him and kill him, he thought. “You can talk to him, you’re good at that.”
“That’s why you jumped your prom. That’s why you ran.”
“You can reason with him, bring the poor guy out into the public spotlight like you want to.”
“You’ve got no guts,” she said. “I say we have a look.” Even in insulting him, she was beautiful.
No way was their friendly slasher going to hold still for a dollop of argument. It was kill or be killed. That’s what it would come down to.
And he’d have to save Winnie. He’d have to rip the bastard’s guts out, to keep Winnie from harm and to prove to her he was no coward.
“You’re wrong about me,” he said.
“If only.”
“Okay, let’s have a look.”
The panels were clearly marked, bold and readable. A large white number, in this case a 975, was painted above the release.
Bray pressed the release and the panel slid open. Cooler air and indirect light rushed in, sudden unexpected friends.
No one there.
He breathed easier.
“Bunch of tables,” said Winnie behind him.
“Yes.”
Six chairs were upturned on each tabletop, their metal legs like TV antennas aligned, roof after roof. Bray peered out, his thumb keeping the panel retracted.
Somewhere in the distance arose a muffled hubbub. But other than pillows against the walls and posterboard with student numbers inscribed, the cafeteria was empty.
Winnie shouldered him aside, angling for a clearer view. Her body was warm and wonderful beside him. “I guess this shows you can read a map, at least,” she said.
Bray had a sudden image of someone creeping up on them in the narrow passageway, behind their backs, a knife raised, ready to fall.
“What is it?” Winnie asked.
He realized he had tensed.
“Nothing,” he said.
But he drew back and Winnie came with him. He let the panel shut with a faint whoosh.
It was damned dark in here. The dank heat, woody as a fresh pine box, crept in around them again.
Bray wished his eyes would adapt more quickly to the darkness. But even when the faint outlines of the backways resolved themselves, he had the persistent feeling that someone or something held them in its gaze, waiting, waiting to rush them or to strike as they passed by.
“This is hopeless,” said Winnie. “It’s an endless maze. He could be anywhere. Maybe even gone home by now.”
Winnie was full of surprises, thought Bray. Fired up one moment, now suddenly discouraged.
“Nope, our killer’s still here,” he said. “I can feel it.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybes. He’s not finished. Sooner or later, we’ll meet him. And somehow we’ll stop him.”
“We’ll talk him down. Coax the fight out of him,” she said, more assured.
“You got it,” said Bray, imagining a quick tussle with an unknown assailant, tackling him from the darkness,
