He turned his head to it, staring straight into its lens like a wolf staring into the telescopic sight of a gun.
His eyes never leaving the camera, Jeff Kina slowly gathered himself into a crouch, every movement so subtle and smooth it was barely perceptible.
Had he been in a field of tall grass, barely a blade would have stirred.
He froze, his eyes fixed on the camera, waiting.
Then he sprang, launching himself from the floor on which he lay, his body extending with the grace of a leaping cat, his arms stretching outward as his hands reached for the camera, his legs extending behind him as they hurled his huge frame upward.
And in a split second he slammed against an unseen barrier.
A grunt escaping his lips, he fell back to the floor, pain shooting through his right hip and his left knee as they struck hard against the surface of the tile beneath him.
He lay still, waiting for the pain to ease, then slowly got to his feet and began moving cautiously, his hands and fingers reaching out to explore the strange surroundings.
He was in a box.
A large box, transparent, not cold to the touch.
Plexiglas.
The thick gray-brown fog that swirled around him had kept him from seeing it before, but now, as he made his way around its perimeter for the second time, he could see it as well as feel it.
He was trapped, imprisoned in the box, which seemed to have no entry or exit, except for two vents through which the foglike atmosphere swirled, and a small air Jock, with a door on each side.
He could open the inner door, but not the outer one.
He was imprisoned, like a wild animal.
And to the men who watched the image the camera above him was capturing, a wild animal was exactly what he appeared to be.
A feral creature, pacing the confines of its cage.
Michael was just closing his locker before going to the cafeteria for lunch when he heard the voice behind him.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to get scared.”
Michael didn’t need to be told what Rick Pieper was talking about; he’d been growing more and more worried himself all morning, ever since Josh had not turned up at the break after second period, and even after hearing the radio report of Jeff’s disappearance, he’d still half expected to see the big Hawaiian under the banyan tree where the rest of the track team hung out. But when Jeff failed to appear … “Did you try to call Jeff?” he asked as they started toward the cafeteria.
Rick nodded. “I talked to his mom just before third period. She said he went out around nine last night and didn’t come home. She said she called the cops around four in the morning.”
Michael stopped short just outside the cafeteria door and waited until the kids behind them had gone inside. “Maybe we should call them ourselves,” he said. “I mean, after what happened to Kioki—”
“We don’t know what happened to Kioki,” Rick countered.
“What if someone saw us break into that dive shop the night before last?” Michael pressed, searching for an explanation — any explanation — for what had happened to Kioki, and could now explain why Josh Malani and Jeff Kina had disappeared. “I mean, what if someone told the guy who owns the shop who it was that broke in?”
Rick Pieper’s eyes widened as the implication of what Michael was saying sank in, but a moment later he shook his head. “Ken Richter wouldn’t do something like that.”
“How do you know?” Michael demanded. “In New York—”
“This isn’t New York,” Rick said sharply. “If Ken was going to do anything at all, he’d call the cops, and the deputy who talked to us yesterday didn’t say anything about breaking into the dive shop.”
“So what else could it be?” Michael demanded. “Were Josh and Jeff in any kind of trouble?”
Rick hesitated.
“What?” Michael prompted him.
“Jeff wasn’t in any trouble,” Rick said carefully, “but Josh Malani’s always in some kind of mess—”
“Oh, yeah?” a voice asked, and Rick spun around to see Josh Malani himself coming around the corner of the cafeteria, his eyes glinting angrily. “Just because I don’t suck up to everyone like—”
“Well, I guess we can stop worrying about Josh,” Rick cut in, his voice turning cold and his expression tightening. Before either Michael or Josh could say anything else, Rick stalked off into the cafeteria.
Michael stared at Josh’s rumpled clothes and the smears of dirt on his face, seeing in an instant that Josh hadn’t been home since last night. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where’s Jeff?”
“Oh, Jeez,” Josh whispered. “He isn’t here?”
There was something in his friend’s voice that made the apprehension Michael had been feeling all morning congeal into fear. He shook his head and told Josh what he had heard on the radio and what Rick had just confirmed.
“I ran into him after I left your house,” Josh said. He glanced around nervously. “Maybe we better get out of here, huh?”
“You mean just cut school for the rest of the day?” Michael asked. “Come on, Josh! Just tell me what’s going on, okay?”
“Not here!” Josh said as the cafeteria door opened and two kids came out, looked uncertainly at them, then hurried on. “What’s wrong with them?” Josh asked as they disappeared around the corner.
“Have you taken a look at yourself? What did you do last night?”
Josh felt a flicker of anger. Why was Mike quizzing him so much? It wasn’t as if he was asking much.…
But if he got pissed off at Michael, where could he go? Who could he even talk to? And he was starting to feel bad, too. But why wouldn’t he, after breathing all that smoke in the cane field last night, then sleeping in his truck? “Look, let’s just go over to the locker room. At least I can take a shower, and I’ll tell you what happened last night. But you gotta promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
Dropping several quarters into the vending machine outside the cafeteria door, Michael got a couple of Cokes, a bag of Fritos, and two packages of stale-looking cookies. Popping the top off one of the Cokes, he handed it to Josh, who took a long swig from it as they started toward the locker room. But as Josh lifted the Coke to his lips for a second drink, he was seized by a fit of coughing.
“You okay?” Michael asked.
Josh shook his head. “I feel like crap.”
In the locker room, Josh stripped out of his clothes and went into the showers. As he stood under the steaming water, scrubbing the soot and dirt from his skin, he finally told Michael what had happened last night.
“You just left him there?” Michael asked as Josh finished his shower and grabbed a towel.
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Josh shot back as he started to dry off, his temper flaring again. “He wouldn’t get back in the truck, and the fire was all around us, and those guys were coming, and—” His words were cut short as another hacking cough doubled him over.
“Maybe you better go home,” Michael said.
“Home?” Josh demanded as the coughing subsided. “That’s real easy for you, isn’t it, Mike? Your mom doesn’t get drunk and start pounding on you, like my dad does, and—” Suddenly Josh could barely breathe. Choking, he stumbled out of the locker room and shambled toward the rest room.
Michael hurried after him, and by the time he got to the rest room, Josh had sagged to the floor, his face pale. Frightened by the sudden change in his friend, Michael reached out and touched Josh’s arm.
His skin was cold and clammy.
Josh was gasping for breath. “What is it?” Michael asked. “What’s wrong?”
Josh peered up at Michael out of eyes that seemed to be glazing over. “D-Don’t know,” he gasped. “C–Can’t breathe …”
Michael’s eyes widened. Asthma? Could Josh be having an attack of asthma? His atomizer — the one his mother still made him take with him all the time, even though he hadn’t had an attack of asthma in over a year … where was it?
