by R. L. Stine
I walked with all my senses alert, listening for sounds of my pursuers, my eyes scanning the darkness for any movement. The dirt crunched under my shoes. Despite the cold air, I kept mopping sweat off my forehead with the back of one hand.
My heart started to pound when a broad stretch of gray opened before me. I realized I had come to the end of the trees. Squinting hard, I could see a wide patch of tall grass, waving first one direction, then the other in the swirling wind.
The wind gusts grew stronger. The air suddenly felt heavy and wet.
I stepped away from the forest of trees, onto the sweeping grassland. And almost cried out for joy when I saw the water. Yes. The lake. Low, purple waves lapping at the grassy shore, such a soft and soothing sound.
The lake. I’d reached the lake. Mac’s canoe. The boat the gunmen came over on. They had to be at the dock.
I can escape. I can get back to town and get help for Brendan—and for the other kids.
Shielding my eyes with one hand, I gazed down the shore and saw the dock jutting out into the lake. Yes. I’d reached the dock, stretching over the water like a huge dark insect. Squinting hard, the cold wind blowing against my burning face, I stared at it.
And then I let out a low moan.
The dock stood empty.
No canoe.
No boat.
No escape.
37.
WET
I stared at the dock, as if willing a boat to appear. The tall grass tilted around me in the steady rush of swirling wind. The only other sound was the gentle splash of the dark waves against the dock pilings.
I thought I heard something. I sucked in a mouthful of air. I spun around. Away from the water. Squinted into the trees. No. No one there.
You’re alone here, Rachel. What are you going to do next?
A strange feeling of calmness had fallen over me. I realized that I could take only so much fear, feel only so much panic. And then a weird feeling of numbness made me let out a long, weary sigh.
I started to breathe normally. I tucked my hands into my pockets. I stopped trembling. I turned back to the dock.
So okay. I couldn’t escape the island by boat. A new plan was definitely needed.
What are you going to do, Rachel?
My brain was spinning. I could almost hear the gears going around. I knew I didn’t have many choices. I could wait here near the dock, just in case the servants’ boat was really returning as Brendan said it would.
I could go back to the house. Maybe I could set the kids in the basement free. Then we’d outnumber the gunmen and …
No. That was stupid. And dangerous.
What other choices did I have? I could hide in the woods …
The strange calm I felt quickly began to dissolve. I thought about Brendan. Had they killed him? Did they really plan to kill me?
The whoosh whoosh whoosh of footsteps over the tall grass came so fast, I didn’t have time to think.
They were coming. Nowhere to hide here. The tall grass wouldn’t hide me. No way to slip into the shadows of the dock.
The running footsteps grew louder.
My chest felt about to explode. My head throbbed with panic. I glanced all around.
I had to hide—or else I was dead.
I lurched forward and stepped into the water. I had my eyes on the log pilings that held up the dock. If I could slip behind them …
So cold! Oh, so cold. The shock of the cold water made it hard to move.
I can’t do this. My teeth are chattering already.
My shoes felt so heavy on the sandy lake floor. I leaned forward—strained against the cold—and forced myself to move. In seconds, the frozen water was up to my knees. My whole body shivered.
“Oh. Oh. Oh.” The icy cold water made me moan out loud.
I reached the pilings. Wrapped my arms around one of the tall logs. Swung myself behind it.
The low waves bobbed, rising to my shoulders. I held onto the dark logs. Pressed myself behind them.
I’m out of sight here. But I’m going to freeze to death in a minute or two. Or drown.
I held my breath, trying to stop my body from shuddering. Water filled my shoes, soaked my clothing, holding me down. A tall wave sent water sweeping up to my chin.
Water splashed into my throat. Thick and icy cold. I started to choke. I clung to the wet, slippery log. Struggling to breathe, I gagged, then spit out water and shut my eyes against another wave.
Were the two men on the shore? Had they seen me hide here?
I couldn’t hear them over the roar and splash of the waves against the pilings.
Holding tightly to the log, I peered out. Turned myself so I could see the shore.
Water ran down my eyes. I tried to blink it away.
I’m going to die here. I’m going to freeze to death.
“Rachel—” A hoarse voice called.
Huh?
They’ve found me. They’ve got me.
I turned. I leaned my head and peeked out from behind the pilings. And gasped in surprise.
“Mac? You’re alive? Mac? Is it really you?”
38.
HELP
His hair was wind-blown, wild about his head. His eyes were wide, intense.
He nodded. “I’m alive.”
He moved to the water’s edge. I reached out my hands. I let him pull me from the lake.
My clothes were soaked. Water ran down my face. I couldn’t stop shivering. But I stared at him in disbelief. “I-I thought…” I stammered.
“You thought I was shot?” He shook his head. “No. I wasn’t hit.” He tried to brush his hair down with both hands.
“I … saw you go down,” I stammered.
“I wasn’t shot. I faked it,” he said. “I wanted to give you and Brendan a chance to escape. The bullet hit the wall. It didn’t even come close to me.”
I didn’t know what to say. Seeing Mac was like seeing a ghost. More like seeing Patti, Kerry, and Eric alive again. Only Mac wasn’t playing a game. And the rifle the tall gunman fired was real.
He tugged off his leather jacket and wrapped it around my trembling shoulders.
“Mac … How did you escape? How did you find me?”
“They both ran out,” he said, his eyes still locked on mine. “They went after you and Brendan. I waited till they were gone. Then I took off. I figured…” His voice trailed off.
“You were so brave in there,” I said. “You came running at them. I thought … I thought you were crazy. But…”
Mac finally lifted his gaze. He turned and glanced behind him. “We have to hurry, Rachel. Follow me.”
“Follow you? Where?”
He motioned up the shore. Above us, the moon reappeared. Mac’s eyes glinted like silver in the sudden light. “Come on,” he whispered. “There’s no time. I have a canoe, Rachel.”
He started to trot through the tall grass, following the shoreline. “I hid it on the other side. Away from the dock. Hurry.”
I hesitated. Should I follow him? What about Brendan?
If I got back to town, I could get the Shadyside police. I could rescue Brendan and the kids in the basement
Mac motioned to me impatiently. “Come on. Move. Let’s go. I’ll get you off this island.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I spoke the words in a trembling whisper. Was I really getting out of this nightmare alive?
Leaning into the wind, I followed Mac across the grass. Our shadows were long under the moonlight, like fingers stretching out in front of us. We followed the curve of the island. Slender trees poked along the waterline, leaning forward as if trying to escape the island, too.
Another sharp curve found us back in the woods. Silvery moonlight darted in and out, making it all seem unreal, making the trees appear to pop in and out.
“Mac—where are we going?” I cried. “It took me so long to find my way out of the trees. And now—”
“My canoe is around the next curve, Rachel,” he
replied. He waited for me to catch up with him. Then he put a hand around my waist and guided me through the maze of trees and underbrush.
I couldn’t wait. I wanted to see that canoe. I wanted to be on the water, crossing the choppy, black waters to safety.
“Around this way,” he said, tightening his arm around me. He guided me over a fallen tree limb and through a narrow opening between low evergreen shrubs.
“But we’re heading away from the water. Aren’t we—”
I stopped when I saw the men in the small clearing past the shrubs. The two masked gunmen. And Brendan. Yes. Brendan was with them. One of the gunmen held Brendan’s arms behind him. The other stood waiting for Mac and me, rifle poised at his side. “Welcome back,” he said.
A trap. Mac led me into a trap.
I spun hard and faced him, my anger bursting out of me. “How could you? Why? Why, Mac? Why did you do this to me?”
39.
BETRAYED
Mac still had his arm around my waist. I spun away from him, glaring at him furiously.
He took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I had to bring you to them. I didn’t have a choice. I had to.”
“Had to?” I cried. “Why?”
“He’s my dad, Rachel. I knew you recognized him. I had no choice. I couldn’t let you get away.”
“Your dad?”
Of course. That’s why the blue-eyed gunman seemed so familiar.
In my panic, my brain wasn’t functioning. Of course it was Mac’s dad.
Dwight Garland.
Garland tugged the ski mask off his head and tossed it to the ground. His shaved head glistened with sweat. His steel blue eyes narrowed at me. He’d never been very friendly. I always thought he didn’t like me. But now I saw more than anger on his face. I saw a hardness, an expression that went beyond cold.
“Thanks, Mac,” he said in a flat voice. “We couldn’t let Rachel get away—could we?”
I stared from Mac to his dad.
No wonder Mac knew so much about what was going down here. No wonder he tried to stop me from coming to the party. He knew what his father had planned.
“I really did try to stop him,” Mac said to me. “I really did try to take away the rifle. But … once I figured out that you recognized him, I had to protect him. I had to bring you back to him.”
“Shut up, Mac!” Garland snarled at his son. “Just shut up. I mean it.”
Mac had it wrong. I didn’t recognize his father. But, what did that matter now?
Still masked, the other gunman kept his tight grip on Brendan. Brendan had his head lowered, his shoulders slumped. But now he raised his eyes to me. Even at a distance, I could see the terror on his face.
“We’re in trouble here, Rachel,” Brendan said. “We’re in major trouble.”
“Shut up!” the masked gunman snarled. He jerked Brendan hard. He turned to Dwight Garland. “What are we going to do with these two? They know who you are. We have to kill them. Don’t you see? We can’t let them—”
“I haven’t decided,” Garland snapped.
“Maybe we can make it look like they killed each other,” his partner said.
“You can’t kill them, Dad,” Mac chimed in. “No way. It’s bad enough you kidnapped them. But you … you’re not a murderer. You can’t…”
“I told you—shut up!” Garland snapped. “I never wanted you involved in this. I told you to stay away from the island. If you had just listened to me for once in your life.…”
“Let us go,” Brendan said. “Let us go, and I promise—we won’t tell anyone about this. We’ll pretend it never happened. Really.” Brendan was breathing hard. “And I’ll tell my dad to pay you. I will. I’ll get you the money. I promise.”
Garland laughed. “You sound like a bad movie.”
“It isn’t funny,” his partner said. “We can still collect the ransom, Dwight. But if we don’t kill them, we’ll be caught for sure.”
Garland didn’t reply. He was studying Mac. Mac had his fists balled tightly at his sides. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving up and down.
“Mac, I want you to go home now,” he said finally. He motioned with his head. “Get in your canoe and get out of here.”
“But, Dad—”
Garland raised a hand to silence him. “No arguments. I want you home. I don’t want you here if … if bad things happen.” He stepped beside his partner. “Go, Mac. Now.”
Mac had his jaw set tight. He curled and uncurled his fists. He glanced at me, his face tight with anger. Or fear. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
I didn’t care what he was thinking or feeling. I could feel my own anger boiling up inside me.
I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I knew this might be my last chance to act.
With a furious cry, I dove forward and grabbed Mac with both hands. I squeezed my hands around his shoulders—and heaved. I heaved him hard, with all my anger, all my strength.
I was startled by how light he felt and how little resistance he gave. He went sailing, stumbling backward and toppled into his father and the other kidnapper.
Cursing loudly, both men went down, tumbling onto each other. The rifle bounced out of Garland’s hand and slid over the dirt.
“Brendan—move!” I screamed. I knew we had only seconds till they were back on their feet.
I spun away. I hurtled into the trees. I heard their angry shouts behind me. I heard Mac scream, “Put the gun down!” I heard curses and then the thud of shoes on the dirt.
Was Brendan right behind me? Did he get away?
Without slowing down, I turned back. “Brendan?” No. No, he wasn’t there. He didn’t escape them. “I’ll get help, Brendan,” I murmured to myself, a promise I hoped I’d be able to keep.
I ducked under a low tree limb, covered in dark moss. A tangle of prickly brambles scraped my ankles, but I didn’t slow down. I kicked them away as I ran. Yellow-green moonlight cast eerie shadows all around. I tried to ignore them, but each shadow made me think the two gunmen were running beside me.
I’m running for my life. If they catch me, they’ll kill me.
A voice from behind me—close behind me—called my name. “Rachel. Rachel—stop.”
Mac’s dad. Did he see me? His running footsteps seemed to be coming from my right. I turned. I couldn’t see him. He was coming after me by himself. His partner must have stayed back at the small clearing, holding Brendan.
I stopped running. I lowered myself behind a tall, slender pine shrub. I struggled to slow my wheezing breaths. I listened.
“Rachel—you can’t get away.” Garland’s voice sounded farther away. Back in the trees. “Listen to me. I’m not going to kill you. I swear. I’m not a killer, Rachel. Do you believe me?”
He stopped running. I knew he was searching for me in the trees. Searching and listening.
I held my breath. I tried to squeeze myself smaller to hide behind the slender shrub.
“Rachel? I know you’re here,” Garland called, more tense, his voice tight and shrill, ringing off the bare trees. “I’m not going to hurt you, Rachel. We’re just going to keep you and the Fear boy here till the money arrives from his father. Then you’ll never see us again.”
A long silence. My nose itched. I squeezed it hard. I knew a sneeze would be my doom.
“Do you hear me?” Garland called. “Can you hear what I’m saying?”
Good. He doesn’t see me. And he doesn’t know how close I am.
“Do you believe me? Come out, Rachel. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I heard a splash behind me. A soft wash of water. Silently, I turned my head from the shrub. Through a clump of slender trees, I could see the dark outline of the water. The lake. I didn’t realize I was so near the shore.
I held my breath and didn’t move. I heard Garland mutter something to himself. A few more low curses. Then I heard the crack of leaves and the soft thud of his shoes on the ground. I listened hard, so h
ard my ears were ringing.
He was moving away from me.
“I’m going to find you,” he called. “You can’t escape.”
I waited, listening to the scrape of his fading footsteps. Waited. A very long wait, it seemed. An eternity.
Then when I felt certain he wasn’t nearby, I rose to my feet. My back ached from hunching so long behind the shrub. I tried to stretch the pain away. Then I took off, heart pounding, walking carefully, hurrying to the water.
I stood at the soft grass on the shore. Water lapped over my already-soaked shoes. Moonlight sent ripples of gold on the low waves.
I nearly cried with happiness when I saw the canoe. It was perched down the grassy shore, paddles tilted over its sides. A beam of yellow moonlight played over it like a spotlight.
A canoe. Mac’s canoe.
I took a few cautious steps toward it. I’d never paddled a canoe. But I knew it wouldn’t be hard. Beth and I had gone kayaking with our cousin on a lake last summer. That was easy and fun. A canoe couldn’t be much harder.
I took a deep breath and trotted toward it. The ground became soft, and my shoes splashed up mud as I ran. I planned my moves as I ran. Push the canoe into the water. Climb in and grab a paddle. I was a few feet from the canoe when the voice rang out sharply behind me.
“Stop right there, Rachel.”
I turned to see Dwight Garland, his bald head glowing in the moonlight, hunting rifle poised, raised to his shoulder.
“N-no—” I stammered.
“Just stop right there. Step away from the canoe.” He motioned with the rifle. “Don’t just stand there,” he snarled. “Move away!”
“No,” I repeated. My throat felt so tight, my voice barely escaped. “No. I’m going. You won’t shoot me.”
“Step away,” Garland insisted, taking a step toward me. He slid the rifle onto his shoulder. The barrel was pointed at me. “Don’t test me, Rachel. I don’t want to hurt you. Step away.”
“No!” The word burst from my mouth again. I moved to the back of the canoe and lowered myself to shove it off the grass and into the water.