Child’s Play 3

by Matthew J. Costello

  “Thanks,” he said. Beet red. Thankfully it was too dark for De Silva to see.

  As he reached the top, he heard sound. Music, strange music. Weird music. All thumping and squeaks. He hurried now, grabbing at the lip of the bluff.

  “Hear that?” he said. “There’s music or something. Do you hear it?”

  He pulled himself up to the top of the bluff, and De Silva quickly followed.

  “Yeah. Wow, it sounds like a calliope. But where?”

  Andy stood up. From here, overlooking the woods, he could see a lake—and an amusement park. “It’s a calliope,” he said. “See.”

  De Silva stood close to him. “There’s a carousel. A roller coaster. Neat.”

  Andy just looked and listened, absorbing the wonderful sounds, the music, and then, when the rollercoaster plunged, the screaming.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” De Silva said.

  Andy nodded. Yeah, cool . . . but it was a place for families, kids with their moms and dads. “I went once. A long time ago.”

  Andy wanted to look away. “I almost forgot there were places like that, where people go to have fun.”

  De Silva was close to him. Andy was aware of her standing right next to him. “It reminds me of this place my dad used to take me. I always wanted to go on the merry-go-round. He always wanted me to test my strength with those mallets.”

  Andy nodded.

  And then he heard a rustling.

  Just behind them.

  “Listen,” Andy grabbed De Silva’s arm. “There’s somebody there.”

  De Silva cocked her head. Left and then right. She shrugged. “It’s just a chipmunk—or something.”

  Andy let go of her arm. There was just the sound of the calliope now. And then the screams of the kids on the roller coaster, the roar of the wheels on the metal track.

  De Silva looked at him. “Pretty jumpy tonight?”

  Andy took a breath. Yeah, he thought. It must seem that way. He looked at De Silva, so pretty, even wearing her field uniform. “Nothing scares you, does it?”

  She grinned. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I have fears—like everyone. Just that Shelton isn’t one of them.”

  Andy looked down to the woods. He couldn’t see any other camp fire except their own. The red team—and Tyler—could be anywhere.

  “De Silva, where do you think the red team camped out?”

  “Who knows? Shelton will find them, though. He always does. He may be a jerk, but he’s great at these stupid games. He’ll find them. Why are you so curious?”

  Truth or dare time, thought Andy. I told Whitehurst about Chucky. And boy, that worked out well. The guy won’t even talk to me now. And he’s acting as if he saw Chucky in action.

  He turned to De Silva.

  Thinking: I need a friend. I could use some help. Someone who’s strong and good and doesn’t get scared.

  “De Silva—er—can I trust you?”

  She smiled, as if the question itself was absurd. “Yes! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He opened his mouth and took a deep breath. “Er . . .” Then he sighed. How to start? Where to start? Just come out and tell her? There’s a doll here. He wants Tyler’s soul . . . and he wants to kill me.

  To go back.

  To the start. To the wonderful Christmas present my mom got me. And how it cost her twenty bucks, and our life together.

  De Silva waited.

  “De Silva . . .”

  She smiled warmly, trying to make this easy. “By the way, you can call me Kristin. That’s my first name. Though I sure don’t hear it much around Kent. You got one too, I assume?”

  Andy was still thinking. Looking for a way to tell her. “Got one?” he said absently. “Got what?”

  She laughed. “A first name, Barclay.”

  He nodded. “Andy.”

  “Andy it is then. Now what were you trying to tell me.”

  Isn’t that sweet.

  Young love is about to bloom.

  Chucky shook his head. Perhaps, he thought, I can just come behind them and—poof—give them both a neat push off the edge of the cliff.

  Oh, it would be such a terrible accident.

  Chucky looked at his plastic hands, scuffed from crawling up the bluff. He looked at them, still plastic. They haven’t turned to flesh yet. That’s good. He flexed the fingers. But they’re starting to feel more real, more like my own fingers.

  He turned back to the cliff. Yeah, they looked close enough.

  Chucky took a step from behind the pine tree.

  Andy grinned.

  There was no way, no good way to tell her. Forget the whole idea, he thought.

  “Hmmm?” De Silva said, coming closer. Andy felt her touching him, felt her body pressing against him. The way it did the other day on the rifle range.

  She leaned closer. No longer really looking for Andy to say something. She leaned forward, until her lips brushed Andy’s cheek, and then moved to his lips.

  She pressed against him.

  It felt wonderful to have De Silva squeezing him, moving her wonderful lips against his while the calliope rang out “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

  Om-pa-pa! Om-pa-pa!

  Andy reached around and pulled her tighter.

  When he heard the footsteps, he broke the kiss. Andy turned to the direction the steps came from, aware that they were at the cliff edge.

  He turned. And saw Shelton.

  “Well, don’t you two look cozy. The dwebe plebe and Lady Tarzan. Break it up. It’s lights out in five minutes. And we’re moving out at dawn.”

  Andy reluctantly let go of De Silva, and walked past Shelton.

  He saw the cadet major’s smirk as he filed past him, down to the path leading down the bluff.

  Great, Andy thought. Something else for Shelton to be on my case about. And I was close, he thought. Close to telling her what’s going on, why I need her help.

  Just like I needed Kyle inside that factory.

  He waited for De Silva to catch up, and then—together—they climbed down the slope while Shelton watched them.

  When Andy got back to the camp, Ellis was on patrol, marching back and forth as if he were guarding Fort Knox.

  Andy walked past him to the tents.

  As he passed Shelton’s tent, he saw something lying on his sleeping bag.

  Andy looked back at Ellis, but he was walking in the other direction, his paint gun at the ready.

  Andy knelt down as if he were tying his shoelaces.

  He looked in the tent.

  It was a map.

  Andy remembered. Just after dinner, Shelton had gathered three of the senior cadets, and they disappeared together.

  Andy had an idea.

  Still crouching, he moved into Shelton’s tent. The lantern cast a pale yellow glow on the sleeping bag. It was a map of the woods. Andy saw the lake, the amusement park, a circle indicating the blue team.

  And there, to the north. Another circle. In red. The red team.

  Shelton was coming, following him down the bluff.

  Andy grabbed the map and slipped out of the tent.

  He looked at Ellis. Just about to turn around. Andy ran to his own tent.

  Whitehurst was already in his sleeping bag, staring up at the top of the tent.

  Andy got in quickly, and then closed the flap. But then he crouched down and—pulling the flap open just a bit—peeked out.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  Andy grabbed his pack and pulled it on.

  “What’s going on?” Whitehurst said.

  Andy looked at Whitehurst. He’s still scared, Andy thought. He won’t talk about it, but the kid’s still scared.

  Andy tightened the straps of his pack. “I’m going after Tyler.”

  Whitehurst sat up. “What? Are you crazy? You’re going after Tyler. You’ll never find him.”

  Andy shook his head. “Wanna bet.”

  He pulled out the map from his back pocket.


  “What’s that?”

  “Shelton sent out a reconnaissance squad, three guys, just after dinner. And it looks like they found the base of the red team.” Andy showed Whitehurst the big red circle on the map.

  “How’d you get that?”

  “I swiped it.”

  “Shelton will be real—”

  “I don’t give a damn about Shelton.” Andy crawled close to Whitehurst, his head bumping the top of the tent. “Now listen, Harold Aubrey. I need help. Tyler’s in trouble. You know he’s in trouble.”

  Whitehurst shook his head.

  “Listen! He’s a sitting duck out there. Now, are you with me or not?”

  Whitehurst looked away. Staring at nothing. Then, slowly, he let himself fall back to his sleeping bag.

  Andy waited. He won’t look at me, Andy thought. Can’t look at me.

  “You know, after sixteen years of people telling you you’re a wimp, you start to believe it yourself.” Whitehurst shook his head. He sounded as if he were going to cry. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Andy nodded. He patted Whitehurst’s leg.

  Then he turned around. He opened up the tent flap again. He saw Ellis, facing this way, but just about to turn around.

  And I don’t see anyone else, Andy thought.

  He waited. Ellis completed his turn. Just at that moment Andy threw the tent flap open wide and crawled out.

  He got to his feet. And then—map in hand—he ran north.

  23

  Andy darted from his tent, running with his heavy pack before Ellis made his turn. The dark maw of the woods was just there—only feet away.

  Ready to gobble me up, thought Andy.

  He heard Ellis’s voice. Andy’s breath choked in his throat and he thought, Ellis caught me.

  Where are you going, Barclay? What are you up to?

  And he’ll look and find the map I stole.

  But Andy didn’t turn back. Maybe Ellis had been talking to someone else. Maybe he didn’t care.

  Andy reached the woods and vanished down the meandering trail that led to the slope and turned north.

  To the red camp.

  A branch scratched Andy’s face, and he jumped back. It was black here. When Andy looked straight up he saw nothing, no stars, no moon—if it was out. Absolutely nothing. He jiggled the pack on his back. It seemed so heavy.

  He dug his flashlight out of the side of the flap and pulled the map from his pocket.

  He aimed the flashlight at a nearby tree. There was a dab of yellow paint on the tree. Looking back at the map, he saw the trail marked with a yellow line.

  Leading right to the red outpost.

  At least I’m going the right way, he thought. He took another step. But Andy didn’t see the twisted root sticking out across the trail. It snagged his foot, and he went flying down. His pack made him land even harder.

  Andy got up to his knees. He smelled the dirt, the rich smell of the pine trees, the air growing cold and damp.

  Got to get a move on.

  Yeah, thought Andy. Before Chucky gets to Tyler.

  He got up quickly and started hiking north.

  Chucky risked pushing the pack’s top flap open just a little. Slowly, he thought. Very slowly.

  Don’t want Andy boy to know he’s carrying a little surprise in his backpack.

  This is great, Chucky thought. Andy is so worried about Tyler, worried that I might get to him. And he’s the one carrying me right to Tyler’s camp. I was never a Boy Scout. No way I’d ever find the red camp! But Andy is doing it for me.

  Chucky saw the back of Andy’s neck. He watched him push branches away.

  One snapped back, scraping Chucky’s cheek.

  Ow, that hurt.

  Move your tail, Andy boy. Time’s a wasting. My biological clock is ticking.

  Chucky slipped back down into the pack, warm and comfortable . . . riding to the red camp.

  Whitehurst heard voices. He had been asleep, sound asleep, but now there were voices right outside his tent. He heard Ellis’s voice, and then Shelton’s. And the cadets.

  Whitehurst pulled his sleeping bag up, over his face. Hope they quiet down, Whitehurst thought. Let me get back to sleep.

  Someone opened his tent flap and a bright flashlight was aimed right at him, even shining through the sleeping bag.

  “Let’s go—up and at ’em, ladies.”

  Whitehurst reluctantly pulled down the bag. Ellis had his light aimed right at him.

  “Wha—what is it?”

  “C’mon, Whitehurst, get up. We’re moving out.”

  Whitehurst looked at Barclay’s sleeping bag, flat, like a deflated inner tube.

  Whitehurst rubbed his eyes. “But I thought we weren’t going till dawn.”

  Ellis shook his head. “Somebody stole a reconnaissance map out of Shelton’s tent, Whitehurst. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you?”

  Whitehurst shook his head. And then he saw Ellis flash his light on Barclay’s sleeping bag.

  “Hey? What’s going on here? Where’s Barclay?”

  Whitehurst turned to the bag, as if he had just noticed it was empty. He opened his mouth, about to say something.

  Exactly what he didn’t know.

  Ellis turned and shouted outside.

  “Major! Sir! I think you better have a look in here, sir!”

  Damn you Barclay. Now you’ve gotten me in even more deep shit. What a great roommate.

  Shelton stood beside Ellis, bending down and peering into the tent.

  “Yes. What is it?”

  Ellis made his flashlight move up and down Barclay’s empty sleeping bag. “Barclay’s gone AWOL, sir.”

  “What?” Shelton moved into the tent. He looked at the sleeping bag and—oh, lucky day—he looked at Whitehurst.

  His face looked extremely unhappy.

  Shelton smacked his fist into his palm. “I knew it. That bastard, that traitor took the map. He’s doubling for the reds! Can you believe it?”

  Whitehurst was about to answer that, no, I can’t believe it. But Shelton hurried on. Just a rhetorical question, thought Whitehurst.

  Shelton grinned. The glow from his flashlight made his face look demonic. He grinned at Ellis, then at Whitehurst. “Where is he, fat boy?”

  Whitehurst cleared his throat. “I—er, I don’t know sir. I don’t . . .”

  Shelton shook his head, still grinning. “No matter. If Barclay is doubling for the red team, have we got a surprise for them.”

  Shelton shot another weird look at Whitehurst.

  He’s crazy, thought Whitehurst. Shelton thinks he’s Patton—no, Napoleon. He doesn’t understand that this is just a stupid school, that we’re just kids. AWOL. Traitors.

  God, Shelton is nuts.

  Still grinning, Shelton said, “Be ready to move out in five minutes.”

  Whitehurst watched Ellis return the salute sharply, obviously caught up in the wartime mentality of Shelton. “Yes, sir.”

  Shelton left and Ellis turned back to Whitehurst. “Hey, you heard the man. Get off your ass and get moving.” Then Ellis left, and Whitehurst weighed the chances that he could sink back down into his bag and everyone would forget about him. But he shook his head and stood up, feeling cold and tired and—he admitted—a little worried about Barclay.

  I should tell Barclay I saw the doll.

  Whitehurst pulled on his pants. I will, he told himself. Next time I see Barclay. I’ll tell him. Tell him that I saw the doll. I saw it killing Botnick. And, and . . .

  I’ll help Barclay. I’ll help him with whatever he has to do.

  Whitehurst pulled on a Kent sweatshirt, wondering where the hell Andy Barclay was.

  The yellow trail crossed a stream and—in the dark—Andy had to step on stones barely visible in the water. They were covered with a slippery moss.

  He took one step, and his foot slipped into the shallow stream. His boot and sock were immediately soaked.

  He pulled his foot o
ut and stepped onto the next stone.

  There was still no sign of the red camp.

  Andy got to the other side of the stream. He stopped again, and checked the map. He aimed his light at the map, following the yellow trail. Yes, the trail came to a stream, and then a small hill.

  And there, he saw the big red circle.

  He shrugged his shoulders, trying to settle his heavy pack.

  With his light picking up the yellow mark on a nearby tree, he started closing in on the red camp.

  Just at the top of the hill, Andy came to the red camp.

  There were two young cadets on guard duty, but they seemed more interested in talking to each other. They won’t be a problem, thought Andy.

  No, the real problem will be finding out which tent Tyler is in.

  He waited.

  Damn, I can’t go checking every tent. Hello, is Tyler in here? I’m from the blue team.

  What do they do to spies in kiddie military school?

  Shoot them at dawn with paint pellets?

  Andy waited.

  He saw a little kid come out of a small tent off to the side. The cadet trotted off to the cover of some bushes. Nature calls.

  It calls little kids quite frequently, Andy thought. So I could wait here for Tyler to pop out. All evening.

  Andy rubbed his chin. Then he had an idea. He look off his blue arm band and scooted over to where the kid was peeing.

  “Hey, you,” Andy said.

  He caught the kid in midstream.

  “Yeah?”

  Andy smiled. “Oh, just checking. I heard a noise.”

  There, Andy thought. I hope I sound like a proper authority figure.

  “Thought someone might be sneaking up on us,” Andy said.

  The kid nodded. He wiped his nose. Charming.

  “Better get back to your tent,” Andy said.

  He looked over at the red guards, standing near the camp fire, completely unprepared for an attack.

  The kid turned and started to leave.

  “Oh, I wanted to check up on Tyler. Which tent is he in?”

  “Number three,” the kid said. Then he pointed helpfully.

  Andy nodded.

  Loose lips sink ships, he thought. The red team better shore up its security.

  Andy waited until the kid went back into his tent, before he started creeping behind the tents, out of sight, making his way closer to Tyler.