Child’s Play 3

by Matthew J. Costello

  24

  A shadow made by the camp fire crept slowly across Tyler’s sleeping body. The boy stirred.

  Andy inched closer to Tyler’s ear. “Tyler,” he whispered.

  Tyler’s eyes stayed shut. “Tyler!” Andy said. He turned to see that Tyler’s roommate, Parker, was still asleep. Then looked back at Tyler. “Wake up.”

  The boy’s eyelids, heavy with sleep, slipped open. Tyler wiped at his eyes. And then he saw Andy. He didn’t react for a moment, but then Tyler looked to his left, to his gun. He reached for it.

  Andy beat him to it, grabbing the gun and pulling it back. Aiming it at Tyler.

  It was loaded only with paint pellets, but the game was probably very real to Tyler.

  “Uh-uh, soldier. I’ve got you covered.” Tyler stopped moving. “Now, don’t make me shoot you.”

  Tyler put his hands up. “I’m cool.”

  Andy nodded. He waved the rifle at Tyler. “Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

  The kid gulped. “You mean, I’m a prisoner?”

  “Get moving,” Andy said.

  Whitehurst grabbed at a bush to help himself up the slope. This is crazy, insane, searching for Barclay like this, he thought. It’s pitch-black. But Shelton seemed to be digging it, Whitehurst saw. The guy was made for war. Whitehurst saw Shelton raise his hand.

  Ellis stopped behind his commanding officer. “Company halt,” Ellis said. De Silva, Ivers, and the others stopped.

  Shelton looked down at a map.

  “Let’s fan out,” he said. “Barclay might not have taken the yellow trail. De Silva, take the left flank.”

  De Silva rolled her eyes.

  Shelton tossed her a walkie-talkie. “Check in every few minutes. If you see—or hear—anything, call in. Emerson, you go right.”

  Shelton turned to Whitehurst. He sneered. “Whitehurst, stay up with us! You’re slowing us down.”

  Whitehurst nodded. Thinking: what an idiot.

  Shelton nodded, the commander in chief. “Everybody, let’s move out.”

  The blue team was on the march again.

  Every few seconds Tyler turned around to check that Andy had the rifle trained on him.

  Poor kid’s worried, thought Andy. If he gets covered with paint, red or blue, he’s out of the game. A fatal wound is a fatal wound. And Tyler, video game nut that he is, doesn’t want to miss any of the fun.

  Only this isn’t part of the game. This isn’t fun.

  “Where are you taking me?” Tyler said.

  Andy gestured with the gun, pointing to an opening in the tangle of bushes and trees. He decided not to take the yellow trail back. Someone might be looking for me, Andy thought. Or maybe I’ll bump into the Chuck man himself.

  In the dark.

  With his big pigsticker.

  So Andy followed a makeshift path beside the trail while making his way slowly through the brush.

  “C’mon,” Tyler repeated. “I’m a prisoner of war. You have to tell me where you are taking me.”

  Andy laughed. “Anywhere, sprout. Back to school, back to my camp. Anywhere. You just can’t be left alone.”

  Tyler shook his head. “I don’t get your strategy.”

  “I’ll explain it to you later. After all this is over.”

  Tyler stopped. The gun barrel hit Tyler’s back.

  “What’s up?” Andy asked.

  “I have to take a leak.”

  “Right. Okay. Me too, now that you mention it. Go find a spot. But don’t get out of my sight.”

  Tyler moved to his right, disappearing into the gloom.

  Andy could see his dark shape blending with the trees, the scrubby brushes. If I blink, he’ll disappear, Andy thought.

  He slipped the pack off his back. It landed with a thud. Then Andy moved to the left, still keeping his eye locked on the shape of Tyler, somewhere in the darkness.

  Andy unzipped.

  He pissed, and he looked down—just to make sure that he wasn’t standing down slope—for only a second.

  He turned back to check on Tyler.

  But he was gone.

  Tyler finished, pulled up his fly, and took a step. Then he saw Chucky, standing there, hiding behind a tree.

  Tyler smiled. What a neat surprise! Charles came to find me. He saw Charles put a finger up to his lips, telling him to be quiet.

  Tyler took another step closer to him, a step away from Andy.

  This is great, thought Tyler.

  He heard Andy coming behind him. Charles slid behind a tree again.

  Tyler hid behind another tree. Thinking: This is real great.

  Andy held the gun up. “Tyler? Tyler? Where are you?”

  Andy started walking to the right, where Tyler should have been.

  How could he have disappeared so fast? Andy thought. It’s not possible.

  “Boo!” Tyler popped out from behind the tree.

  Andy’s heart did a flip-flop. He leveled the gun at the kid.

  “Let’s go, Tyler. Enough fooling around. That’s it.”

  Andy walked Tyler over to his pack.

  And he saw that the top flap was open.

  He bent down to the pack. Andy thought: I know I tied the flap securely. I know I tied it tight, and . . .

  He looked up.

  Tyler was gone again.

  “Tyler . . . Tyler!” Andy looked around, but he saw no reassuring black shape, no dark figure darting about. He saw nothing.

  “Oh, god, no,” Andy whispered. “Don’t let him get away. Not out here. Please.”

  “Tyler, come back. Tyler, the game’s over. Ty—”

  Andy looked back at the pack. The open flap. The pack had felt so heavy.

  Andy felt his stomach go tight. He felt sick, as if he had to throw up.

  Oh, god. He knew why the pack had been so heavy.

  “Hey, kid, watch the branches,” Chucky ordered.

  Chucky had his little doll legs wrapped around the kid’s neck, riding him. And if I want to go left, he thought, I give him a little squeeze left, and if I want to go right, just squeeze right.

  “That was a close one, Charles. Thanks for rescuing me.”

  Chucky laughed. “What are friends for? Now we can play swap the soul.”

  But Chucky felt the kid shake his head. “No, I’m tired of playing. I just want to go back to bed. We can play tomorrow. When I wake up.”

  Wrong-o, kid. Chucky felt the boy’s small neck with his hands. If I didn’t need his body, he thought. I could do wonders with the boy’s trachea.

  Instead, he leaned close and said, right in Tyler’s ear, “You’re a goddamn drag, you know that?”

  Tyler looked around at Chucky, a hurt expression on his face. Uh-oh. I hurt the brat’s feelings. Got to be careful.

  “Charles, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, kid, I just thought—”

  Tyler tripped and Chucky felt himself flying forward, over the boy.

  Chucky landed with a thud. He patted the pocket where he kept the knife. It was gone. He got to his knees and looked around.

  Tyler came running over to him. “Hey, I’m sorry. You okay, Charles, you . . .”

  Chucky kept looking around, until he saw the knife. He grabbed it and quickly tried to hide it behind his back.

  Not quickly enough.

  “Hey. What’s the knife for?”

  Chucky made his doll eyes go wide. “Knife? What knife?”

  Tyler pointed to the arm Chucky held behind his back. “You’re hiding it behind your back.”

  Chucky blinked his eyes, hoping he looked properly stupefied. Then he slowly brought his hand in front. “Ohhhh. You mean this knife.”

  He looked at Tyler, whose face looked confused, hesitant. Can’t have that, now can we?

  Chucky took a step closer to him.

  “Charles?”

  The kid was nervous. As if I give a damn.

  Chucky sneered. The Good Guy smile was gone. No more smiling at
this brat.

  He snarled at the boy. “Stop calling me that! My name’s Chucky. You got that? Chucky . . . and it’s show time, twerp.”

  Tyler backed up. Chucky liked seeing that the little kid so scared. Kind of nice, after waiting so long. Don’t want to rush the sensation.

  Tyler shook his head. The dawn of understanding.

  Wake up and smell the coffee, kiddo.

  “B-Barclay was right. You’re not a Good Guy.”

  Chucky nodded. Yes, this is definitely enjoyable. Heightening someone’s consciousness.

  “Sorry, kid. You got me.” Chucky pointed the knife at Tyler. “I’m bad.”

  As in: not good.

  “And now we will play swap the soul.”

  But Tyler shook his head and kicked at the ground. A spray of dirt and stones went flying up into the air, into Chucky’s face, his mouth. He spit out the grit and blinked his eyes. But his eyes didn’t clear the way real eyes would. He felt the specks of dirt, scratching his glass eyes. He felt it—and it hurt.

  “You little . . .”

  But Chucky saw Tyler running away fast—too fast.

  “Get back here,” Chucky screamed. But the kid was running as if his life depended on it.

  Which was exactly the case.

  No, Tyler thought. I can’t let him get me. He’ll do something bad to me.

  He ran through the woods, jumping over stones, dodging the branches.

  I can’t look back. Because that’s when he’ll get me, that’s when he’ll be there. If I look back . . .

  The branches scratched his face, and he felt roots rising from the ground, trying to snag his sneakers.

  He didn’t know where he was running to.

  He heard sounds, rustling in front of him, to the side. He kept pumping, running full out.

  Got to get away, thought Tyler. Have to get to Barclay, tell him I believe him now. And tell him I want to help him stop Chucky.

  What a terrible, horrible name. Chucky.

  It sounds like a type of hamburger. A Chucky.

  A Chucky burger.

  Tyler guessed what Chucky wanted the knife for. He wanted to turn me into a Chucky burger. But what’s that game he keeps talking about, swap the soul?

  What was that?

  Tyler heard a weird noise. Something was sitting in a tall tree as he ran past. It hooted at him.

  Then Tyler thought he heard something behind him. Tyler broke his rule. He turned and looked behind him.

  And just then he tripped on a rock.

  “Oomph,” he said. The wind was knocked out of him. He got to his knees fast.

  He heard him. Calling to him.

  “Tyler . . . oh. Tyler . . . I’m going to find you. And you’re getting me mad. And you don’t want me . . .”

  Tyler scurried to his feet. He looked around and saw some big boulders, piled on top of each other, making something that looked like a rocky fortress.

  That will slow him down, Tyler thought. He ran to the boulders.

  I had him.

  Yeah, Chucky thought, the kid was just in front of me. And then he disappeared. It’s so damn dark out here. Why the hell don’t they install some lights? Can’t see a damn—

  Chucky stopped, thinking that he might hear something. About the only thing he could see was the knife blade, glowing.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

  There was no answer.

  Kid isn’t that stupid. I had him for a while, though. Chucky turned. He saw the boulders.

  He sang out, “Olly-olly-oxen free!”

  He walked to the boulders.

  25

  Tyler climbed on top of one boulder, and then hid behind another.

  Did he see me? Thought Tyler. Did he see me climb up? Is he going to come behind me, jump on me—and stick that knife in me?

  What’s he going to do?

  Tyler pressed his cheek against the cold stone. He hugged it close, hoping that its shadow would protect him. Tyler felt his nose running. He rubbed at it, then he froze—hearing the slurpy sound he made.

  He didn’t even sniff.

  Then he felt something wet on his cheek. A tear, then another, rolling down.

  No, he thought, I can’t cry. Dad wouldn’t want me to cry. He’d want me to be brave. Be a good little soldier, he always said.

  I wish you were here, Dad.

  I wish you were here to protect me.

  He heard Chucky yelling.

  “Where are you?” Chucky yelled.

  Chucky waited. Go on, he thought, standing by the pile of boulders. Make just one little noise, one little gurgle. And this time I promise you won’t get away. Come on.

  “Where are you, you little shit?”

  He waited. And thought that the kid must have gone the other way, back toward the red camp. Damn.

  It’s not going to be easy to get to him now.

  But I’ll do it. He turned away from the boulders and started moving back to the trail.

  Andy ran, and every few leaps, he would stop and yell. “Tyler!”

  When there was no answer, he kept on running. I’ve really screwed up now, he thought. I got the kid out here, with Chucky, with no one else around.

  Great work, Barclay.

  “Tyler!”

  This time, just before he was going to start running again, he heard something. A rustling. He listened. Branches and leaves were moving.

  “Tyler?”

  He waited. The wind blew. That’s it. Just the wind.

  “Ty—”

  Then a dozen flashlights clicked on, and he was blinded by the lights.

  Andy brought his hand up to shield his eyes. He saw shadowy figures. He was surrounded by cadets, holding rifles. He heard a voice he recognized.

  Good old Shelton.

  “Shelton?” Andy said. As soon as the word was out, the shadowy figure rushed him and pushed him to the ground.

  The angle of the lights changed, and Andy could see Shelton standing over him, a very disagreeable look on his face.

  “You goddamn traitor! Give me the damn map.” Shelton reached down, patted Andy’s pockets, and pulled the map out.

  Jerk. Moron. Traitor. What does he think this is, the Revolutionary War? He probably wants to hang me.

  Andy started to get up.

  Again, Shelton pushed him down with his foot.

  “You know what we do to traitors, Barclay? Do you have any clue?”

  Andy heard some threatening giggles from the other members of the blue team.

  Andy tried to sit up again. “Forget the map, Shelton! And let me go!”

  Shelton gave him another kick.

  This is getting to be a problem, thought Andy. I may have to do something about this.

  “Screw you,” Shelton said. “You’re dead meat, soldier.”

  I’m not a soldier. I’m sixteen, and this is my worst nightmare.

  Andy sat up again. “Listen to me. Now listen! Tyler’s in trouble.”

  Andy looked at the shadowy crowd of cadets. He couldn’t see any of their faces. But he made out a rounded, eggplant-shaped body. “C’mon, Whitehurst, back me up. Tell Shelton what you saw.”

  Andy waited.

  He saw Whitehurst shake his head.

  Shelton turned to his right. Andy watched Ellis come trotting up. “Call in the flanks, captain.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Andy heard Ellis bark into his walkie-talkie. “De Silva, Emerson, do you copy?”

  Andy had an idea. De Silva could help. If I can convince her, she would help.

  He waited for De Silva to answer.

  De Silva heard Emerson’s voice on her walkie-talkie. She shifted her gun to one hand and reached down for the two-way radio.

  “De Silva! Do you copy?”

  She brought the walkie-talkie up to her mouth, and started to press on the button.

  She heard a creaking from above. De Silva looked up—to see something falling on her.

  She
took a step, but there wasn’t enough time to get away from the doll—the doll!—as it fell on her. She saw something gleaming in the doll’s hand.

  The doll crashed onto her back, knocking her to the ground. Her gun flew away. The walkie-talkie jumped out of her hand, the Talk button still unpushed.

  The doll climbed on top of her legs and held on. De Silva started kicking and clawing at the ground.

  She heard the walkie-talkie squawking at her.

  “De Silva. Come in! De Silva, do you copy?”

  De Silva dug at the dirt and tried to kick this thing away. But it was locked on her legs, holding her tight.

  Then she felt the doll crawling up her back, his tiny hands and feet first digging into her spine, then closer, right up to her neck, and . . .

  She felt the blade. Pressing right against the side of her neck. De Silva froze.

  The doll leaned close. This isn’t happening, she thought. This is like one of those goofy horror stones we tell around the camp fire. This isn’t . . .

  But the doll leaned close to her and brought his lips right next to her ear. She felt a wet spray from his little doll mouth.

  Impossible!

  And she smelled something, as if he hadn’t brushed his teeth and the last thing he ate was really rank.

  He whispered to her.

  A tone that scared her.

  “We have to stop meeting like this.”

  The knife point danced on her skin.

  Two cadets walked beside Andy—his guards. Shelton marched the blue team through the forest, returning to camp with his prize. A genuine traitor.

  Caught by a genuine asshole.

  I have to make a run for it, Andy thought. What are they going to do to me, shoot me with paint bullets?

  He heard Ellis, just behind him, talking to Shelton.

  “Emerson’s on his way back, sir. But we didn’t hear anything from De Silva.”

  “Her walkie-talkie’s probably on the fritz. Keep trying.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Andy shook his head.

  No, Andy thought. It’s not her walkie-talkie. It’s something else. And wouldn’t it be damn ironic if Chucky took out the toughest cadet at Kent? Andy looked around for a spot to make a run for it.