When he heard a voice. A kid’s voice, squealing, yelling at them.
“Help! He’s coming for me! Help!”
It was Tyler, cutting through the brush as fast as his legs could carry him.
He saw Andy and headed straight for him, but Shelton cut him off, hooking the kid by his shirt collar.
“Well, what do you know. Looks like we got ourselves another POW.”
Andy turned to the kid. “Tyler, are you okay?” He looked up at Shelton. “Let him go, Shelton.”
“Be quiet, Barclay, before—”
“You were right, Barclay! Charles is bad! He tried to hurt me! I think he wanted to kill me. He kept wanting to play swap the soul.”
I know that game, thought Andy.
Andy pulled away from his guards and went to Tyler.
“Where did you see him? Where was Chucky?”
The kid’s cheeks glistened with his tears.
“I—I—”
Shelton came closer. “Who the hell is this Charles? Is he on the red team?”
“Where was he, Tyler? Did you see De Silva?”
The kid shook his head.
Ellis stood next to Shelton. And his walkie-talkie came to life.
Andy heard that weird voice, made more strange by the walkie-talkie.
“Come in, Barclay. You there, Andy boy? Come in . . . this is the Chuck man coming right at you.”
Shelton looked at Andy, a bit of confusion beginning to play on his unflappable stiff upper lip. “Who’s that?” he asked.
Tyler answered. “It’s Charles. That’s him. He tried to kill me.”
Shelton mouthed the word to Andy. Charles?
The major grabbed the walkie-talkie from Ellis. “Who’s this?”
Ellis pointed at the walkie-talkie. “Er, you have to push the button, sir.”
“Oh.” Shelton nodded. He pressed the button and repeated his question. “Who’s this?”
Shelton waited. Ellis tapped his arm. “You have to release, sir.”
“Put Barclay on, jar head.”
Shelton shook the walkie-talkie, angry.
Ellis came closer. “It’s the reds, sir. They’re up to something. Some kind of disinformation. It’s just a trick.”
Shelton nodded and spoke into the walkie-talkie again.
“What is it you want?”
The voice, high-pitched and scratchy over the cheap radio, sounded hysterical, out of control.
Time is running out, thought Andy. Chucky can’t take forever.
“I want the kid. You know, the kid, the brat you got right there. The little bro, dig? Bring him up to Split Rock. Do it, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
Shelton grinned, smirking, all his self-confidence back. “The reds,” he announced smugly to his blue team. “They want Tyler back.”
Now Shelton brought the walkie-talkie up to his mouth with a dramatic flourish. Shelton probably thinks history will record his comments. Like that general who said nuts to the Nazis in the Ardennes.
“Go screw yourself,” Shelton said.
The blue team cheered.
The radio was quiet for a few seconds. Everyone waited. Was that it? Were negotiations over?
“It’s not the red team,” Andy said.
“Shut up, traitor.”
Then the walkie-talkie came to life. The voice sounded a bit more subdued, controlled.
Not a good thing.
When Chucky gets serious, someone usually dies.
“Don’t waste my time, leatherneck. I’ve got a real short fuse . . . real short. But hey, don’t take my word for it.”
Shelton looked at Andy. The major was confused again. What’s he doing? Shelton’s expression seemed to ask.
Andy wasn’t worried. Because Tyler was here. Tyler was safe.
But then—
There was another voice. Someone gasping, as if struggling. Andy felt his bowels go tight.
He heard De Silva.
“Andy! Don’t do it! Get Tyler away. Don’t—”
De Silva. He turned to Shelton.
He saw Whitehurst, coming closer. The fat cadet liked De Silva. Maybe he even loved her. How could you not love her?
“And-yyy!”
Chucky was back. “Hear that, Barclay. I’m waiting. At Split Rock, dude. Split Rock.”
Then the walkie-talkie went dead.
26
Chucky looked over at De Silva.
Not bad looking for a cadet.
But she didn’t look back at him. No, she only had eyes for the grenade in Chucky’s hand. He dangled it at her, showing his doll thumb resting on the release button.
All I gotta do is let go, and ka-blooie!
No more De Silva.
He brought the walkie-talkie up to his mouth. Now, this is fun, he thought. This I’m enjoying. I’ll get that little kid delivered right to this rock.
It was De Silva who told him that this place was called Split Rock. Easy to see why, with this giant tree growing right through the rock, as if the tree had hatched from a stone egg.
Chucky spoke. “Now bring the kid here,” he said, “or I’ll waste her.”
He brought the walkie-talkie down, cutting communications. He saw De Silva edge away, as if she were looking to run around the back of the rock.
Chucky held up the grenade and shook his head.
“Come back a bit. Don’t want you getting lost in the woods, babe.”
De Silva walked back.
“Good.” Chucky smiled. Then he brought the walkie-talkie up and started playing with the dial.
The next phase of my plan, he thought. Oh, boy. Is this ever going to be great.
“Red team,” he said. He waited, but heard nothing. Chucky tried another setting. “Red team, come in, red team.”
This is your Chuck meister, checking in with you.
Still nothing, and Chucky tried a third setting.
“Red team, come in. It’s urgent. Red team.”
There was a reassuring squawk, and then a scratchy voice. Bingo, thought Chucky.
“This is red team. Over.”
Chucky kept De Silva in sight, as he tried to lower his voice. I don’t want it sounding too weird.
“We got a situation up here at Split Rock. Blue team sighted. Advise you to move your troops in.”
Chucky took his finger off the button. Oops, almost took my finger off the wrong button—walkie-talkie in one hand, hand grenade in the other. It’s so easy to get confused.
“Now, wait a minute. Who is this?”
Chucky shut off the walkie-talkie.
He started walking toward De Silva.
A real cute cadet, no mistake about it. He laughed. “Now, we just sit back and watch the sparks fly.”
And he kept laughing, his mechanical laugh echoing off the giant split boulder, echoing through the trees.
He thought: I bet she thinks I’m crazy. I bet she thinks that I’m insane. Well, well, I might be. Who wouldn’t be, trapped in a doll’s body. Temporarily trapped, he reminded himself.
And while De Silva cringed, hugging the stone, he laughed even harder.
Andy saw Shelton giving out arcane hand signals to the blue team, pointing his hand straight up in the air, waving it around.
Shelton had ordered Andy released, because he had told the truth about the hostage situation.
There was only one problem. Shelton still thought it was only a game.
He crouched close to the ground, and called for Andy and Tyler. He had black smudges on his face.
God, thought Andy, the guy’s ready to face the Vietcong. Too bad he doesn’t know that what he’s really up against is something a lot worse.
“There’s Split Rock,” Shelton whispered.
Andy looked in the darkness and saw the black hulk of a large outcrop of stone. A tree sprouted from its center.
Shelton jabbed Andy and Tyler in the solar plexus. “You two go ahead. The rest of us will circle around. We’ll move in on your signal.
”
Andy shook his head. Shelton still thinks that he’s playing war games.
“No, Shelton, this is no game. I’m telling you, this guy is dangerous.”
Shelton laughed. “Chill out, Barclay. It’s only paint.”
Shelton turned to the blue team, spread out around the rock. “Wait for Barclay and Tyler,” he said.
Then he turned to Andy. “You want to save De Silva?”
Andy nodded.
“Then let’s do it.”
Andy looked at Tyler.
“You all set?”
Tyler, though still scared by his encounter with Chucky, nodded. “Sure, Barclay. Let’s get De Silva.”
Andy stood up and started moving toward the rock.
When they were a few steps away from Shelton and the others, Tyler said, “I’m scared, Barclay.”
Andy put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. He thought: I know what it’s like to be a little kid—and scared. I know.
He patted Tyler’s shoulder and said, “Me, too, Tyler.” The wind rustled the leaves. “Me too.”
The rock, just a dark shape, grew in size, blotting out stars. He was only feet away before he saw the giant oak tree running right through the middle of the rock.
He didn’t see Chucky . . . or De Silva.
“I don’t see them,” Tyler said.
“It’s okay, Tyler. He’s here. Just . . .”
Then, from the base of the boulder, he saw a small figure get up, then—yes, it was De Silva. He saw her eyes, wide, terrified.
Even De Silva looked scared.
“Hey, thanks for the escort, Barclay. Now drop the kid and just walk away.”
Andy hoped Shelton was coming closer, following his plan. It was still a game to the cadet major. But—game or not—they might still be able to capture Chucky.
“No,” Andy said.
Chucky walked further away from the boulder. He dragged De Silva behind him. He held up something. It looked like a stone, a baseball, a . . .
Hand grenade.
Crazy little bastard.
“I think, Barclay, that you better do what the old Chuck man says. Now, move it!”
Tyler looked up at Andy. Andy’s hand was still on his shoulder.
Chucky’s voice rang out. “Over here, kid.”
“Andy?” Tyler said.
Andy nodded.
Tyler look a step toward Chucky. Walking toward the black rock.
Andy waited. Tyler was nearly to Chucky.
Come on, Shelton, thought Andy, where the hell are you?
Andy heard Shelton yell. “De Silva, duck!” He turned around and saw Shelton coming toward them. He looked back at De Silva, catching her ducking, exposing a very confused Chucky.
Shelton finally saw Chucky, the doll standing there, holding a live grenade.
Andy wanted to turn around and say, he’s holding a grenade, you idiot! A live grenade. He could blow us all up.
But Shelton, stopped in the woods, said, “What the . . .”
Chucky looked left and right. Andy saw De Silva starting to slip away in the confusion.
The guns fired. A giant blue splotch exploded on Chucky. He looked down and sneered.
“Tyler,” Andy whimpered. “Come back, Tyler.”
But the kid wasn’t moving. He was petrified by the sounds of the guns, by the darkness, by Chucky.
De Silva was moving further away.
Another blue splotch bloomed on the rock above Chucky. But then there were other gun noises. Coming from the far side of the rock.
We didn’t have anyone over there, thought Andy. None of our guys are over there.
He turned to look at Shelton. The cadet major was cocking his ear, curious, confused.
The gunshots sounded closer.
Andy heard pinging noises, the sounds of ricochet.
Shelton’s mouth flapped open.
When something slammed into his chest.
A giant red spot grew there. Shelton’s eyes were big cow eyes. Looking down at the red spot, touching it, bringing his fingers up to his lips.
“Damn,” Shelton moaned, and he collapsed to the ground.
“No!” Andy screamed. He ran ahead, to Tyler. Yelling. “No . . . Tyler!”
Andy heard Whitehurst screaming at him. “Barclay. Oh my god. Barclay, they’re firing live ammo!”
A bullet went pinging into a tree next to Andy, and he fell to the ground. “Tyler!” he yelled again. But the kid was frozen. Wood chips flew into the air, chewed off the tree by the bullets.
The red team may win this game, Andy thought.
He looked up. He saw Chucky, looking at him, a foul sneer on his face. He still held the hand grenade.
That’s all we need, Andy thought. Chucky lobbing a grenade.
Then he saw a bullet hit Chucky’s arm. It ripped into the doll’s arm, tearing a hole in his shirt.
Chucky howled.
A horrible scream that was even louder than the rat-a-ta-tat of the guns popping all around the rock.
The grenade slipped from Chucky’s hand and rolled away.
Toward De Silva, who was only feet away. She saw it too. For a second Andy and De Silva’s eyes met. The grenade was right there, right in front of her.
“No!” Andy yelled.
So brave, thought Andy.
There’s only a second left. Andy watched, horrified. When there was this yell.
27
It must have happened fast.
But Andy seemed to have so much time to watch it. It all seemed to go so slowly. De Silva trying to get up and away from the grenade. Then someone running in from the side.
Somebody running kind of slow. Somebody not in great shape.
Whitehurst. He ran next to De Silva. And he threw himself on the grenade.
Just as it exploded.
Whitehurst’s body disappeared in a tremendous explosion. There was smoke and the air was filled with a burning smell. Andy closed his eyes.
He was sprayed by debris, bits and pieces of stone and wood and something else, something wet.
A smoky cloud covered everything. Andy couldn’t see whether De Silva was still there, if Tyler, or . . .
The smoke hovered there for a second.
Guns were still firing. The idiotic red team was still blasting away with their live ammo, oblivious.
A breeze suddenly whipped out of nowhere, and the smoky cloud moved away.
Andy saw a ghost. De Silva standing there.
Whitehurst was gone. Chucky was . . .
Gone.
De Silva looked at the spot where Whitehurst had fallen. She looked up at Andy, crying. I never expected her to cry, he thought. People like De Silva don’t cry. But she did.
She said, quietly, so quietly that Andy almost didn’t hear it. “He saved my life. Whitehurst saved my life.”
Andy ran up to her. A bullet pinged nearby.
“Stop firing!” Andy yelled to the night, to the forest. “You have live ammo. Stop.”
He turned around. “What! Where’s Tyler? Where’s . . .”
De Silva finished the thought. “Chucky’s gone. He’s—”
“Tyler,” Andy said. “He’s after Tyler.”
De Silva turned around. She saw something. “There. I see something. I see someone running.”
“Let’s go!” Andy said, and they ran off, following the kid, running from Chucky.
No one can help me, Tyler thought. Not Barclay. Not De Silva.
Not my dad.
No one.
I thought that they were all so strong. But Chucky is stronger. He’s going to get me. Steal my soul. And then cut me up with that knife of his.
And no one can help me . . .
But myself.
Tyler pumped his arms as hard as he could, sucking in the air, running into the branches. Not caring that they hurt him.
Got to get away, that’s all, thought Tyler. Keep running, and then run some more. If I run fast enough, and far enough,
Chucky won’t get me.
Keep. Running.
He saw something ahead.
He saw lights moving through the trees, making the shadows dance as if they were alive.
Tyler looked up. He saw a road just ahead. The forest ended, and there was a road. He saw cars, moving fast.
’Cause they don’t want to stop here. They don’t want to be in the woods, all alone.
Tyler ran even harder.
He heard himself grunting. I can run faster than him. He’s only a doll. He’s got little legs. I can run faster than him.
Tyler came to a down slope leading to the highway. He leaped and jumped his way down, nearly falling, but keeping his balance just enough to stumble down to the side of the highway.
A car was roaring toward him. The lights were blinding. Big white eyes that didn’t see him. The driver has to see me, Tyler thought. He has to see me and stop. Tyler raised his arms and waved.
But the car went right past. It swerved right by him, leaving only the smell of the exhaust.
Tyler turned to the woods, to the crumbled bushes and the tall roadside grass crushed by his body. He looked for Chucky.
But he wasn’t there.
Then, in the distance, another car was coming toward him.
Tyler started waving his arms wildly.
Please, he thought. Please stop. I’m only a kid. Please stop and take me away. Chucky won’t get me if I’m in a car going away real fast.
Please.
Again, the driver didn’t seem to see him.
There was a snap behind him. The sharp snap of a twig breaking. Then a rustling sound.
Coming to get me.
Tyler looked at the dark brush, at the forest. He heard more rustling.
Then Tyler looked back at the road, at the car.
Tyler ran out into the highway. He raised his arms, waving them crazily.
“Hey!” he yelled.
Oh, please. The car will have to stop.
It didn’t slow down.
And then—as if it had just seen him—the car slowed, and screeched to a stop.
A red flashing light came to life on top of the car.
It’s a police car, thought Tyler. A police car!
He waited.
There was no more rustling.
The car doors opened on each side, and two people got out. Tyler stood there, shivering in the cold.
He heard a radio inside the car and the sound of someone talking.
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