Party Games (20 page)

“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 hard 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.

“Step away!” Garland screamed. “I warned you!” And then he fired the rifle. One shot. Deafening.

I shrieked and my hands flailed up in the air.

Another shot.

He lowered the rifle barrel and fired again. Again.

I gasped and my body collapsed to the muddy ground.

 

40.

“NO ONE WILL BLAME ME”

 

On my knees in the mud, I clamped my eyes shut and waited for the crushing pain.

Silence now. The silence of death.

The pain didn't come. Was I already unconscious?

No. I opened my eyes to see Garland standing over me, rifle lowered at his side.

“Huh?” I whipped around in confusion. It took me a few seconds to see what he had done. He shot the canoe full of holes. Made sure it would never float.

I let out a long sigh. My shoulders slumped. I wasn't dead. But maybe I soon would be. Garland's eyes were crazy, staring at me with too much intensity, like lasers he wanted to burn right through me.

“I asked you nicely,” he murmured. He swept a hand over his bald head. “Why didn't you listen to me?”

“Why should I?” I snapped. “Were you telling the truth? I don't think so.”

He grabbed me roughly by my ponytail and tugged me to my feet. The legs of my jeans were soaked and caked with dirt, but I didn't bother to brush them off. “Were you telling the truth?” I repeated. “Is Brendan okay? Is he? Are you going to kill Brendan? Are you going to kill me?”

He spit on the ground. “Brendan's okay. But it's gotten complicated, hasn't it? Very complicated.” He jerked me forward. I could feel his anger. “Let's go. It's cold out here.”

We walked in silence through the woods to the house. He kept two or three steps behind me. I guess, in case I decided to make a run for it.

If I did try to escape, would he shoot me?

I could hear him muttering to himself. I realized the tension was getting to him. His eyes were wild. He was cursing to himself now, obviously agitated.

He's losing it. Totally losing control. This can't be good for Brendan and me. If he goes completely crazy …

The thought tightened my throat. I felt as if I couldn't breathe.

The dirt path curved and then began to rise up the sloping hill to Brendan's house. The rain clouds had floated away. Dotted with tiny white stars, the night sky brightened. The bare tree limbs overhead gleamed dully, casting long shadows across the path.

I saw another curve up ahead, through two fat tree trunks. My heart began to
thud
as I decided to attempt an escape. Maybe I could whip around one of those trees and disappear into the woods before Garland could raise his rifle.

Maybe he wouldn't shoot.

Maybe.

I didn't think about what I'd do
after
I got away from him. I just knew my life depended on escaping. As we reached the sharp curve, my skin started to tingle. My whole body began to quiver. I took a deep breath and held it.

I tensed my leg muscles, preparing to run. The wide tree trunks, bark draped with moss, loomed ahead me.

I'll run on the count of three. I'll spin, push off from the trunk, dive into the darkness behind it.

Sounded like a plan.

One … two …

But, whoa. I didn't follow the plan. My body didn't do what my brain had decided.

With a hoarse cry that sounded more animal than human, I swung around. My shout startled Garland. He stopped. His mouth dropped open.