Crash Dive Page 3

  “Dad, Mom says I can’t use this duffel without your permission.”

  “Permission granted, Private Marley, but it’s too big. We’re only going for three days, Aubrey.”

  “Dad! What about all my lacrosse stuff? It’ll only fit in this . . .”

  “No time for lacrosse where we’re going, I’m afraid. Your days are already accounted for. I’ve got tickets for Splash Mountain, the Riverboat cruise, the Haunted House, the Pirates of the Caribbean, It’s a Small World . . . and that’s only the first day.”

  “What about Space Mountain?”

  “I hear that’s too scary,” Aurora said, clutching her dolly.

  “It’s just a roller coaster,” Aubrey sniffed. “How scary can it be?”

  “All I know is my best friend forever Tabitha Longley went and she said it’s all in the dark and you can’t see anything. She hated it. She even . . . threw up . . . gross!”

  Aubrey laughed, “Yeah, I bet. ’Specially for the poor bozos sitting behind her.”

  “You are so totally disgusting.”

  Christopher closed the picture book and leaned forward in his chair.

  “Aubrey? Why don’t you go pack, buddy. It’s late and we’re getting up very early. You were supposed to be packed by dinnertime.”

  “Dad! I had practice!”

  “Go get Mom; she’ll help you. You won’t need much, okay? Jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers.”

  “Space Mountain, Dad? Please.”

  “Yes, fine. Space Mountain.”

  It was lunchtime when the Marleys checked into the great Wilderness Lodge, the hotel Christopher and Marjorie had chosen because of its resemblance to the place where they’d honeymooned, the Yellowstone Lodge in Yellowstone Park. Aubrey was simply astounded by the size of the place. Aurora just wanted to get to the room, unpack, and get to that palace.

  After checking in, Chris had a nice moment when an elderly black gentleman with beautiful white hair and a very erect posture arrived to help them with their luggage. “I honor your service, son,” the veteran had said quietly and with a knowing look.

  “Semper Fi.” Chris smiled.

  “Semper Fi,” the old Marine acknowledged.

  The family took the monorail to the park entrance and stepped down onto the platform. Above the roof of the train station Aurora could glimpse the long banners streaming from the tall towers of Cinderella’s Palace.

  “Dad, there it is!”

  “Just like the picture, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes! Let’s go. We don’t want to miss Mickey. I’m sure he’s awake by now. He’ll be home, though, don’t you think?”

  “Come on, follow me. I’ve got passes. We’ll head straight for Main Street and then go find out.”

  Aubrey had zero interest in Cinderella or her palace and convinced his mother to come with him inside a shop that did fake tattoos. Marjorie told Christopher to go on ahead and they’d all meet at Splash Mountain, the log-flume ride and their first adventure of the day. Christopher had decided it was the most benign and so a good way to judge Aurora’s capacity for the more challenging rides. Aubrey, he wasn’t worried about. Aubrey’s idea of fun was jumping off the roof into the hedgerows with a Superman red bath towel tied around his neck.

  “So, Dad,” Aurora said, looking confused and dismayed as they made their way up Main Street to the palace, “you did say you and I were going to knock on the palace door and say hi to Mickey, right? Just the two of us, right?”

  “Of course. And we will.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  Aurora burst into tears.

  “It’s just like you said, only—only who are all these other people?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, well, I don’t know, Dad. I thought it was just going to be me and you. Going to Mickey’s house and all. Not a whole other bunch of people. Just the two of us.”

  “Well, sweetie, it’s just that, well, this is a public amusement—”

  “Dad!” Aurora cried out. “Look! There’s Mickey right over there, getting off the streetcar. C’mon. Before he goes inside!”

  And with that, she put her little head down, curls flouncing, and made a beeline through the crowds for her favorite mouse.

  Christopher smiled and said, “Hey, Aurora, wait for me!”

  He saw her for an instant, beaming, and waving him onward.

  It would be the last happy moment of the day.

  There was a mercifully short line for the log flume ride.

  While Marjorie and Aubrey went to use their passes for more tokens, Christopher took Aurora to watch the riders come flying out of the topmost boarding station and careening down the twisting and steeply angled chute full of churning water. The chute straightened out at the bottom, and the log full of passengers plunged into the deep lagoon with a great splash, soaking everyone aboard, causing fits of laughter. It was fun, Christopher thought; he’d done it many times himself as a boy. He didn’t think it would scare Aurora one bit.

  They climbed the stairway to the top, Christopher holding onto the rail to manage the ascent. When they finally reached the boarding station, he asked, “Does this look like fun, sweetie?”

  “Oh, yes, Daddy, let’s go!”

  “All right then, I’ll get in the very front seat and you take the one just behind me. That way you can wrap your arms around me going around the curves if you want to.”

  They took their positions and waited for the rest of the riders sitting behind them to board.

  “Here we go!” Christopher said, turning to smile over his shoulder at Aurora.

  The log whooshed from beneath the corrugated roof section, riding a flood of rushing water like a surging tide, and took the banked curves at increasing speed. A few minutes later, he caught a glimpse of his wife and son far below, waving at them and waiting in the crowd as they approached the final straightaway. No. Wait. They were pointing up at the chute and appeared to be saying something . . .

  No. They were screaming.

  He instantly saw why.

  The lower straightaway chute was completely dry. No water at all, just the fierce sun’s glare glinting off the smooth stainless steel. He didn’t have time to think about it. The second the metal log hit that dry patch it accelerated dramatically. Frantically, Christopher turned to grab Aurora.

  It was too late.

  She was gone.

  The log struck the surface of the water at the bottom at a ridiculously steep angle and going at least five times faster than its designed speed. It pitch-poled forward and ejected the six passengers into the wide deep pool. Logs were continuing to slam into the pool, hurling more people into the “lagoon.” Christopher, in shock, clawed for the water’s surface looking for Aurora, kicking his one good leg furiously. He saw her red hair floating and feared the worst. He swam to her, ignoring the screams of the frightened and injured, and pushed her face up out of the water.

  “Is that it, Daddy?” she said, sputtering.

  “Oh, my little baby, are you hurt?”

  “ ’Course not. Is that the special ride? It’s ever so much more fun than just splashing down in the silly old log. It’s just like holding your nose, closing your eyes, and jumping off the high dive at Meadowbrook Club, isn’t it?”

  Christopher hugged her to him and swam to the side where EMS personnel were helping frightened passengers from the pool and wrapping them in towels. No one, thank God, seemed to have been seriously injured, just a few scrapes and bruises. There was an elderly woman lying half in the water and half out who appeared to have landed on the walkway surrounding the “lagoon.”

  At lunch near the Mississippi Paddlewheeler, considerably calmer now that everyone was all right, the Marleys discussed the rest of the afternoon’s activities. Marjorie was st
ill shaken by the flume incident and not sure she wanted to trust any of the other rides as planned. Christopher sympathized, but the look on the children’s faces convinced him that to hole up in their rooms watching Little Mermaid or Shrek III or whatever for the remaining two days was a nonstarter.

  “I asked one of the security men, darling,” he said to her. “He said it was the first incident like that in the forty years he’d worked here. He said it was some kind of computer glitch. Maybe a power spike that opened a drain, something like that. Did you know that thirty feet below us are miles of tunnels and computer control rooms? Computers run everything in the whole park.”

  “And you find that reassuring?”

  “Computers run the Boeing 777 that got us here. So, yeah. I find that reassuring.”

  “I don’t know, hon. It scared me to death. But I also think we should not let one mishap ruin their entire trip. They’ve been looking forward to it for two years.”

  “Right. Me, too. So let’s all just go have the most fun afternoon ever. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  And so the Marley family finished lunch and headed toward the Haunted House where the most dangerous things were the steep stairs. Passing the flume, they were reassured by the fact that it had already reopened. Continuing along by the river they were startled by a huge roar that went up from the crowd, somewhere over on Main Street. Christopher looked at his watch.

  “It’s one o’clock; the parade is just starting,” he said.

  “The parade?” Aurora said and burst into song. “ ‘Who’s the leader of the band they call the Mousketeers? M-I-C-K-E-Y . . .’ ”

  They reached the line for the Haunted House, and it seemed to stretch back at least a mile.

  “How long a wait?” he asked a heavily tattooed biker in front of him, piercings in his nose, tongue, and ears and wearing a wife-beater T-shirt.

  “Well, yessir, that’s kinda hard to say. They shut her down for a while is what I heard. Some kind of malfunction with the Invisible Staircase, I reckon. I guess somebody fell down the stairs or something. Said it wouldn’t take long to fix, though. I’d stick around, line moves purty quickly once she gets going.”

  After a few rides without further incident, the Marley family was more than ready to head back to the Wilderness Lodge for a nap and the special dinner with all the characters. Apparently Mickey was going to join them for dinner along with Goofy and Snow White. Aurora, most tired of all, was ready to call it a day. But Daddy had promised Aubrey Space Mountain, and Daddy always kept his promises. They headed for Tomorrowland.

  The line was short because the sun was setting and many families had begun leaving the park at five. No one save Aubrey had the slightest intention of riding a roller coaster in the dark. So the boy joined the queue while the family went to a nearby ice cream parlor, took a table where they could see the ride, and ordered banana splits all around. The ride looked more like a futuristic white football stadium than a roller coaster, but of course the tracks were all inside in the dark where you couldn’t see what was coming next.

  The line moved quickly and Aubrey got closer to the front.

  “Sorry, son, full up. Have to wait for the next one. Won’t be long,” a guard said.

  Aubrey waved at his parents and climbed up on the rail to wait as the cars left the station. There were video games for people waiting, but he wanted to psych himself up for his ride.

  The first indication he had that something was terribly wrong was the kind of screaming he heard coming from inside. It wasn’t excited screaming; it was terrified screaming. And there was an awful smell coming from inside, like burning wires and rubber and something else, that smelled like—and then he saw the flames filling the tunnel and heading straight for the station. There was a roaring fire inside Space Mountain and people were being burned alive. He ran for his parents, ran for his life really, because he’d no idea if the whole thing could explode or not, and when he reached them he started crying.

  “There’s a fire in there, a f-fire in there, Dad,” he sobbed. “Inside the mountain. Those people, they thought it was going to be fun and now—they’re dying!”

  At that moment there was the gut-wrenching and ear-piercing screech of torn metal coming from high above.

  The Marleys looked up to see an entire section of roller-coaster cars, still full of screaming, wildly gesticulating people, some of them on fire, come flying through a rip in the rooftop, soaring at least a hundred feet above the ground. It was too horrible to grasp. Marjorie turned away just before the flying death trap slammed into a large crowd waiting to enter Buzz Lightyear’s Space Ranger Spin.

  Christopher and Marjorie each grabbed a child and began to run maniacally toward the park entrance. The screams and yells coming from every corner of the park told them Space Mountain wasn’t the only ride that had malfunctioned so horribly. It seemed that everywhere they looked there was death and destruction: black smoke and fiery orange flames were rising throughout the park, and mobs in a high state of panic were clawing and trampling one another in an effort to escape this nightmarish Kingdom of Death.

  Christopher Marley shouted at his wife and suddenly detoured toward the scene where the flying cars had landed on top of the waiting crowd, leaping over the fallen bodies of his fellow citizens. He did the best he could, balancing on his one good leg, using his crutch to pull as many of the injured from the tangled wreckage as he could before EMS and park security forces arrived en masse.

  Hugging his daughter to his chest, running toward his wife and son, he had a terrible premonition.

  This is no accident.

  One

  Hawke had been in the bloody thick of it all his life. When not engaged in fighting for his life, he dreamed about it. But this hellish nightmare was all too real to be any dream. Surely near death. It felt so very close now, the cold hovering all around him; some vast, grinning blackness, a protruding bony finger beckoning, urging him to surrender. How much longer could he run? He was spent. He could hear his wild heart screaming, begging his body to stop. Grievously wounded, he was shedding blood from countless gaping rips in his flesh, suffered when first trapped by the wild ones of the forest.

  Somehow, he’d lost his bearskin coat in that last fray. Nearly naked in this freezing, bone-chilling cold, his clothes mere scraps of rags. He looked down at his feet, shocked at the stinging pain of each step in the crusted snow. He’d lost his boots, too, both feet shredded and weeping blood. He heard something, low and wolfish, rapidly gaining ground on him. He looked over his shoulder, shocked at the bright red path he’d made through the woods. How could he lose these beasts when his own feet were leaving a bloody trail in the snow! Still, he crashed through the forest, the sound of thundering hooves behind him. A hideously grinning cavalry, gaining on him, swords flashing as they ran him to ground.

  Wild Cossacks on horseback, fierce, bloodthirsty creatures who wanted only to slice the flesh from his bones; why, they’d skin and eat him alive they’d said, dragging him toward their fire. Why had he even entered this wood? He’d known certain death was lurking in the forest, but he’d stupidly ignored that certainty, leaving the vast whiteness of the endless tundra and venturing into the dark wood.

  They were closer! He could hear their howls of impending victory, the hoofbeats of their black, red-eyed steeds nearer now, great snorts of frozen breath steaming from their flared nostrils, the riders calling to him, laughing at this helpless victim who could run no longer. His legs had turned to stone and every step in the deep snow felt like his last.

  They were upon him then, stallions wheeling, rearing up, encircling him. He heard the whisper of steel slicing through air, felt the tip of a Cossack sword nick his throat, another burn his ear. They were all around him, dismantling his body bit by bit, but he knew if he could just keep his head, just keep his head away from the whispering blades, just keep away long eno
ugh to—

  Hawke gasped for air as he came fully awake, sitting bolt upright in his lice-infested berth, his face drenched in cold sweat, the fear still real, even as reality swept the lingering remnants of terror from his brain. Another nightmare! Gazing out the train’s window at the white tundra and the solid black forests beyond, he knew why he’d had the dream, of course . . . because it was no dream.

  He was riding, eyes wide open, straight into a death trap, deliberately embarking upon a doomed journey into the blackest black heart of darkness. And there was a very distinct possibility he’d never get out of Russia alive.

  The sun rose over Siberia, ascending into the blue heavens like a shimmering ball of blood. Lord Alexander Hawke, lost in thoughts of his impending death, leaned forward and peered through the grimy, ice-caked windows of his tiny compartment. The old Soviet-era train lurched and creaked, traveling at the speed of a horse and wagon as it approached yet another desolate station where no one would be waiting. Unthinking, he dabbed mentholated gel under each nostril.

  It had become a constant habit.

  His grubby kube compartment shared a wall with the foul lavatory right next door. In other words, he’d grimly decided soon after boarding, he had shit for neighbors.

  Hawke had taken what he could get, a third-class car, dimly lit, overheated, humid, and, after numerous early stops in the countryside, overflowing with drunken farm workers who smelled like a concoction of damp earth, sour garlic, and grain alcohol. The incessant singing, shouting, and fighting were well nigh unbearable. He had fled immediately to his boxlike refuge, locked his door, only coming out when he developed severe cabin fever or was “in extremis.” The noxious lavatory boasted a commode commodious enough to accommodate a circus elephant, sitting, but the toilet seat wouldn’t stay up.