by R. L. Stine
The tall gunman moved quickly toward Eric. He pointed his hunting rifle at Eric’s chest. “You still think this is a game, Fat Boy?”
“No. No way.” Eric raised his hands in surrender and backed away.
“You’ll all be safe if you keep your mouths shut,” the chubby guy said. “And if you want to try to escape … don’t even think about it.”
The two men herded everyone out the door and down the hall. They pulled open a narrow door. I could see gray concrete steps leading down. Down to the basement, I guessed.
“Let’s move. You’ll be nice and cozy down there,” the taller guy rasped. I watched him, studied his eyes, and struggled to remember where I’d seen him before.
“One at a time. And keep it quiet down there,” he instructed, motioning with his rifle.
Kerry and Patti were first into the stairwell. Eric and Kenny and Morgan followed. Then Randy and Karen. No one spoke.
I could feel cold air floating up, and I inhaled the dusty, basement smell.
I moved to the doorway. “Hey—!” I cried out as the taller gunman grabbed my arm. He pulled me roughly back.
“Not you,” he growled. He squeezed my arm hard and tugged me away from the others. He pulled me back to the room and shoved me toward Brendan.
“Why? Why not me?” I stammered. “Why aren’t I going down in the basement with the others?”
“Just shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for good,” he snarled. “Get over there with your boyfriend.”
“He isn’t my boyfriend,” I mumbled.
The gunman hurried back out to the hall. A short while later, the hall grew silent. Then I heard a door slam. He must have locked everyone in the basement.
A few seconds later, he came striding back into our room. “Your guests can party down in the basement. If they get hungry, there are mice to eat.”
Both masked men laughed at that.
I stepped up close to Brendan. He was gritting his teeth, staring hard at them. My mouth suddenly felt dry as cotton. I thought I might choke.
Do they plan to kill us now?
Brendan took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, his voice cracking. “Okay. The others are downstairs. There’s no one else around. Now tell me what this is all about.”
The blue-eyed man shook his head. “Haven’t you figured it out, Mr. Big Shot Rich Man Fear? Seriously? You haven’t figured it out? This is a kidnapping.”
PART FOUR
30.
“YOUR FATHER IS A LOUSY CREEP”
A long sigh escaped my throat. Brendan placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. His hand was damp and ice cold. “A … kidnapping?” he choked out. “You’re kidnapping Rachel and me?”
“Just you,” Blue Eyes said. “You’re Oliver Fear’s kid. You’re the one, buddy. Too bad your girlfriend here got involved.”
“What are we going to do with her?” Chubby Guy said, swinging his rifle from one hand to the other. “She wasn’t in the plan.”
“No worries,” his partner said. “She’ll help us.”
I’ll help them?
I thought about the kids in the basement. I wondered what they were doing down there. Maybe they found a hidden door or a window … a way to escape. But even if they did … I knew there was no way for them to get help from town. And no way to escape the island.
“Get the rope. We have to tie them up,” Blue Eyes ordered his partner. “We’re going to have a long wait. We don’t want you to think maybe you could make a run for it.”
“There’s nowhere to run,” Brendan said softly. He still had his hand on my shoulder. I moved it down, squeezed his hand, and held it.
“Just tell me what this is about,” Brendan said.
The two men exchanged glances. “It’s about a million dollars,” Blue Eyes said. They both snickered again.
“That’s what your father, the great Oliver Fear, will pay to have you back safe and sound.”
“So your plan—” Brendan started.
“I’ve been planning this a long time!” Blue Eyes screamed. He swung a fist in front of Brendan. “Ever since Oliver Fear ruined my life.”
“Easy,” his partner said, scratching the top of his head through the thick wool mask. “You don’t owe the kid any explanation.”
“Your father is a lousy creep!” Blue Eyes cried. He grabbed the front of Brendan’s sweatshirt in both hands. “He fired me. Let me go for no good reason.”
Breathing hard, he shook Brendan. Finally, he dropped his hands and took a step back.
“You worked for my father?” Brendan asked, straightening his sweatshirt.
“Accounting irregularities. That’s what he said. He said I was a crook. He said he was being a nice guy not having me arrested and sent to prison. Nice guy. Ha!” He spit on the floor, just missing Brendan’s sneakers.
“Okay. I made some mistakes. That’s all they were. Just mistakes. People make mistakes, don’t they? Don’t they?” His voice rose. His chest was heaving up and down. I could see he was about to lose it.
“Easy, dude,” his partner said softly. “You told them enough. Let’s get them tied up.”
But Blue Eyes wasn’t finished. “I made a few mistakes. That was no reason to ruin my life. Ruin my reputation. Ruin my family. Ruin everything I’d worked hard to do.”
Without warning, he slammed the rifle butt into Brendan’s midsection again.
Brendan doubled over and whimpered in pain. “Please…” he gasped. “My ribs. I think you broke my ribs.”
“I’ll do worse than that,” the masked man screamed. “I’ll cut your head off if your father doesn’t come through with my money. I’ll cut your heart out, you punk!”
“Easy, dude,” his partner repeated. “Don’t lose it now. I know how you feel, but … we got a long time to wait here.”
“Your father will pay big-time to get your butt safe and sound off the island. We’re keeping you here till he forks over a million.” He turned to me. “Too bad you got involved, Rachel,” he said.
“Hey!” I cried. “How do you know my name?”
He’s so familiar. I know I know him. It’s just … I’m in a panic. I’m so scared, my brain isn’t working.
“Too bad for you, Rachel,” he repeated. “But having you here, will just make Oliver Fear want to pay up faster.” He moved the rifle. “You know. Avoid any tragedies.” He stuck his face up close to mine. I could smell coffee on his breath. “We don’t want any tragedies—do we?”
“N-no,” I stammered. I squeezed Brendan’s hand. A cold wave of panic swept down my whole body.
“We’ll tie them to those chairs,” Blue Eyes said, motioning to a couple of folding chairs against the wall. “Then we’ll just sit and wait for our money.”
Brendan narrowed his eyes at the masked man. “You already told my father you were holding us here?”
“That’s not your business, kid. Want to ask another question and see how easy I can break a few more ribs?”
Brendan lowered his head. He didn’t reply.
The chubby gunman leaned his gun against the wall and disappeared into the hall. Brendan and I stood in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. I found myself thinking of my sister, Beth. I don’t know why she popped into my mind. I thought of how she was the scared one and I was the brave one. I didn’t feel very brave now.
I raised my eyes to the rifle in the man’s hand and wondered if I’d ever see Beth again. The gunman returned with two lengths of rope around one arm.
A stab of fear ran down my whole body. What does he plan to do with the ropes?
I poked Brendan in the shoulder and motioned to the blue-eyed one. “Does he look familiar?” I whispered.
Brendan shot me a questioning look. He shook his head no.
“Sit down in these chairs and put your hands behind you,” the chubby one ordered. He dropped one of the ropes to the floor and began to uncoil the other one.
My legs were trembling so hard, I nearly missed the chai
r. I dropped down hard and struggled to keep my balance. My heart thudded against my chest. I’d never fainted in my life, but I thought it might happen now.
Brendan stood beside the chair next to mine. The gunman motioned him to sit down.
“Hands behind your back,” he barked at me.
I clasped my hands together behind me. Even holding them tightly like that, I couldn’t stop them from shaking.
The gunman bent behind me and started to wrap the thick rope around my wrists. The rope felt scratchy. He pulled it tight. Then suddenly, he stopped.
I heard a cry and raised my eyes to the open door of the room.
Someone came bursting in, running full speed.
It took a few seconds for my eyes to focus on him. And then I screamed: “Mac! No! Get away from here! Mac—don’t come in! Get away! Get away! Go get help!”
31.
THE RIFLE GOES OFF
Mac didn’t stop. His eyes were wild, his expression angry. He ran across the room, swinging his fists.
“No—Mac! Get away!” The scream burst from my throat. What did he think he was doing? Why didn’t he listen to me? Why was he risking his life?
The chubby gunman dropped the rope and stepped away from my chair. He put his hands on his waist, ready to confront Mac.
I tugged my hands free. The rope fell to the floor behind me.
Mac roared up to the two masked men, breathing hard, his face bright red. “Give it up!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and high. “You have to give it up.”
The two men narrowed their eyes at Mac, squinting from behind their masks. The tall one shifted his hunting rifle from one hand to the other. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
Mac sucked in some wheezing breaths. “I’m stopping you. This whole thing is crazy. You have to give it up.”
Brendan and I exchanged glances. Had Mac totally lost it? What made him think he could stop these vicious thugs?
“Get out of here. I’m warning you,” Blue Eyes said.
“I’m not leaving. You can’t do this,” Mac told him. His hands were still rolled into tight fists. His chest heaved up and down. But he seemed more angry than afraid.
“Go away,” the chubby one snapped. “Go away before I lose it.”
“Just turn around and walk away,” his partner ordered.
“I’m serious,” Mac told them. “I’m not going until you give this up.”
And then without warning, Mac dove forward. He lunged at the tall masked man—and grabbed his hunting rifle with both hands. He gave a furious tug, but the man’s grip held.
“Mac—no!” I screamed. Brendan and I jumped up from the folding chairs and started toward them. “No!”
We watched helplessly as Mac and the blue-eyed gunman wrestled over the rifle. The man twisted it and turned it, struggling to pull it from Mac’s grasp. But Mac stubbornly held on. Grunting and groaning, he pulled, then pushed hard, trying to throw the man off-balance.
“NOOOOO!” a shrill scream exploded from my throat as the rifle went off.
The sharp craaack rang off the four walls.
As if in slow motion, Mac uttered a long sigh and dropped to his knees. He shut his eyes. He seemed to fold in on himself, wrapping his hands around his middle. He collapsed to the floor with one last groan and didn’t move.
“Oh, no!” The tall gunman stumbled back, eyeing the still body on the floor in horror. The rifle fell from his hands and clattered to the floor in front of him.
“You shot him!” I screamed so loud, my throat ached. “You shot Mac. You murderer! You killed him!”
32.
A BAD IDEA
I pressed my hands to my face and stared down at Mac, so still, folded up on the floor. Brendan grabbed my arm. His mouth was open but he didn’t make a sound.
The two masked men dropped down beside Mac. They leaned over him, examining him, muttering to themselves.
Brendan squeezed my arm. He motioned with his head toward the door.
I was in such a panic, it took me a few seconds to figure out what he meant. This was our chance to escape.
The two men were huddled over Mac.
Brendan and I both moved. I darted forward, grabbed the hunting rifle from the floor, swung it in front of me, and ran. Brendan was already halfway to the door.
My heart thudded like a bass drum in my chest. My legs felt shaky and weak, but I forced myself to run. Into the dimly lit hallway. I turned to follow Brendan. Our shoes pounded the worn carpet.
I glanced back as we turned a corner. The gunmen weren’t coming after us yet. But I knew they would be.
I kept picturing Mac folded up on the floor. I couldn’t get the image from my mind.
Why did he do such a crazy thing? Why did he think he could make them stop and give up? I couldn’t think of an answer.
My brain was spinning as Brendan and I bolted around a corner. “Brendan, wait.” I grabbed his shoulder. My whole body was shaking. I was gripped with panic. “If we run into the woods, they’ll find us. They’ll keep searching till they find us. Where can we hide? Where?”
“The elevator,” Brendan said, motioning with his head. “It’s down here. They’ll expect us to run outside. Instead, we’ll hide upstairs and wait for help to come.”
Was this a bad idea? Were we making a big mistake?
I was too overcome by panic to think straight. Our shoes thudded the carpet as we ran down the long, dimly lit hall. I kept glancing back. No sign of the masked men. Yet.
Brendan pushed the button on the wall, the elevator door slid open slowly, and we squeezed inside.
I heard a shout. A man’s cry far down the hall.
Did they see us?
The elevator moved so slowly, making a scraping sound as it carried us up.
Faster. Please go faster, I urged it silently, my hands squeezed into tight fists.
The tiny car bounced, a hard bump that sent Brendan and me toppling into one another. For a second, I thought it stalled. But it continued its slow, noisy climb.
Brendan and I didn’t speak. The door slid open on the third floor. I followed him into the long hall. “Lots of rooms to hide in,” Brendan whispered. He put a hand on my back and guided me. “That room filled with cartons. They won’t see us in there.”
“Wait,” I said. I turned back to the elevator. It was already rumbling back down to the first floor. “If they saw us…”
Brendan kept his hand on my back. We both stared at the elevator door. And listened.
The air was hot and dry up here. I suddenly felt as if I was suffocating.
We both listened to the scrape of the elevator as it descended.
Were the gunmen down there? Waiting for the elevator? Waiting to come up and capture us?
I shut my eyes. Please … Please … let them go outside. Let them think we ran into the woods to hide.
I heard a hard bump as the elevator reached the first floor.
Brendan and I moved closer. Holding my breath, I pressed my ear against the elevator door. Listened hard.
Down below, I heard the scrape of the door sliding open. I stared at Brendan. He was frozen in place, jaw clamped tight, arms tensed at his sides.
We listened. Not breathing.
I heard the elevator door slide shut.
Silence.
Silence.
And then the hum and rumble as the little car began to climb.
“It … it’s coming back up,” I stammered. “They saw us. They’re coming. We’re trapped.”
33.
INTO THE WOODS
Brendan squeezed my arm. His eyes darted from side to side. I could see he was thinking hard
“We’re not trapped,” he whispered. “Hurry.”
I followed him into a dark room a few doors down the hall. I could see a pale half-moon outside the window on the far wall. The sky had turned dark. A tree branch tapped the glass.
“We’re not trapped,” Brendan repeated. He grabbed the
window frame with both hands and pushed the window up all the way. “Look.” He motioned to me.
A fat tree limb stretched under the window, almost like a ledge.
“We used to climb down to the ground on this tree all the time,” Brendan said. “Just to terrify my parents.” He raised one leg out the window, onto the branch. “Come on. It’s easy.”
He lowered himself onto the branch. “Careful. It’s slippery from the rain.”
Out in the hall, I heard the elevator door slide open. Heard the thud of heavy footsteps in the hall. Muttered voices.
I took a deep breath and dropped the rifle out the window. Then I swung myself out the window. “Whoa!” My shoes slid on the slippery, smooth limb. I lowered myself to my knees and then wrapped my legs around the limb. I leaned forward and let my hands slide around the smooth bark, following Brendan, shinnying down.
The fat limb bent and creaked under our weight. I heard a cracking sound. I screamed—and my hands slipped off the wet branch.
“Nooooo!”
I fell. Swung upside down. My head down. My hands grasping nothing but air, I gripped the branch tightly with my legs.
Hanging upside down, I reached both hands toward the branch, struggling to pull myself upright. But I couldn’t reach it. My legs throbbed. I could feel the muscles giving way. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on.
“Brendan—” I gasped.
He pulled himself back up to me, swung down, and grabbed my arms. With a groan, he pulled me back up. Gasping for breath, I swung my arms around the tree limb.
“No time to rest,” he said, gazing up at the house. “Hold on. Follow me.”
But the limb held us as we made our way to the trunk. I kept glancing up, expecting the masked men to poke their heads out the window above us. But … no sign of them.
Scrambling across the limb, it seemed like hours before we reached the fat, smooth trunk. Thank goodness it tilted at an easy angle for sliding. Wrapping my arms around it, I carefully, slowly slid down. A few seconds later, I stood beside Brendan on the grass, wiping my hands on the sides of my jeans.
