Death Drop

by Melanie Jackson

  Death Drop

  * * *

  Death Drop

  * * *

  Melanie Jackson

  orca currents

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Copyright © 2016 Melanie Jackson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Jackson, Melanie, 1956-, author

  Death drop / Melanie Jackson.

  (Orca currents)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-1192-8 (paperback).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1193-5 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1194-2 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents

  PS8569.A265D43 2016 jC813'.6 C2016-900779-O

  C2016-900780-4

  First published in the United States, 2016

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016931884

  Summary: In this high-interest novel for middle readers, Zeke gets caught up in a mystery involving a missing child, a thrill ride and a priceless piece of art.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  Author photo by Bart Jackson

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  www.orcabook.com

  19 18 17 16 • 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Acknowledgments

  “But you knew there would

  always be the spring”

  —Ernest Hemingway,

  A Moveable Feast

  Chapter One

  “She’s gone.”

  It was a little girl with an English accent. She sounded cross. She was nothing to do with me. I thought she was talking to someone else in line.

  I kept staring up at Death Drop from my place in the line on the sidewalk.

  At 170 feet high, attached to a black tower, the elevator was Vancouver’s newest thrill ride. Death Drop plunged its passengers down at forty miles an hour. Fifteen times the speed of a normal elevator. Faster than gravity.

  Like the tower, the elevator was black—with one difference. It had a huge blood-red pomegranate painted on one side.

  Death Drop was based on a Greek myth. Hades, the king of the underworld, gave a pomegranate to a beautiful woman named Persephone, whom he had kidnapped. She ate a few seeds. Who wouldn’t? Pomegranates are bittersweet, refreshing.

  But sly Hades had put a spell on the pomegranate. Eating the seeds meant that Persephone had to marry Hades and spend half of every year with him.

  Behind Death Drop, people kayaked on False Creek. The water was blue-green in the sun. The kayakers didn’t seem to be thinking about nature though. With their paddles, they pointed up to the tower that had been built for the elevator. Everybody was talking about the big drop.

  To reach the elevator, you walked up the tower’s curving, windowless corridors. You got treated to special horror effects—To die for! the ads promised. There was even a famous painting of Persephone, on loan from England.

  I had arrived early for baseball practice at the park across the street. I’d decided to see what all the hype was about.

  In orange, flame-shaped letters, a sign explained that groups of twenty at a time went in. The next group had to wait until the first group crashed down in the elevator.

  While waiting, I tossed my baseball up and down.

  “She’s gone.”

  I looked down. A kid with sausage-like blond curls was talking to me.

  Out of the whole Death Drop lineup, why come to me for help? I didn’t look very respectable. My LA Angels T-shirt was streaked with mud.

  Besides, I was a boy. Kids with problems needed a nice lady. A middle-aged, motherly type.

  “You can’t find your mom?” I asked. I didn’t put a lot of friendliness into my voice.

  She scowled. “My aunt,” she said as if I should know.

  “Right,” I said. I glanced up and down the line of people. If I left it to help the kid, I’d lose my place.

  I spotted an attendant at the entrance. He wore black jeans and a black T with a pomegranate design. He was pale, with a pinched expression like he didn’t want to be there. Maybe he thought he was too good to be taking tickets.

  I told the kid, “That’s who you need. Someone who works here.”

  She shook her head. The sausage-like curls bounced. She pointed to me. To my baseball shirt.

  “Angels,” she said. “Angels help people.”

  Screams ripped through the air. Death Drop was plunging!

  The top half of the elevator slid back. Now the passengers could see the ground hurtling toward them. The elevator tipped forward. They screamed louder.

  Then—flames leaped from the earth. Death Drop zoomed right into them.

  Or so it appeared. The flames were gas-powered, from jets built in a circle around the elevator. No one was at risk of getting burned.

  The elevator landed. People staggered out. One guy, looking kind of green, ran into a washroom.

  The blond kid was still watching me.

  With a great effort, I kept my voice patient. “About my T-shirt. The Los Angeles Angels are a team. See, I’m into baseball. I’m a pitcher.”

  The girl nodded. “You will help me.”

  I was not getting through to this kid. I wasn’t used to dealing with children. I had no younger siblings. And my life consisted of baseball, baseball, baseball.

  I decided the best plan was to forge ahead. I smiled brightly at her. “So! Now that we’ve cleared that up, why don’t you go over to that guy in black. He’ll—”

  Take care of you, I meant to say. I never got the words out.

  The kid opened her mouth wide and howled. Tears sprang from her eyes. I’d never seen anything like it.

  People turned to stare. They looked from me to the kid and back again. The stares turned to glares. I was being mean. I was bullying a little kid.

  I gave up. I took the girl’s hand. “Let’s go find your aunt.”

  She kept bawling. But she let me lead her to the attendant.

  “I have a lost child,” I began.

  The attendant was telling a boy with thick glasses that he didn’t meet the height requirement. He pointed to a cardboard cutout of a grinning red demon with horns and a tail. A sign underneath warned, If you’re shorter than the demon, you’re too young to ride Death Drop!

  I recognized the boy. Dieter Crane. The Deet, we called him. He was the class bookworm.

  He was also a pest about baseball. Dieter showed up to every practice, begging Coach to let him on the team. But brainy Deet had skipped ahead two years in school, so he was younger than the rest of us. He was too young for the team, Coach said.

  Every practice, Coach roare
d at him to scram. But it didn’t put Dieter off.

  He wasn’t put off now either. He scrunched up his nose under his glasses and argued with the attendant. He said age shouldn’t be a factor.

  I tried again. “I have a lost—”

  Without looking, the attendant snapped, “Lost-and-found is inside.”

  Like the blond kid was a misplaced flip-flop or sunhat.

  I began to feel sorry for Blondie. Annoying or not, she deserved better.

  I led her inside. Behind us, the Deet was insisting, “But I’m mature for my age!”

  We were in a dark passageway. Above us, a red puppet demon jeered at us. “The higher they climb, the harder they fall!” He cackled with laughter.

  Someone slammed into me.

  “Sorry,” Dieter exclaimed. He squinted up at me. “Zeke Sheldon! Hi, Zeke!”

  The attendant shouted, “Come back here, Four Eyes!”

  Pushing past other visitors, the Deet zoomed around the first curve.

  The attendant marched to a door I hadn’t noticed. A gleaming green-neon sign on it said Office. Private.

  “Let’s try in there,” I suggested to Blondie. “Maybe your aunt’s waiting for you.”

  I pushed the door open into a bright, sunlit office.

  The attendant was at the desk. He was whining into a phone. His voice had a nasal quality, like it was designed for complaining. “You’re the manager. Come on, give me backup. I can’t deal with hooligans.”

  I didn’t think of Dieter as a hooligan. He was just determined.

  I noticed the attendant’s name on a badge, in flame letters: Smythe Sadler, Assistant Manager. He wasn’t much older than I was.

  I said, “Hey, Smythe, I have a lost little girl here. I’m betting her aunt is worried.”

  Smythe slammed the phone down. He swooped between Blondie and me.

  He said, “I’ll get the manager on this. She’ll take care of it.”

  Blondie rolled her eyes. She heaved a big sigh and sat down. She swung her feet hard and high at Smythe. He had to dodge to avoid being kicked.

  “Uh…” I felt bad leaving Blondie here. I didn’t like her being referred to as it.

  The attendant ran his tongue over his teeth. “We will deal with this. Go.”

  I went back out to the passageway. The demon puppet was jeering again. I thought about Smythe having to listen to that all day. No wonder he looked so sour.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. Line up again? Baseball practice was starting soon. Coach didn’t tolerate lateness.

  I had a lot riding on Coach’s good opinion of me. He had pull with a couple of universities that offered baseball scholarships.

  As I stepped out into the sunshine, I thought maybe I should just go over to the park and wait for the rest of the team.

  I noticed a girl with dark-red hair beside the entrance. She gave me a green-eyed glance, then went back to scribbling on her pad.

  Smythe swept out of the building. He was scowling and licking his teeth some more. A nervous tic. I wondered if he wore down enamel doing that.

  “Why aren’t you at work?” he snapped at the girl.

  “Sorry, Smythe. I was just finishing up a—”

  “Get to work, or I’ll fire you.”

  The girl shrugged. “First I have to put something away.”

  Ignoring Smythe’s glare, she headed around the corner.

  When Smythe saw me, his scowl deepened.

  “Going to chase after that boy with glasses?” I asked conversationally.

  He snorted. “The manager said to let him go. That’s not how I’d deal with him.”

  “You’d set him on fire?”

  I thought it was mildly amusing. But Smythe snapped, “The manager said you can go on the ride free. So go already.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Tell me about the kid. Has her aunt reported her missing?”

  Smythe widened his eyes. “Kid?”

  Chapter Two

  Smythe stomped back to the entrance. He started taking tickets again.

  Kid? The guy was messing with me, like it was a joke. Meanwhile, some woman somewhere was out of her mind with worry about Blondie.

  People shoved past. They were mad about the delay.

  To let them by, I backed against the wall. I tossed my ball up and down. I thought of going back to the office, checking on Blondie. But if I did, I might miss out on the big drop. If I went up now, I could still make practice.

  The manager would look after Blondie, I told myself. That was a manager’s job. The kid would be okay.

  I headed to the front of the line. Smythe nodded at me as I made my way inside.

  “…the harder they fall!” the puppet jeered at me as I entered the passageway.

  Around the first turn, a woman on a large screen welcomed us. She wore a floppy white hat, a white dress and a glittery silver necklace. The effect was blinding.

  The woman said:

  “I am Sherry Moore, Death Drop’s designer and manager. I’ve always been fascinated by the myth of Persephone. The idea of someone falling into the underworld. All because she ate enchanted pomegranate seeds!”

  Sherry paused for dramatic effect.

  Two burly guys glanced at each other. “Ever eaten a pomegranate?” one asked.

  The other replied, “Eaten one? I can’t even spell it!”

  They laughed loudly.

  Sherry was saying, “Persephone’s mother was Demeter, the goddess of agriculture. Demeter was heartbroken about losing Persephone for six months of the year. The goddess was so upset that she stopped things from growing.

  “According to the ancient Greeks, that’s why we have winter! All is cold, barren, lifeless while Demeter grieves for her stolen daughter.”

  The burly guys didn’t think much of Sherry’s spiel. “Bo-o-o-ring!” one of them complained.

  “Yeah,” agreed another. “We want some thrills. Some laughs. Not this.”

  They lumbered around the next curve.

  “It’s not boring at all,” said a solemn voice.

  I looked around. It was Dieter.

  “Nothing about this place is boring,” the Deet assured me. “Not the myth. Not her.” He pointed to the screen.

  “Oh yeah?” I tried not to sound overly interested. Once the Deet got started, it was hard to shut him up. That was another reason Coach yelled at Dieter to scram. The guy rattled off baseball stats nonstop. A regular walking Wikipedia.

  Dieter explained, “Sherry has wealthy relatives in England. She talked them into lending her their painting of Persephone. It’s brilliant, really. That painting is a rare early version of one of the most famous paintings in the world. Putting it in the center of this attraction means attracting educated art enthusiasts as well as thrill seekers. It’s a bold move.”

  I whistled. “Not bad.”

  “One problem. Sherry isn’t that great a businesswoman. In building Death Drop, she went way over budget. She owes a ton of money.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” I demanded.

  “I read about it in Business Weekly. I’m doing a report on Death Drop for camp.”

  “For camp? What happened to swimming and archery?”

  The Deet adjusted his glasses. “This is Leaders of Tomorrow camp. My parents signed me up.”

  I had no words. I made a point of pulling out my cell phone to check the time.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” Dieter commented.

  I was already edging away.

  “I mean, Persephone fell into the underworld,” Dieter pointed out. “And Sherry fell into debt! Both of them ended up in a desperate situation.”

  “I know how they felt,” I muttered—and walked quickly on.

  “Hey, Zeke! Could you put in a word for me with Coach?” Dieter called after me.

  I had other things to think about.

  The floor beneath me was splitting in two. It pulled apart in jagged halves, with loud splintering sounds.

  I jumped b
ack just in time. The people ahead were trapped. Flames rushed up at them from the yawning chasm. Smoke billowed around them.

  People screamed. One of the burly guys shrieked in terror.

  But no one was falling. It was a glass floor. The flames, the chasm, were just images.

  I sniffed. The smoke wasn’t real. It came from one of those machines they use on movie sets. I glanced around. There it was, hanging from the ceiling.

  The people ahead looked down. They saw their feet safely planted on the glass. They realized they weren’t falling and relaxed.

  The burly guy who’d shrieked now scowled. His buddy pointed at him. He yelped with laughter.

  Like you weren’t scared as well, I thought. I had to hand it to Death Drop’s designer. Sherry had a wicked imagination. She could fool people.

  I picked up my pace. I didn’t want to be late for practice. I ran around the next turn—and into the red fake fruit of a large fake tree.

  I got it. The hanging fruits were supposed to be pomegranates.

  I pushed through them. Between two more fake trees, on a large screen, a video was playing. It showed a woman holding a pomegranate.

  I didn’t have to be brainy Deet to figure out who she was. It was Persephone.

  With a knife, she sliced a wedge from the pomegranate, exposing the blood-red seeds. She pulled some seeds free and popped them into her mouth.

  In a big puff of smoke, a black-cloaked man appeared. He had dark hair, deathly pale skin and pointed ears.

  “I am Hades,” he boomed. “You will become my wife. We will live forever in the underworld and never see sunlight again!”

  “B-but I don’t want to live in the underworld,” Persephone objected.

  Hades threw back his head. He laughed. His evil laughter rang on and on.

  The screen turned dark. Someone in a demon outfit burst from behind a plastic tree. Waving his arms, he ran down the passage. “Bwa-ha-ha!”

  His shouts were halfhearted. I didn’t think he was really into it.

  But a white-haired lady seemed to buy it. “This is too much!” she cried, clutching her chest. “I can’t take the screams!”