Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aven
The second clue was on a small drop-tower ride.
We had to strap ourselves into the death machine with a group of Cattle, then sort through their scattered remains once they were ejected from their seats at the bottom.
At least we were able to split into pairs after that.
Now we’ve all been directed to the log flumes.
As the larger group reconvenes at the third ride, I’m feeling a little more confident. I survived Pirate Plunder, and I didn’t shit myself at the top of Death Tower—and yes, that’s the name Jim went with. The log flume is a kiddie ride. This should be a piece of cake.
“Welcome to River Styx, a log flume for the dead and dying,” Jim says with a cackle.
“This doesn’t look anything like I remember,” Quinn says as she eyes the dark entrance. A towering fiberglass Grim Reaper holds his scythe over the opening and coaxes us inside with a malevolent skeleton grin.
Jim pats the figure’s cloaked arm. “We took the old flume and completely revamped the theming. Most of the track is the same, though I had our engineers add a little oomph to the last drop. It’s a doozy!”
My mouth begins to dry out. What’s with human beings and wanting to be flung at the ground at the highest speeds possible? I cannae take it anymore.
I pull Quinn aside as Jim and Cat discuss the ability to wear ponchos during the ride. It’s embarrassing enough to tell Quinn I want to sit this one out, and I don’t want the rest of the group to hear.
“Do you think you could take one for the team, lass?” I whisper. “I, uh . . . I’m not the biggest fan of getting soaked.”
I know it’s a lie. She knows it’s a lie. But she lets me tell it.
“Don’t worry a bit,” she says with a squeeze of my hand. “I’ve got this. However the Cattle are killed, I’ll get the clue for us.”
We turn back to Jim as he begins explaining how this game will work.
“You’ll board the ride in your pairs”—he turns to Cat—“sans ponchos.”
Cat grumbles.
“Once the ride begins, you’ll have until the final drop to murder your Cattle rider before the ride photo is taken. Any teams whose pictures feature Cattle faces will be disqualified, as will anyone who doesn’t dispatch their Cattle before the final drop.”
I glance at Quinn, who seems unperturbed by this plan. Isn’t she the slightest bit concerned she won’t be able to make the kill? What if the Cattle overpowers her?
“So, who’s up first?” Jim asks with a devilish grin.
Kindra looks around and asks the question most of us are already thinking. “Are we supposed to use weapons? Or does the ride have some sort of—”
Jim holds out his hands. “Please, no more questions from the press. All will be revealed once you’re inside.”
Kindra rolls her eyes and grabs Ezra’s wrist, then drags him into the darkness beneath the Grim Reaper’s weapon. “Come on, Ezra. We might as well get this . . .” There’s a brief moment of silence before she shouts, “Jesus fucking Christ!”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Frankie says. She glances up at Maverick, who wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer.
Bennett offers the same comfort to Cat, and even Eve does her best to soothe the worry on Ice Pick’s face. Grim and Rose are busy discussing it in their own way, but they both seem more excited than nervous.
And here I stand, ready to let the girl go it alone because I’m afraid of a little log flume.
I don’t wrap my arm around her shoulder, but I find her hand and give it a squeeze. “Changed my mind, lass. I’m coming with.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod before good sense catches up with me.
When Jim calls for the next group a few seconds later, I’m glad when Quinn doesn’t jump at the offer. She lets Cat and Bennett have that honor. Once Jim has confiscated their ponchos, he sends them through the door.
“Jim, you fucking suck!” Bennett shouts toward the group a few moments after he’s disappeared.
Now the curiosity is getting the better of me. I lean closer to Quinn. “Maybe we should go next and get this out of the way,” I whisper.
“I think you’re right,” she says with a gulp.
Jim calls for the next group, and I step forward. I take Quinn’s hand, pretending it’s more for her sake, but the lass and I know the awful truth. I’m fucking terrified.
We slip under the scythe, and the darkness continues. Candles line a dungeon-like passage for a few feet, and then we’re met with a wall of water. It cascades from the ceiling in a thin curtain, and there is no way to continue without getting drenched.
“I’m not walking through that,” Quinn says, and I’m inclined to agree. The point of a water ride is to get wet . . . on the ride. You aren’t meant to be drowned going into it. She looks up at me. “I’m not wearing waterproof mascara, Aven.”
“Me neither.”
She grumbles and takes a step forward, and I’m right behind her. A scream squeezes out of her as frigid water douses her entire body, and I damn near let the same sound out of me. Who the fuck designed this shit to be the same temperature as fucking Neptune?
“We will all get you for this, Jim!” Quinn bellows. She rips her hand from mine and starts swiping water from her face.
I pull off my shirt and hand it to her, but she waves me off.
“What’s the point? You’re as soaked as I am!”
Looking down at the dripping shirt in my hand, I realize she’s right. I start laughing. I cannae help it. Seems doing the chivalrous thing is beyond my ken, even when I’m trying my damndest.
The worry eases when she starts laughing too. She swipes the shirt from my hand and wrings it out, then opens it and presses it to her face. She holds it there, doing gentle motions with her fingers to smooth away the makeup runoff.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to scrub?” I ask. “Doesn’t seem very effective to just drape a wet cloth on your face and hope for the best.”
“Bad for the skin,” she mumbles into the shirt. “Pulling and tugging like that will give you wrinkles.”
“Oh no, wouldn’t want any of those,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
When she’s satisfied, she shoves the shirt back into my hands and starts walking again. Despite the low light, I can see that she got the job done, even if her methods make no sense.
My arms want to recoil inside my body as I shove them into the icy shirt and follow her. It’s somehow colder now.
“Aven, what is that?”
I look up. Quinn’s outstretched finger points to a tiny boat in a channel of water beside the loading platform. A few identical boats line up behind it, each with a faceless, robed Charon figure perched at the back.
“That would be the ferryman, come to take us to our afterlife,” I say.
Quinn shakes her head, and her soggy golden ponytail flops against her nape. “No, not the boat. That! In his hand.”
I look again and realize she isn’t pointing at the boats. She’s pointing to the ride attendant standing beside the loading dock. In his hand, he holds a shiny metal garrote.
“That’s what we’ll have to use to kill her.
” I nod toward the Cattle in the front of the boat.
She’s a gray-haired elderly woman, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.
“It’s a garrote, used for strangulation.
You slide the wire around her throat and use the handles to provide pressure.
Would you prefer I do it so that we can make it quick? ”
Quinn scoffs and rushes forward to snatch the garrote from the attendant’s hand. “Do you think I’m not strong enough? Because I’m a girl?”
Before I can answer, she drops into the seat, drapes the garrote over the woman’s neck, and starts pulling. The woman’s feet kick out, and her eyes go wide. Her mouth opens in a scream, but Quinn is putting her all into the metal wire, and no sound escapes.
“I’ll kill . . . this animal-abusing cunt . . . before . . . the ride . . .” Quinn grunts and struggles as the woman flails against death. “Bitch, sit still!”
Quinn gives the handles a sharp tug, and the wire slices through skin as the woman turns her head sharply to the left. Blood spurts from a severed artery and soaks Quinn’s legs.
“Oh, fucking gross,” she says as she tries to scoot away.
The ride attendant holds up a finger. “Um, one final rule. If the Cattle dies before the ride starts, you’re disqualified.”
“Shit,” I say as I hurry to drop into the seat behind Quinn. She didn’t need me after all, but it’s too late to back out now.
And as the woman keeps bleeding all over the place, it’s almost too late for anything.
It’s more of a nick than a full severance of the artery, but it’s enough to keep the blood pulsing out in violent jets.
I motion for the attendant to get us rolling before she meets the actual Angel of Death.
It’s not until the boat dips forward and we drift into a black tunnel that I remember what’s to come.
“Oh, wow,” Quinn breathes as the woman gurgles in front of her. “Look at that.”
The tiny boat bobs into a scene straight from a movie set.
An animatronic Grim Reaper stands on the shore, beckoning us forward with a skeletal finger.
Naked branches stretch toward the ceiling from the trees surrounding the water.
We have no choice but to move closer as the boat carries us downriver.
“Who goes there?” a deep voice bellows from overhead, and despite the audio treatments the clip received, I can still tell it’s Jim’s voice. “Who dares venture down the River Styx?”
The boat comes to a stop in front of the massive animatronic, and a speaker hidden within Charon responds. “I bring more souls for the underworld.”
Was that . . . King’s voice? How did Jim get that priggish bastard to run lines? He’s the only bloke I consider more standoffish than myself.
The animatronics continue their bit, but I can’t focus on what they’re saying. Not with the way Quinn keeps wiggling around in front of me and bumping against my blasted cods.
“Lass, watch where you’re swinging that ass of yours.”
“Aven, I think she’s dead,” Quinn says.