Page 131 of Victorious

“Sir,” he said through gritted teeth, taking a single step out of Eli’s way.

Overhead, the drone found its targets. The infrared images came in. One body glowed a warm gold. Nearby, a second registered in cooler shades of violet, blue.

Malcolm’s hands were a blur across the mainframe keyboard. The most recent layout of the park appeared, overlaid with the scanning pattern of the drone. His white text appeared in the bottom of the screen.

LOCATION: MADMAN’S MANSION, he said, transmitting the coordinates to their comms.

As Eli passed Noah, Gabriel lost sight of his face, but the smugness showed in his stride as he started toward the nearest gate.

“Eli,” he instructed. “You will not fire a single shot unless I tell you to.”

The EO said nothing. But he could tell, from the way his shoulders tensed, that he’d heard.

The park gates had once been locked by a length of loose chain, but in the months since the place had closed, they’d clearly been tested, then forced, leaving an angled gap large enough for a person to slip through. Which Eli did, his position appearing as a small red dot on the map of the park.

Malcolm’s text flashed up in Gabriel’s vision.

ACTIVITY BACK AT THE MOTEL.

He frowned, turning his attention to the other screens.

The only two transmitting from the motel belonged to the dead agents still on the ground. Their screens had been empty, dark. But now, as he watched, a form came into focus.

A pale figure loomed above one of the corpses.

Gabriel stepped closer to the screen as the figure crouched over the body and pulled something from its vest. For a moment, they were face-to-face. Eye to eye.

A current of excitement shot through Gabriel.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

As if the other man could hear him, his eyes flicked to the small black bead of the camera on the dead agent’s chest.

He rose, and brought his boot down on the lens, killing the feed.

XIVNOW. THEN.BETHANY ADVENTURE LAND

ELI’S eyes adjusted quickly to the dark.

His boots whispered on the concrete as he stalked between rows of derelict carnival booths, past games that once shot water, and bare shelves where prizes must have hung, the husks of wooden coasters sagging beyond the stalls.

His first year at Lockland, Eli had made the mistake of telling Angie that he’d never been to an amusement park. The next weekend, she’d dragged him to the nearest one, convinced that everyone should know the heady mix of fear and joy, the thrill of danger and the high of escaping it. He’d smiled, and nodded, and done his best to pretend, but the truth was, he didn’t understand the appeal. The artificial buzz of roller coasters. The jump-scares of haunted houses. The excitement of carnival games. It was hard to fathom why so many chose to spend their days trying to imitate the sense of fight-or-flight that came with life-or-death scenarios.

Then again, thought Eli, skirting around a stall, it couldn’t be that many people, or the park would still be open.

He stepped over a broken bottle, all too aware of the silence.

In the pre-dawn night, not even the birds were calling. The only ambient sound was the quiet groan of rusting metal, the soft rattle of signs swaying in the breeze.

“Do you like roller coasters?” he’d asked Victor when they’d gotten back that night. Angie had crashed, drunk on cheap beer, and cheeks burned from standing in the sun, and the two of them were in the dining hall, picking at the university’s poor excuse for stir-fry.

Victor had said, “No,” and Eli had felt that flash of kinship, until he added, “but I get why people do.”

“Why?” Eli asked, when what he meant was, “What am I missing?”

Victor had shrugged. “Most people are convinced fake fear is the only kind they’ll ever know.”

Now Eli shook his head, trying to clear it.