Part 15 (1/2)

She gestured toward a dark patch of ground; but it wasn't just ground. It was moving. It was a large turntable of dark gray asphalt, about fifty yards in diameter. It slowly revolved, and out of the misty darkness spun an object: a single teacup, just large enough for a person to sit in. A spinning teacup ride. That's all. It might not have been so bad, except for one thing: The teacup was yellow.

School bus yellow.

”Take this final ride, and if you make it through, your brother and your friends get to go home with you.”

The yellow teacup revolved back into the misty darkness.

”You don't have to do it,” said Quinn. But he was wrong. Even if his fate didn't hang in the balance, I had to take this ride. I turned to Ca.s.sandra. ”What happens if I don't make it through?”

She only smiled, pulling her hair back from her face.

I took a step toward the slowly revolving patch of asphalt, but Quinn grabbed my arm. ”I'll come with you.”

”You can't. I ride this one alone.”

His eyes grew moist. ”Promise me you'll be back,” he said. ”Promise me you won't disappear.”

But I wouldn't make him a promise I might not be able to keep.

Ca.s.sandra crossed her arms impatiently. ”Are you riding or not?”

I stepped up to the edge of the asphalt turntable. Its surface was slick, with a fine layer of black ice.

”Hey, Blake?”

I turned back to Quinn before I took that step onto the turntable. ”Yeah?”

He hesitated. ”I'm just wondering . . . did I ever tell you that I love you?”

”No,” I answered. ”You never did.”

He shrugged. ”So maybe I will someday.”

”Yeah,” I said. ”Me too.”

Then I stepped onto the turntable, and it carried me away from him. ”Back in five.” I kept my eyes on my brother until he faded into the mist. I turned to see the teacup just a few yards away. I pulled open the cup's little yellow door. The seats inside were dark green leatherette. The wheel in the center was a steering wheel. I closed the door, took my seat, and grabbed the wheel. The teacup began to spin, slowly at first, but picking up speed as I pulled on the wheel, putting my weight behind it. I made that yellow teacup spin faster and faster until everything blurred. The sound of squealing tires began to fill my ears, and suddenly I was- -spinning out of control.

A doomed school bus on an icy day.

Green sticky seats and the smell of cherry bubble gum and a dozen kids screaming as the bus spins round and round and round. Andy Burke, my best friend, falls from his seat to the ground.

I am seven. I am there. This is not just a ride, I am there!

A teacher wails, ”Oh my G.o.d, oh my G.o.d, oh my G.o.d.”

Mrs. Greer. I remember her name now. I grip on to the seat in front of me to keep from being hurled across the bus. My backpack flies and I never see it again.

My fingers slip from the seat back, and I tumble into the aisle, my cheek hitting the cold black floor that smells of rubber and mud.

”Hold on, Blake!” Mrs. Greer yells.

When I look up, I'm staring straight at the emergency exit at the back of the bus. It seems a hundred yards away.

BAM! We hit something hard, tearing metal. A guardrail flies up from the road, like a piece of confetti. It smashes a window and tumbles away. We've broken through the guardrail at the edge of Colfax Ravine. I know this place. The cliff is steep and rocky. I used to throw paper airplanes from this cliff and never see them hit the bottom. As far as I know, Colfax Ravine is as deep as the Grand Canyon.

The front end of the bus slips over the edge of the cliff, and now the sight of the rear emergency exit door fills my mind, and I scramble toward it. No one else is opening that door. Don't they know-don't they see why that door is there? If no one else will open it, I will!

The bus tilts, its back end lifting into the air. The floor of the bus rises before me like a black wave. I climb the steep angle of the floor to get to the emergency exit at the back. Screams and sc.r.a.ping metal. The smell of pee. Somebody's wet themselves. Maybe it's me.

I reach the back of the bus and grip the emergency door release bar.

”Open it, Blake,” yells Mrs. Greer. ”Open it. Hurry!”

And then I hear another voice-one that's not supposed to be here. The voice of Ca.s.sandra. She reclines in the back row, calmly watching, amused.

”Hurry, Blake,” she mocks. ”Not much time left.”

”Open it!” screams Mrs. Greer.

But the door is rusted shut. It doesn't budge. ”I can't! I can't! I can't!”

”You couldn't open it then,” says Ca.s.sandra, ”and you can't open it now. Such a shame.”

Metal sc.r.a.pes on stone on the belly of the bus. The nose drops lower, the back rises higher, and the bus loses its balance, plunging into Colfax Ravine. I open my mouth to scream, but I am silenced by a blinding, searing explosion, and I am- -spinning out of control.

A doomed school bus on an icy day.

Screams, the smell of bubble gum, and Andy Burke falls to the floor.

It's happening all over again! The ride is repeating!

Mrs. Greer wails, ”Oh my G.o.d, oh my G.o.d, oh my G.o.d.”

No! Not again! I can't go through this again! How many times will it repeat? How many times?

”Hold on, Blake!”

I'm in the aisle again. The smell of rubber and mud. And the emergency exit.

We hit the guardrail and teeter over the edge. I'm at the back now, tugging at the stubborn emergency exit door, and Ca.s.sandra is there again, smiling in triumph.

”Here's your own special ride,” she tells me. ”And you'll never change what happened, no matter how hard you try. You can't change this ride!”

I ram my fist against the emergency exit release until my knuckles are bruised and raw.

”Open it, Blake,” screams Mrs. Greer.