of its floor, shoving herself hard against the seat back, grabbing the sides.
Soon the gondola slowed to a gentle sway.
Robin brought her arms down, slid her legs together. She sat there for a few moments, shuddering and gasping for breath.
I made it, she thought.
My God, I made it!
With the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, she pinched the head of the pin and gave it a quick pull. The pin slid out of her chest. The breeze lifted the card free and sent it tumbling away into the night. Robin tossed the pin after it. The hole felt sore and itchy. In a way, it seemed more irritating than her other wounds. They were serious hurts, but this one was pesky. She rubbed it with the heel of her hand.
When it felt better, she lowered the hand onto her lap and pulled the cuff off. She dropped the cuffs onto the seat. She flexed her hands. Though they still felt a little numb, blood was beginning to circulate better. Her fingers tingled as if they’d been asleep.
A chilly gust buffeted her. Gritting her teeth, she folded her arms across her chest, cupped a breast in the warmth of each hand, and squeezed her legs together.
Now all I’ve got to worry about, she thought, is dying of exposure.
She suddenly remembered the three trolls somewhere below.
Icy fear spread through the pit of her stomach.
They can’t get me, she told herself.
If they could start the wheel going, they would’ve done it before now.
Maybe they’re just lying low until the cops…
The cops!
Robin leaned slowly forward and gripped the safety bar. She peered past the side of the gondola. The area near Funland’s main entrance was deserted. She scanned the entire length of the boardwalk. The moon-washed planking looked as gray as driftwood. The shadows were black smudges.
Maybe the kid’s whistle had been a false alarm.
Maybe he had seen cops, but they were on the way to some other destination.
Give them time, she told herself.
Though it seemed like forever since the kid had blown his whistle, it was probably no more than two or three minutes ago.
They might still show up.
The thought no sooner passed through her mind than a dark figure stepped out of the entryway’s shadows. Robin caught her breath. Then let it out, sighing with frustration.
This wasn’t a cop, it was a goddamn troll. She shuffled along, hunched over like an old witch, wrapped in a blanket that covered her head.
Wait!
That girl who’d warned the others—she’d said her sister the cop would be coming dressed as a troll.
That’s her!
Robin scooted across the seat, leaned out as far as she dared over the safety bar, thrust an arm out, waved, and shouted.
In the middle of the boardwalk, Joan slowly turned around.
No one.
Where the hell are they? she wondered.
Somebody had to be here. There’d been the whistle. There was the car parked in front, its engine running.
Shouldn’t have wasted time at the car, she thought. That had eaten up a minute or two.
The car might be all we’ll get, she told herself. It had been hot-wired, obviously stolen. Maybe by the same people who nailed Gloria.
But where are they now?
And where’s their victim?
Somebody in the backseat had bled.
They must be around here.
At least they won’t be driving off on us, she thought.
While Dave was copying the license number, Joan had cut the ignition wires with her knife, then rolled up the windows and locked the doors.
They aren’t going anywhere. Not in that car.
She turned around and shook her head. “The place looks deserted,” she said.
A silhouette, backlighted by the glow from the parking lot, appeared in the darkness beside the ticket booth. “What do you want to do?” Dave asked.
“They’ve gotta be somewhere.”
“Do you want me out there with you?”
“It’d blow the cover.”
“If they’ve already got someone, they might not try for you anyway.”
That was true enough. And the whistle might’ve been blown by a sentry, warning his friends that intruders were on the way. They might have fled up the beach, or scattered and hidden themselves somewhere among the rides or buildings of Fun-land.
“Just stay close enough to keep an eye on me,” Joan said. “I’ll head on down the boardwalk, see if I can draw them—”
“Behind you!”
She whirled around.
Two pale figures rushing up the stairs from the beach.
Their hands were empty.
A boy and a girl.
No threat from these two, Joan thought.
The guy had a slight build, and wore glasses that gleamed in the moonlight. A chrome whistle hung from a chain