Funland - By Richard Laymon Page 0,148

stood beneath any of the grates.

“I’d like to kill ’em all,” he whispered.

His remark brought laughter and jeers down from the ceiling.

As they waited, he handed Tanya’s knife back and gave her one of the candles.

Liz crawled out of the opening, stood up, and joined them.

“Another girlie.”

“More the merrier.”

“Hurry it up, Cowboy!” Liz called.

“Cowboy?” A troll giggled. “They got ’em a cowboy.”

“Strip down, gals. Gimme a peek. C’mon, be nice.”

“Eat shit,” Liz snapped.

“Lemme eat you!”

Finally Cowboy came out. But not headfirst, like the others. His boots appeared. He crawled backward, dragging Samson after him. The huge body tumbled off the slide, smashing Cowboy to the floor.

The back of Samson’s jeans were ripped and bloody. A slab of flesh from his inner thigh hung out. One blade had done that. A second had split his inseam. The sight made a cold ache in Jeremy’s groin.

Cowboy crawled clear, and Tanya crouched beside Samson.

“Two big knife blades sticking up right outta the slide,” Cowboy said. He spoke loudly to be heard over the laughter, squeals of delight, and remarks from the trolls in the ceiling. “Fuckin’ A. All I could do to get him off the things. One of ’em got him right in the nuts.”

“One must’ve clipped his femoral,” Tanya said. “That’s why he died so fast. You don’t last a minute when that gets hit.”

“Must’ve been one bad sucker of a minute,” Cowboy said.

Tanya patted Samson’s back. Then she stood up. “Okay, let’s get going.”

“I ain’t gonna leave him here,” Cowboy said.

“That’s crazy,” Liz said.

“He’s too big for us to carry,” Tanya said. “We’ll be lucky to get out of this hellhole ourselves—we sure can’t make it hauling around a stiff.”

“No way I’m leaving Samuel here. He was my friend. What do you suppose these fuckin’ trolls’ll do to him when we’re gone?”

“He’s dead,” Liz said. “He isn’t gonna care.”

“Well, I reckon I care.”

He rolled the body over, took hold of its hand, and pulled it to a sitting position. Jeremy crouched at Samson’s back and lifted. Then Tanya joined in.

They raised Samson off the floor. Cowboy ducked and hoisted the body in a fireman’s carry.

Just the way Samson carried that fat old troll to the Ferris wheel, Jeremy thought. Only Cowboy was a lot smaller than Samson.

“You got him okay?” Tanya asked.

“Yeah.”

Liz stayed at his side, and Jeremy walked with Tanya.

He kept the cleaver in his right hand and held the candle ahead of him, squinting, trying to see beyond its glow as they made their slow way through the corridor. The trolls went silent behind them. There didn’t seem to be any openings in the floor, walls, or ceiling along this section of the hall. That was a relief, but Jeremy half-expected an attack at any moment, and he knew it might come from anywhere.

It’s up to me, he thought.

With Samson dead and Cowboy burdened under the big guy, Jeremy felt as if he had become the group’s main protector.

I’ll take care of them, he told himself. Me. Duke. I’m the main man now.

He felt a small flicker of pride.

Just ahead of him the hallway suddenly looked round.

“I’ll check it out,” he whispered, and took quick strides past Tanya.

He stopped at the edge of a contraption that looked like an enormous barrel lying on its side. A wooden barrel. Its inside walls bristled with spikes that gleamed in the light of his candle.

He nudged the rim with his foot.

His touch started the barrel into a slow spin.

Tanya brushed against his side. “Real cute,” she muttered.

“We can’t go this way,” Jeremy said.

Liz appeared at his other side and peered at the turning cylinder. “Shit. They sure rigged this damn place. How’re we gonna get through there? It’ll tear us to pieces.”

“We’ll get through,” Tanya said. “Cowboy, haul Samuel on over here.”

Forty-four

Dave swung the door open. He probed the room with his flashlight, and what he saw made him want to run from the Funhouse. But he knew they couldn’t leave without Debbie. He stepped inside. “Police officers!” he snapped. “Drop your weapons! Up against the wall!”

Joan entered. “Oh, dear God,” she muttered. The door bumped shut.

Shoulder to shoulder, they swept their handguns back and forth as the powerful beam of Dave’s flashlight moved through the darkness.

The trolls climbed off each other. They climbed off sprawled, motionless bodies. They shambled to the right side of the room, a couple of them tossing knives to the soft rubber floor, and pressed their backs against the wall. About a dozen of them. Most

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