Page 30 of Carnival’s Playground

Then the radio on my chest erupts with a blast of frantic static.

"West perimeter! Station three!" Petey's voice screams through the tiny speaker, high and ragged. "The motion sensor just tripped by the old oak tree! Same spot as the fence cut!"

The sawdust beneath my boots feels like it drops ten feet. My stomach lurches. "We're moving," I bark into the mic, already running before I finish the sentence.

Carnival's already ahead of me, tearing through the backstage exit flaps, out into the freezing night air where the noise of the circus dies behind the thick canvas walls. The dark beyond the midway lights is absolute and suffocating, and my heart's pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else.

"Flashlights off until we hit the tree line," Carnival orders, his hand instantly finding mine in the dark, his grip iron-hard as he pulls me through the equipment maze. I hold on like my life depends on it.

We sprint past the dark generators, our boots silent on the grass, reaching the patched west fence in less than sixty seconds. The galvanized wire stands unbroken, the fresh ties glinting in the pale moonlight.

"Nothing on the fence," I breathlessly whisper, clicking my heavy flashlight on and sweeping the beam across the dry grass, trying to control my breathing.

"Sensor tripped twenty yards out in the field," Carnival warns low, releasing my hand to pull a heavy mag light from his belt. "Stay on my six."

"I'm right beside you, Wyatt," I stubbornly tell him, refusing to cower behind his back even though every instinct is screaming at me to run the other direction. My throat's so tight I can barely get the words out.

He lets out a harsh curse under his breath, but he doesn't waste time arguing. We push through the dense mesquite brush, the thorny branches scraping against my canvas sleeves as our beams slice through the black woods. The only sound is our ragged breathing and the distant, muffled cheer from the big top. My pulse hammers so loud in my ears I'm half convinced he can hear it too.

"Hold up," Carnival suddenly commands, freezing in his tracks.

"What do you see?" I urgently ask, raising my beam. My voice comes out thinner than I want it to.

Ten feet ahead, standing stark and gray against the dark trunk of a massive post oak, is another square of white paper. It's pinned to the bark at eye level with a heavy, rusted framing nail.

My blood turns to sludge. We step forward together, the light catching the glossy surface.

It's a fresh photograph of the Grimlight Reveals big top, taken from this exact spot in the woods, glowing brightly against the night sky while the crowd lines up at the turnstiles. It was taken less than an hour ago.

"The bastard was standing right here," I hoarsely whisper. My hand's shaking so violently the beam wobbles across the photo. I feel sick, violated, terrified in a way that makes my knees threaten to buckle.

"He wants us to know he's inside the wire," Carnival savagely growls. I can feel the rage radiating off him, barely controlled, and it's the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

Behind us, a sudden metallic shriek echoes across the lot from the front entrance, followed by the muffled, rising scream of a panicked crowd.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CARNIVAL

The metallic grinding noise tearing across the carnival grounds sounds like an iron jaw snapping shut on bone, and my blood goes cold.

"Dutch!" I roar into my radio, spinning away from the oak tree and hauling Avery through the dense brush toward the open lot. My heart's slamming so hard against my ribs I can barely breathe. "What the fuck was that?"

"Main exit turnstiles are jammed solid!" Dutch's frantic voice screams back through the speaker, distorted by heavy static and the rising roar of a panicked mob. "The crowd's bottlenecking at the west gate! Petey, get the hell over here with the pry bars! Wyatt, move!"

"On our way!" I shout. Fear claws at my throat, not for me, but for the people trapped at that gate. For her, if this goes sideways.

The photo on the tree is forgotten. Everything narrows down to the roar echoing from the front midway. When a crowd panics in an enclosed carnival ground, people get trampled into the dirt within minutes.

We round the corner of the big top and hit the midway at a dead run. The scene near the main exit gate is pure, unadulterated chaos. Over three hundred people are crushed together against the heavy steel roll-away gate, pushing, screaming, and shoving toward the narrow gap. The automated gate has seized halfway open, leaving a three-foot pinch point where parents are desperately trying to shove their terrified kids through the iron bars.

"Security, form a wedge!" Dutch bellows from the front of the crush, his flannel shirt torn at the collar as he tries to hold back a wave of frightened locals. "East exit's wide open! Divert to the east corridor!"

Nobody's listening. The crowd momentum is pushing forward like a wall of water, and if that gate doesn't open in thirty seconds, somebody's getting crushed to death against the steel frame. My stomach twists with sick dread, and for half a second I can't move, can't think past the image of bodies piled against that gate.

"Avery, take the perimeter horn and redirect the tail of the crowd!" I roughly bark, shoving her toward the secondary control booth. I hate sending her away, hate splitting up when the bastard could be anywhere, but we need her voice. "Get them moving toward the east lights!"

"Don't get yourself killed, Wyatt!" she fiercely yells back, already sprinting toward the PA station without an ounce of hesitation. The fear in her eyes cuts me deep, but she doesn't let it stop her, and that's the only reason I can force myself to turn away.