Slaughterhouse High Part 30

They would escape.

She knew they would.

She and Bowser, they'd be all right, no matter who else fell to the killer loose in the school.

The corridor still lit with its dim lights, the crowd rushed and shuffled toward freedom.

But screams arose from those who reached the front entrance first. Word rippled back, even as they pressed on, of fresh corpses awaiting them there.

Peach and Bowser rounded the corner.

Miss Phipps and the princ.i.p.al, ashen-faced, stood beside a grotesque clothesrack they had just wheeled in. It bore four broken bodies.

Elwood Dunsmore, the shop teacher, his face blasted and blackened by a smashed blowtorch, lay propped against the padlocked doors.

And impaled on the upraised knife-arm of a sculpted Ice Ghoul, dripping blood and water down the cold crystal of its body, were the corpses of Brandy Crowe and Flann Beckwith. A fresh icicle jutted from each eye, crazy antennae in a mad game of Cootie.

Frenzy surged in Peach.

And in the crowd.

Bowser's face looked ready to explode. "We've gotta get out of here," he yelled. Peach could hardly hear him through the din.

She grabbed his hand and together they raced off through fractures in the crowd.

Everybody had been set off, ping-pong b.a.l.l.s and mousetraps.

Rude slams and brushes buffeted her, like the best of slap'n'smack dancing, only far more hectic and nowhere near as fun.

They would break free, she and Bowser.

There had to be a way out.

And they'd find it, her cla.s.smates be d.a.m.ned.

A mad scurry filled every glance she threw.

They were all out for survival, thought Peach. And not one of them would survive.

PART FOUR.

Catching the Ice Ghoul.

Most people have ears, but few have judgment; tickle those ears, and depend upon it, you will catch their judgments, such as they are.

a"Lord Chesterfield.

Trust not one night's ice.

a"George Herbert.

18. Fear and Weapons.

In the spiffy outfits the State had given them for their delivery into Zane Fronemeyer's hands, Bray felta"as they explored Corundum High's backwaysa"like a prince with his princess pa.s.sing through the scullery, the cramped living quarters of the poor.

Winnie's gown snagged on a nail and ripped.

The backways were ill-lit and dank, choked with spiderwebs and the threat of rats. The air was close and confining, hot enough to make Bray wish his tux were made of lighter stuff.

"Where are we?" asked Winnie.

"Let's see," Bray said, moving toward the next dim lightbulb, waist-high on his right.

Randomly placed along the walls, the bulbs were of minimal wattage. They glowed rather than shone. That and faint copying made the map barely readable, even when it was held inches from the light.

The designated slasher clearly needed a tiny flashlight. Bray supposed that whoever had killed Fronemeyer had taken one from the packet.

Why hadn't he taken the map? Perhaps he was already acquainted with the backways, a slasher from years past.

"I think we're beyond the auditorium. We've dipped under the corridor on the east. That way," Bray gestured right, "is the band room. See how it curves off?"

"I'll take your word for it. What's over there?"

"Cafeteria, I think. Can't tell though if it's the dining area or the kitchen."

Truth was, they could be completely turned around. Disorientation crowded all about and may already have claimed them. An adventure that had begun with confidence, as they slipped through a panel by the auditorium, now felt full of uncertainty and trepidation.

"Let's peek out and see."

"What if there's someone there? A couple of seniors?" he asked.

"What if?" Winnie was exasperated.

"They see us, they think we're behind the killings, a crazed student body somehow gets us, it's all over."

"Christ, Bray," she said, "do you expect to spend the rest of your life in here?"

"It's just safer, that's all. It's the prudent thing to do. He's in here somewhere, I know it."

"You're a f.u.c.king wimp."

"We'll find him. Or he'll find us." We'll fight him and kill him, he thought. "You can talk to him, you're good at that."

"That's why you jumped your prom. That's why you ran."

"You can reason with him, bring the poor guy out into the public spotlight like you want to."

"You've got no guts," she said. "I say we have a look." Even in insulting him, she was beautiful.

No way was their friendly slasher going to hold still for a dollop of argument. It was kill or be killed. That's what it would come down to.

And he'd have to save Winnie. He'd have to rip the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's guts out, to keep Winnie from harm and to prove to her he was no coward.

"You're wrong about me," he said.

"If only."

"Okay, let's have a look."

The panels were clearly marked, bold and readable. A large white number, in this case a 975, was painted above the release.

Bray pressed the release and the panel slid open. Cooler air and indirect light rushed in, sudden unexpected friends.

No one there.

He breathed easier.

"Bunch of tables," said Winnie behind him.

"Yes."

Six chairs were upturned on each tabletop, their metal legs like TV antennas aligned, roof after roof. Bray peered out, his thumb keeping the panel retracted.

Somewhere in the distance arose a m.u.f.fled hubbub. But other than pillows against the walls and posterboard with student numbers inscribed, the cafeteria was empty.

Winnie shouldered him aside, angling for a clearer view. Her body was warm and wonderful beside him. "I guess this shows you can read a map, at least," she said.

Bray had a sudden image of someone creeping up on them in the narrow pa.s.sageway, behind their backs, a knife raised, ready to fall.

"What is it?" Winnie asked.

He realized he had tensed.

"Nothing," he said.

But he drew back and Winnie came with him. He let the panel shut with a faint whoosh.

It was d.a.m.ned dark in here. The dank heat, woody as a fresh pine box, crept in around them again.

Bray wished his eyes would adapt more quickly to the darkness. But even when the faint outlines of the backways resolved themselves, he had the persistent feeling that someone or something held them in its gaze, waiting, waiting to rush them or to strike as they pa.s.sed by.

"This is hopeless," said Winnie. "It's an endless maze. He could be anywhere. Maybe even gone home by now."

Winnie was full of surprises, thought Bray. Fired up one moment, now suddenly discouraged.

"Nope, our killer's still here," he said. "I can feel it."

"Maybe."

"No maybes. He's not finished. Sooner or later, we'll meet him. And somehow we'll stop him."

"We'll talk him down. Coax the fight out of him," she said, more a.s.sured.

"You got it," said Bray, imagining a quick tussle with an unknown a.s.sailant, tackling him from the darkness, a flashing blade, Bray's hand seizing a descending wrist to keep death at bay.

It could come at any time, from any place.

Or the knife blade might slip into them now, now, with no chance to fight back.

No.

He couldn't afford to think that way.

They'd be prepared, they'd have their chance.

He and Winnie would subdue him, slay him or deliver him up to Corundum High's freaked-out kids and faculty. Winnie would have her media moments of glory and persuasion. And one way or another, society would welcome them back into its embrace, where they could begin a life together, unhara.s.sed and free.

"All right," said Winnie with renewed resolve. "What are we waiting for? Let's press on."

"Why not," he said.

And on they pressed.

Kyla had never seen Patrice so worked up, so turned on by Fido's sudden interest in them and off by the dangers that surrounded them.

Thank G.o.d that she at least had kept her wits about her.

To be sure, she tickled her fancy with the riotous times that awaited their threesome, should they be lucky enough to survive prom night. But survival came first in Kyla's book, and it fell to her to figure out how to a.s.sure it.

"Keep up, you two," she said.

Behind her, a sequoia to a sapling, Patrice hugged Fido to her and hurried along, her eyes impossibly large with fright.

They had left most of the kids by the front entrance, where a futile attempt was underway to ram open the heavily reinforced doors.

Ranks of peach-colored lockers marched by on either side, any one of them ready to explode into violence. Kyla kept them moving down the center of this gauntlet, their ultimate destination Lily Foddereau's butchery wing in the back part of the school.