Free Dark Rides by Rachel Caine Page B

Oh, great. Perfect.
    No, I really meant that. Perfect! I practically wiggled with excitement. I loved haunted house rides, because hello, mechanical scares, nothing actually dead and lurching in there. Well, normally. Tonight might very well be an exception.
    We hurried across the open ground. Michael didn’t make any noise, and I tried to minimize mine, but the thump of my combat boots still sounded way too loud. He stopped me before I jumped up on the deck of the ride, urgently making a shushing motion; I eased up carefully, and immediately saw why … it creaked, a lot. Moving slowly made the creaking sound more like the general creepy noise made by the wind, and less a neon we’re up in your business, sneaking around sign.
    Michael kept hold of my hand, and led me under the leering glare of the Grim Reaper into a darkness that smelled like mold and engine oil. And boy, I mean darkness … it was a close, claustrophobic kind of inky emptiness, and except for the tight grip of Michael’s cool hand on mine, I wouldn’t have been able to tell it from space. No, I lie. At least in space, there are stars.
    From the feel of the floor under my boots, we were on some kind of raised wooden walkway — probably a maintenance area. I felt a rising panic as we kept walking — what if something fell on me, like a giant hairy spider? It was Texas, after all, home of all kinds of stinging, biting, poisonous creatures. I wanted to hold up my free hand and sweep the air in front of me, but that was kind of useless; Michael was going first. He’d keep me safe.
    It was a bit of a shock when I saw that the darkness was going a little gray, and at first I thought there was something wrong with my eyes, but no. There was a thin strip of light up ahead, on the left, like what would escape under the bottom of a door. It revealed an upright coffin with — appropriately enough — a cheap-looking mechanical dummy dressed in vintage Dracula drag that would probably launch out at the creaking, trundling carts when the power was on.
    There was a hidden door behind Dummy Drac.
    We crossed the tracks, and I stepped carefully to avoid tripping any switches or getting my boots caught in the rails. I was glad I’d worn the heavy things, because a rat ran out of the dark and raced over my laces, heading for cover on the other side. I managed not to squeak, though there might have been a dry rattling in my throat. Might.
    Michael took hold of the knob of the door and lightly turned it, then shook his head. Locked, obv. That posed no serious issues for him, but it’d make some noise; the glow of the light under the door made me less of a blind human liability, so I pulled my hand free of his and pulled the snub-nosed revolver out of my belly pack. I didn’t like guns, particularly, but they were real useful around humans who meant me no good. I had a knife, too, but if it came to hand-to-hand with Mr. Batty out there, it wasn’t going to be an even match, and I liked advantages.
    Michael twisted, hard, and broke something metallic inside the door with a harsh snap. The knob slid out, and he reached into the hole and manipulated things until there was a click, and the door yawned open, letting loose a flood of what seemed like a 500-watt spotlight … but it was just one bulb, not even remotely bright. My eyes adjusted quickly, and I shut the door behind us. Without the lock, it wasn’t going to do much good, but I followed Michael’s lead and reached into the empty hole where the knob had been to push on metal until the tongue slipped back in place. It’d slow them down, at least.
    When I turned to look, I saw we were in a plain metal room. The one bulb was on a swinging chain hanging in the middle of the open space. There was a miniature viewing stand of seats that would hold maybe twenty people, if they were really friendly, and then there was the cage. It was the size of something you’d use for a lion or tiger act, big enough to move around