"What's that about?" the wife asked.
"Probably nothing. I just... I hope it's not terrorists or anything."
"Terrorists," the wife whispered.
"Yeah, did you hear that story on Fox? Or CNN. There were reports of a possible terrorist attack in L.A."
"No!"
"Rumors, that's all. You know how the police always say that and then nothing happens. Most of the time." March shrugged. "Anyway, have fun."
A quarter mile down the winding paths, Antioch March found another couple that looked promising. He walked up to them, brandishing the map, and nodded.
"Hi, sorry to bother you."
"Sure," said the husband. He and his wife were with three children, about eight through twelve.
March asked this husband too for directions. Where a particular restaurant was. He was supposed to meet his family there. The couple consulted the map.
The husband said, "There you be. Bit of a hike but you're going the right way."
March knew where the restaurant was and that proceeding toward it would give him an excuse to stroll along with the couple.
"Thanks." They all started to move in that direction.
"Come here every year," the husband said as they walked along. "You?"
March said, "No, first time. Josh was too young. He's five now." They meandered past two uniformed cops consulting their prop sheets. The men didn't even glance toward him.
"I hear you. Beth and Richard," the wife said, nodding toward her brood. "Took them to Disney when they were three and four. Scared to death of Goofy. They weren't too sure about Tinker Bell either."
March laughed.
The husband: "Wait till they can appreciate it. I mean, even the kids' tickets're ridiculous. Break the bank."
As March walked with them, chatting about the rides, he looked around him. Into the trees, the rocks--well, fake rocks--the lampposts, the grounds. Studying carefully. He was learning some things about theme parks. In truth, he'd never been to one. That was as far removed from his parents' idea of entertainment as one could imagine. Go downstairs, play video games, Andy. Go play.
Interesting, what he was noticing.
Then March said to the couple, "There's another one." A frown.
"What's that?"
"Another cop. Or whoever it is. With that sheet of paper. I've seen about ten of them."
The wife: "Yeah, I saw some too. What's that about?"
March: "It's like they're looking for somebody."
"Maybe somebody broke in without paying."
"I don't think," March said slowly, "they'd go to that much trouble for something like that."
"Probably not," the wife said. "Hm. Look, two more."
"Odd," the husband said.
"I hope it's nothing too serious," March said. "Maybe... Excuse me... A text." He frowned as he looked at his phone, holding the screen so they couldn't see it. He pretended to read. "Oh. Well." He'd nearly said "Jesus." But he'd noted the wife wore a cross and he needed his new friends to be with him. Completely with him.
"What?"
"That was from my wife. She's up at the restaurant. She just got a text from her mother. It was on the news. They're talking about some kind of a terrorist thing in the park."
"Terrorists?" the wife blurted. "Here?" Six or seven people turned toward them.
March didn't answer. He looked around, frowning. He began texting. The message was not, however, to the imaginary wife. It was going out to various blog sites, as well as legitimate news organizations, Twitter.
Rumors that terrorist rams front gate at Global Adventure World. Orange County. Suicide bomber loose in park.
March looked up. "I've got to get to my wife and son." But he looked at his phone again. "No, no!"
"What is it, sir?"
"My brother. In Seattle. He's watching CNN, and it looks like somebody rammed the front gate. Some guy with a backpack. He's here in the park!"
"Oh, Bill. Kids! Come here! Kids, stop, come over here."
"What ride are Sandy and Dwight on?" the husband asked. Voice breathless.
"One of the roller coasters, I don't know. Call them and let them know."
A voice behind him. Another couple. The husband asked, "Did you mention a terrorist or something? I saw all the police. With those handouts."
March said, "I just heard, somebody crashed into the front gate and got into the park with a bomb and a machine gun."
"Gun too?" the husband of the first couple asked.
March brandished his phone. "My brother. That's the story. Suicide bomber, they're saying. He's armed. And there may be others."
"Fuck no."
The good Christian wife didn't correct her husband's language.
"Well, that's what he heard. CNN and Fox."
Now all the adults within earshot of March were making calls or texting. Some seeking confirmation. Some warning relatives or friends. But all were spreading the lie.
One woman rasped desperately into her iPhone: "Honey, where are you and the kids? Well, get out. Just leave now. There're terrorists in the park!... Yeah, we saw them too! If there are that many police something bad is happening. Get out!... I will. I'll be there as soon as I can."
March turned.
Ah, fantastic! A tour guide, a trim, middle-aged man, was just then passing, holding aloft a folded umbrella so his group could see him. Sixty or so kids, from a private high school in Ohio, according to their matching T-shirts, strolled along behind him.
Intending to spread more fear, March began to speak to the umbrella man--probably a teacher or parent chaperone--but he didn't have to say anything. The wife of the first couple blurted, "Did you hear anything about terrorists in the park? Do you know where it's safe?"
The man blinked, lowered the umbrella. "No, what do you mean?"
The word spread like flames through dry California brush among the students. "Terrorists." Some of the girls in the group started to cry. A few boys too. Phones emerged from rear pockets. Texts and voice calls shot into the ether.
Breathlessly March added, "In the park. He rammed the gate. Suicide bomber. But he's got guns too. There may be more than one." He held up his phone for proof.
Several students dropped to their knees and prayed; they were nearly knocked over by a group of people walking quickly in the direction of the exit. The chaperone cried, "Are you out of your minds? Get up, get up!"
Another chaperone, a woman, joined him. "Did you hear? Terrorists in the park!" Her voice was ragged with fear.
Which shook the students even more.
And Antioch March basked in the seductive comfort of adolescent cries and screams.
The Get smiled.
The kids' reaction had drawn a good-size crowd in this portion of the park. People milled about anxiously, uncertain about where to go. All talking, checking phones, making calls or texting. Gathering children.
And looking for someone with a backpack bomb, a suicide vest, a machine gun, an RPG.
One man stormed up to a sheriff's deputy holding one of the ID sheets and confronted him. Other joined in.
"The hell are you doing about it?"
"Why aren't there any announcements?"
"Do you even know?"
The officer looked flustered. Another patron, then two more, accosted the cop, demanding why they were covering up an attack and not evacuating. Was it, one man raged, so the amusement park wouldn't lose face--or tax money the park would pay the county? The officers denied terrorists. But nobody was listening.
March stepped aside, watching the growing agitation of the crowd. Now about two hundred people were clustered, shouting at concession stand employees, groundskeepers, costumed characters.
Time to ratchet things up, March decided. He called 9-1-1.
"Police and Fire, what's your emergency?"
"My family's in Global Adventure. Somebody crashed into the gate and he's loose. It's a terrorist. They've seen him. He's got a bomb!"
The dispatche
r: "We have a report of an accident but there's no report of any terror--"
"Jesus, there he is! He's got a bomb! And a gun too."
"Sir, what's your name and location? Please--"
He disconnected and walked farther around the perimeter of the park, making a circle back toward the entrance. Looking in the trees, looking behind the buildings.
He made another voice call, to a local news affiliate. "Please, you have to help! We're in Global Adventure World, the park, you know. Orange County. We're hiding. My family's hiding but he's nearby. It's a terrorist. A man with a machine gun. And another one, with a bomb! Please... There's a terror attack going on! A suicide bomber. He crashed through the gate and he's in the park. I'm looking at him now."
"Sir, please, what's your name?"
"Jesus, he's coming this way."
He disconnected and continued to walk through the park, noting the increasing number of people on their phones, desperate for news reports that the incident was over and that they were safe. But, of course, there could be no such reports. Rumors were still flying like leaves in a hurricane. The patrons tended to end up standing in protective groups, like wildebeest, though some were walking off the paths and into the bushes, peering out--as if in a scene from one of the amusement park parent company's movies: the innocent about to be devoured by aliens.
March hurried along the pathway. He was about to play the scenario all over again, walking up to another family and stabbing them with panic, when the husband gripped March's arm.
"Hey!"
The wide-eyed man said, "Sir, you have family here?"
"Yeah, they're over at Tornado Alley. Why?"
"There're terrorists in the park. A half-dozen. They're going to blow up some of the rides."
The wife was sobbing.
"No!" March said. He looked at his phone. "Hell, you're right. It's my wife. Texting. CNN has the story. Terror alert. Suicide bomber in the park."
"That's why the police. They're all over the place."
"And they're not saying anything!" March snapped.
He'd thought he'd have to spread the rumor a half-dozen more times but, nope, it wasn't necessary. The stories buzzed like locusts. One bomber, a dozen. Machine guns. Al Qaeda. ISIS. Pakistan. Syria.
"What're we going to do? How do we get out?"
March shouted, "There's only one way I know about. The front entrance. They don't have emergency exits, I heard."
"No exits? Didn't they think something like this could happen?"
"We're going to be trapped here!"
March waved his arm. "No, we're not. Let's go!"
The crowd was now moving in the general direction of the park entrance. What started as a cluster of a hundred was swelling to three, four, five times that. March walked with them for a ways, then he managed to peel off from the mass, into the bushes, and let the skittish herd continue their quickening drive to what they hoped was safety.
Chapter 45
What's going on? Dance wondered.
She and O'Neil were back at the Global Adventure entrance, having heard reports that for some reason thousands of park guests were moving in this direction. The agent and the detective were outside the entrance turnstiles and fence.
The patrons clustering on the other side, waiting to exit, appeared fretful. Some exchanged harsh words. A shoving match or two broke out when people cut into the line ahead of others to leave. The crush could have been relieved if the wide gate were functioning but the unsub's steamy Chevy still blocked it.
Dance thought of the Liverpool fans clustering outside Hillsborough Stadium, the disaster her father had told her about.
Twenty-five years ago. I still have nightmares...
O'Neil and Dance walked up to the head of park security and Sergeant Ralston.
Dance asked, "What is all this?"
Both Herb Southern and Ralston were on their phones. Ralston said, "Jesus." Whatever he'd learned was apparently very troubling.
Southern disconnected.
"There's panicking inside. A couple guests beat up on one of my security guards. I don't know why."
Ralston hung up too. "Okay, this is a problem. We're getting calls from everybody: the sheriff's office, media, FBI, Homeland. Reports terrorists're in the park. Machine guns. Suicide vests. Fucking rumors but nine-one-one's flooded, circuits're almost overloaded."
Dance muttered, "He's doing it."
"Your perp?"
She nodded.
O'Neil said, "All it took was him telling a few people the rumor, one news report, a few blog posts, and it's spread like fire."
"It's what he does. He starts panics. And he's real good at it."
O'Neil said, "He's going to try to get out this way, thinking we can't check everybody."
"That's pretty damn close to true," Sergeant Ralston muttered.
Herb Southern walked to the turnstiles, on the other side of which a crowd thirty-or forty-deep jostled to get out. "There's no emergency!" he shouted. "You're safe. You can stay in the park. Don't push. Don't push!"
No one, it seemed, could even hear him over the shouted voices of the mob.
Dance asked, "What's the procedure, if it were a terror attack?"
"Lockdown. Get everybody off the rides and have them wait where security tells them. We have designated places of cover from gunmen and bad weather, fire."
"Evacuation?"
"Not a mass evacuation," Southern said, staring at the growing sea of bodies trying to get the hell out of the place. "Ma'am, today's a slow day but we've still got thirteen thousand souls in the park at this moment. If they all head out together--well, you can imagine."
The crowd was swelling as more people from the inside of the park made their way toward the exits; they jammed into a bottleneck between two gift shops, which jutted into the entrance walkway. Every face seemed terrified.
Dance and O'Neil ran forward and helped people climb the turnstiles, holding young children as their parents clambered to safety, then handing off the kids. They tried to tell people it wasn't a terror attack but not a single one paid them any attention.
At the turnstiles serious fights were starting to break out and there were more and more instances of people shoving others aside and jumping turnstiles, which led to more panic. The crowd was now fifty-or sixty-deep. And growing. One woman screamed as she was jammed against a fence. Her wrist had broken, Dance guessed. Two guards got to her and managed to calm that cluster of patrons. But as soon as they did, another fight broke out, more pushing, more screams. Dance watched two other patrons fall. They were trampled before guards got them to their feet. The park workers' faces were as alarmed as their guests'.
Dance said, "It's on the borderline of manageable. We'll be okay as long as nothing more sets them--"
From the distance came a half-dozen gunshots.
"Hell," she muttered.
Then, over the loudspeaker: "Emergency evacuation. All guests. There are terrorists in the park. Suicide bomber in the park. This is not a drill. Everyone evacuate immediately!"
"That's not procedure!" Southern snapped, his face in shock.
"All guests, this is an emergency. Evacuate at once. There is a suicide bomber in the park."
Dance grimaced. "It's him. He got into the security command post somehow."
O'Neil snapped: "Get a team there now!"
Ralston lifted his radio, made a call.
The security man was on his phone. "Derek, what's going on?... Is he in the CP?... Okay, find out. Cut the power to the P.A. system."
"Evacuate! Evacuate immediately. We have shooting victims! If you've been wounded, seek cover immediately. Medical teams are on the way!"
Southern explained to Dance and O'Neil, "We've got a network of underground tunnels--where our security office is. We take sick guests out that way, pickpockets, people're drunk. It's the command post too. He's in there. He's going to try to get out through the tunnels. There's an exit to a parking lot on the western
edge of the property... Oh, Jesus... Look!"
A wave of a thousand, two thousand people was now charging the exit.
"Get back, it's all right!" the security head called out to them. Pointless, as before.
Now began the full-on flight from the park. As the screams rose, the patrons pushing in from the interior of the park began scrabbling over the others at the turnstiles. Some were running through the broken gate, climbing over the unsub's Chevy. One man fell on his back and lay still.
Dance, O'Neil and Southern ran forward, holding their palms up to stanch the flow of human bodies climbing on their fellows, shouting, as before, that there was no attack.
But even if they could hear, the crowd had no rational mind. Safety, escape--those were the only things that mattered.
A creature...not human...
"They're going to be crushed," Dance said.
O'Neil: "The gate. We have to get it open. Now!"
He, Ralston and a half-dozen park workers ran to the unsub's car and, by using pure muscle, pulled it back--five feet, ten, twenty. They then grabbed the gate and swung it open. It screeched on the concrete.
O'Neil leapt aside as the tide, twenty bodies wide, swarmed through the open space. Others continued to push through or leap over the turnstiles.
A mother, holding her young child, about four, staggered through the gate. Then she turned toward an empty part of the parking lot and jogged there. Dance noticed that her arm was badly broken. She got about ten steps toward a bench, but then it seemed the pain overwhelmed her and she eased her daughter to the asphalt. Dance ran to them.
She had just gotten to the woman when there was a shattering of glass and dozens of people flooded onto the sidewalk nearby. They'd broken a large window of one of the gift shops and were fleeing out of the park through the gap. This herd soon swelled to several hundred.
They were bearing down on Dance, the woman and her child. Even though they were out of the park, panic had seized them and they were sprinting madly.
"Get up!" Dance cried to the groggy mother, scooping the girl up by the waist. The crowd was forty feet away, thirty.
The woman suddenly desperately gripped Dance's collar. Unbalanced by her awkward crouch, the agent fell backward. She landed hard, still holding the child. Stunned, she looked up to see a wave of people stampeding directly for them. To judge from their feral eyes, not a single one even saw them, let alone had any intention of veering aside.
Chapter 46