“Squidward!” Chris said. “Fuck! You scared me.”
Ollie pried his body off hers, embarrassed, though she sensed he’d been more scared for his brother than himself. She wondered if he was afraid every time Chris left for work. That must be tough.
A few seconds later, Chris returned. “Sorry about that.” He seemed embarrassed, too. “We’re good. We leave in fifteen minutes, okay?”
Fifteen. The number surprised Makani. Clearly, they weren’t used to having a girl around. She hurried to wash her face and change clothes, and realized—as the brothers were both ready in under ten—that the number had actually been inflated for her sake.
Ollie handed her a steaming Pop-Tart as she slid into his car. She practically swallowed it whole. When they hit the highway, they parted from Chris.
“What the—?” Ollie said under his breath.
Makani looked up from checking her texts. The opposite lane of traffic was at a standstill. Dirty cars and trucks and RVs were backed up as far as she could see as a lone, redheaded employee with a flag waved them into the parking lot for the corn maze.
“Is it always this busy on a Friday night?” she asked.
“Never,” Ollie said.
Vehicle after vehicle was packed with college-aged kids—voices hollering, music thumping, windows rolled down despite the frigid temperature. Makani stared at them with open displeasure, though not with disbelief. She’d lived through too much to feel disbelief. “People are sick. They think this is all a game.”
On the other side of the maze, one of Ollie’s neighbors was trying to turn out of their driveway. “That’s gonna take a while,” he said.
Makani texted her friends with an update and told them where she was going. It was important to know where everyone was right now. Darby was at home, and Alex was at school with the band. But as soon as Makani’s message disappeared, her phone vibrated with a response from Alex: I’m freaking out.
Makani frowned as she texted: ???
Too many people here. Too crowded. Can’t breathe.
can your parents come back and pick you up?
They think it’s safer in a crowd! I reminded them about Caleb and the memorial, but they weren’t having it. I’m freaking out. I’m totally freaking out!!
Ollie watched her from the corner of his eye. “What’s going on?”
“Alex. I think she’s having panic attack.”
He was a QUARTER MILE from my house last night. Now it feels like he’s here. I can’t do this. I SERIOUSLY CANNOT DO THIS!!!
“Does she need us to come get her?” Ollie asked as another text appeared from Alex: Could you come get me?
on our way, Makani said. Emoji heart.
Hurry, Alex said. Emoji scream.
The stadium was packed, and the wind carried the cheers and marching band and commotion all the way to downtown Osborne. As their car raced past Walnut Street, Makani looked toward her grandmother’s house. It was just out of sight.
The bright lights of the football field pierced through the dusk. Alex was waiting for them at the front gate. The whole area was packed, but she stood alone.
Ollie unlocked the doors, rolled down his window, and waved to her. The aroma of cheap chocolate invaded the car. Tomorrow’s trick-or-treating had been canceled, and word had spread to bring candy to the game. Costumed children dashed through the madness, collecting treats in their pillowcases and plastic orange pumpkins. Teenagers and adults had been banned from wearing costumes—in fear that David might hide among them—so they were decked out in scarlet and gold instead.
The home crowd was so huge that it had spilled onto the visitors’ side. The cheerleaders were leading them in the “Lion Roar,” a school-spirit chant, and a powerful stampede of feet pounded and rumbled against the metal bleachers.
Two members of the National Guard were visible just behind the main chain-link fence. They were dressed in fatigues and carrying assault rifles. They were supposed to make everyone feel protected, but Makani felt a nervous, unpleasant shudder.
Alex flew into the backseat with her trumpet. Her plume caught on the doorframe and knocked the hat sideways. “Ow.” She undid the chin strap and ripped off the hat. She glared at the plume. Or maybe she was scared of it.
“Are you okay?” Makani asked. It was a dumb question.
Alex slammed the door closed. “Go!”
“Won’t you get in trouble for leaving?” Ollie asked.
“Fuck that,” Alex said. “Fuck all this. I can’t play a peppy fight song and pretend that you guys weren’t almost murdered. I can’t pretend that my crush and my section leader and three of my other classmates weren’t actually murdered. And I can’t pretend that the loser who did it isn’t still out there!”
That was enough for Ollie. He pulled away from the curb. Makani unbuckled her seat belt and crawled over the console into the backseat, where Alex was fumbling to unzip her red uniform. Makani helped her with the hidden buttons, which Alex had forgotten about, and then out of the jacket. Alex shook it away on the verge of tears.
As Makani dug through her pockets for tissues, her phone rang. Darby had skipped straight past texting. “Is everything okay?” Makani asked.
“Put him on speakerphone,” Alex said.
“I’m fine,” Darby said. Makani pressed the button, and his voice filled the car. “I’m only calling because I’m driving.”
“That’s still unsafe,” Ollie said. And then he winced for being the square.
Makani wondered if his reaction was triggered by too many car-crash stories from Chris. Or maybe any type of accident reminded him of his parents. She still wasn’t wearing a seat belt, so she strapped in and motioned for Alex to do the same.
“I know, but I just got your texts,” Darby said. “My signal was on the fritz from all these damn tourists. Is Alex with you?”
“I’m here!” Alex said. “Where are you?”
“I was coming to get you. I’m passing the Dollar General right now.”
“We’re almost to the hospital,” Makani said. “Meet us in the parking lot?”
Darby’s hatchback pulled up beside them less than five minutes later. Darby’s and Alex’s doors flew open, and they ran into each other’s arms. They hugged for days.
Makani crawled back into the passenger’s seat and rubbed her hands in front of the vents. Ollie turned up the temperature.
Darby and Alex popped into the vacated backseat. Darby was dressed in an old-man tweed sport coat with actual elbow patches, and he was wearing a button-up and sweater underneath it for warmth. He snapped the suspenders of Alex’s uniform. “Did you guys see this? She’s trying to steal my look.”
“Did you lock your car?” Ollie asked.
The question instantly brought the mood back down.
Darby assured him. “It’s locked.”
They fell into silence as they surveilled their surroundings. The parking lot was nearly empty. After several tense seconds Makani said, “We’re running out of time.”
No one challenged her. The apprehension in the car was suffocating.
“I can’t just sit here,” she said. He might be looking for me.
Alex agreed. “He’s killing faster and faster, and since everyone’s looking for him—everyone not at the football game,” she added darkly, “he probably feels like he has to finish his stupid plan, whatever it is, now. Before he gets caught.”
“I wish we knew who else he’s been gaslighting,” Makani said.
Ollie stared, unblinking, through the windshield. “Haley, Matt, Rodrigo, you, Caleb, Katie. What’s the real connection?”
“Cliques?” Darby was hesitant. “None of you hung out together, but you all had a unique social group. Maybe David felt alone. Like he didn’t belong to any group.”
“Except he did,” Alex said.
Darby shrugged. “I know, but . . . I don’t know. It seems like there’s something there. So far, he’s singled out one person from every group.”
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“I still think he’s targeting the most talented students,” Alex said. “Or ambitious. Or maybe even just the people who stand out. Maybe you all make him feel inferior and invisible, and this is his way of becoming more visible.”
When no one disagreed, Alex pressed on. “Who else seems exceptional? Who else is out there standing in front of crowds or making headlines or winning competitions?”
“Shit,” Ollie said quietly. His expression turned grave. “Do you remember the day when there was hardly anyone at school but us?”
He was still staring ahead, but Makani knew the question was for her. “You mean, Wednesday? Two days ago? The day we were attacked?”
This realization seemed to stun him. During periods of trauma, time could be funny like that. He tried to shake it off. “Right. But do you remember that bad joke I made? Stanton told us over the announcements that Rosemarie Holt had won a barrel race, and then I said that she should watch out.”
Makani touched her lips in fear at the memory: Clapping with the other students. So grateful for any small piece of good news.
Darby shifted uneasily. “Rosemarie’s been winning those events for a long time.”
“Years,” Ollie said.
“Oh God.” Alex looked like she might throw up. “What do we do?”
Chris answered after the first ring. Ollie repeated their theory but was quickly cut off. His brow furrowed as he listened. “Yeah, we’re fine,” he said. “Yeah, okay—”
Ollie stared at his phone. “He hung up.”
“What is it?” Makani asked. What is it now?
“They received a call from another trucker who picked up David. The guy just saw him on the news and recognized him. This new driver said he must have picked up David not long after the first driver dropped him off, and Chris said he knew the exact location. It was just stupid, random luck that neither driver knew who he was.”
Makani’s heart plunged. What were the chances?
“This guy claims to have dropped off David on the other side of Osborne. The police are headed there now. They think he’s been snaking his way back to town through the fields. They think he might be headed to the stadium for a blitz attack.”
Alex grabbed Makani’s seat and shook it roughly. “I knew it!”
Makani fixed a hand over Alex’s to stop her. “That doesn’t sound like his MO”
“Are you kidding? What would shake up this town more than an attack during the first game of the playoffs?”
“What did Chris say about Rosemarie?” Darby asked.
Ollie frowned. “I think when Zachary wasn’t a target, we lost any small sway we might have had.”
“But someone needs to warn her!” Darby said.
Ollie was already scrolling through his contacts. He caught Makani’s look and explained, “Neighbor. Her family lives on the other side of the corn maze.”
Of course. Everyone was connected to everyone in Osborne. Makani tamped down her ill-timed jealousy as the call went straight to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s Ollie Larsson. Call me as soon as you get this. It’s an emergency. Everyone’s okay, just . . . call me back.”
Makani stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened. “What now?”
His voice hardened. “Seat belts, everyone.” And then he turned the key in the ignition and pushed the pedal to the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Moonlight gave a high-pitched whinny and pawed the fresh shavings.
“Shh.” Rosemarie Holt stroked the brush in calming sweeps down the horse’s sorrel neck. “They’re just a bunch of dumb rubberneckers. Nothing to be afraid of.”
Lights strobed and music howled. Screams of rowdy laughter erupted from the cornstalks, carrying to the stable at the edge of the Holts’ property. Normally, it was a minor annoyance to live beside the tourist attraction. Tonight, however, the land was teeming with drunken rednecks, frat guys, and sorority girls all out for a good scare. It was as if David Thurston Ware were a campfire urban legend and not an actual murderer-at-large.
In the next stall, Cash stomped his feet with nervous agitation. The maze had never had lights or music at night before. “I don’t love it, either, buddy,” she grumbled, feeling a fresh flush of anger at Emmet for leaving her with the chores.
When they were children, they’d each been given an American Quarter Horse. Emmet had chosen one with a black coat, so he’d named him after the Man in Black. This turned out to be prophetic as it reflected the way he treated Cash—like an accessory to look cooler. Rosemarie and their parents did most of the caretaking.
Rosemarie had always wanted a horse. When she was little, she’d never been interested in a book or movie unless it contained at least one. Moonlight had been named after her favorite fictional horse. Even though hers wasn’t golden (she was a light brownish-red), nor did she have a white mane or tail (hers were flaxen), Rosemarie believed that she was just as loyal a friend as Alanna’s Moonlight had been to the Lioness herself. Over the years, admittedly, Rosemarie had outgrown the name. But she still remembered why it had mattered. What it had meant to her.
“All right, girl.” She touched the horse’s rump as she walked around, so she’d know Rosemarie was there, and then tossed the brush into a plastic bucket of grooming tools. “Almost done. I’ll get your hay.”
Rosemarie took down the cross ties and picked up the bucket. She closed the sliding door behind her and left the bucket to grab the pitchfork, which was inside one of the empty stalls.
The stable smelled wonderfully familiar: wood shavings, sweet feed, and old leather, though it also held a pungent underpinning of ammonia. The urine scent was always stronger after mucking out the stalls, but it would fade within the hour. Her waterproof boots tread quietly over the rubber floor pavers.
Rosemarie and Moonlight were a good team. They started barrel racing when she was eight and competing when she was nine. The Sloane County Championship Rodeo used a traditional, three-barrel cloverleaf pattern. The event was timed, and if the racer knocked over a barrel, there was a five-second penalty. Some rodeos had hat fines, too, where they’d charge the racer twenty-five dollars if her hat fell off.
Moonlight rarely bumped a barrel. And Rosemarie never lost her hat.
Rosemarie wasn’t without injury, though. A year ago, she’d broken her right arm when she slipped off while riding bareback. And only two months ago, her strap had broken when she was hanging upside down at a full-blown gallop while trick riding. It was the strangest thing. The strap wasn’t even that old. She’d almost broken her neck.
The accident shook her up, but it didn’t stop her. She was competitive, headstrong, and faster than the other racers. She was ready to go national.
As she strode into the dark stall, an earsplitting scream from next door startled her. Rosemarie waited.
Yep. Laughter.
Her jaw clenched as she imagined Emmet as one of the laughing imbeciles. Hope you’re having a good time, she thought bitterly. He’d come home from UNL for the weekend. He was supposed to be here, helping her, but when he’d learned that some of his school friends had also driven into town, he’d ditched her to join them. Their parents were at the football game, supporting her cousin on the team.
Rosemarie reached for the pitchfork through the black shadow, but her hand only greeted air. Patting the rough, planked wall farther and farther into the stall, she finally fumbled against the handle in the far corner.
She grabbed it and turned back toward the light.
The bucket was gone.
A confused moment—a dreadful heartbeat—and then her nostrils filled with an unfamiliar and unwelcome odor. It was the unwashed scent of another human being.
The former cruiser tore out of Osborne, but as it hit the connecting highway, the car speeding ahead of them unexpectedly and drastically slowed down.
Makani glanced at the speedometer. It was five under the posted limit. “What the hell?” she yelled at the other car. “Go!
”
Ollie’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. “This happens all the time. People look in their rearview mirrors, and they think I’m a cop.”
In the backseat, Darby tried to reach Rosemarie, but the cell towers were still overloaded. The calls either went straight to voicemail, or they wouldn’t connect at all.
Ollie swerved into the oncoming lane and stepped on it. They raced past the car, and he zipped back into the right lane. With every mile, his adherence to safety regulations was going increasingly out the window.
Less than a minute later, it happened again. Makani and Alex moaned.
“All. The. Time,” Ollie said, gritting his teeth and passing the second car.
Another speedometer check. Thirty over the limit. He caught Makani eyeing it. “No one’s pulling me over tonight. They’re all on the other side of town.”
Makani liked that Ollie was a careful driver. She respected it. But she was grateful that he felt the urgency of their current situation.
She gave the road a grim smile. “I’m not complaining.”
Rosemarie knew that scents could be comforting, but this was the first time she’d ever smelled a scent that was frightening. The stench of rancid body odor was close, and it was male.
And it didn’t belong to her brother.
A slender figure stepped out in front of her stall. His gait was calm and measured. He was dressed in a strange coat, and he was holding the grooming bucket.
Rosemarie’s knees began to quake.
David Thurston Ware set down the bucket. He didn’t need it. He’d only brought it to show her that he was the one who’d moved it. He shrugged off the coat, which fell to the ground in a woolen puddle. He was wearing the hoodie that she’d heard about on the news. The camouflage was covered with splotchy brown stains that were darker than the fabric’s pattern. Dried blood.
The reveal was both unnecessary and terrifying.
He removed his knife from a sheath on his belt. The blade glinted. Staring into the darkness of her stall, he kicked the plastic bucket, and the tools clanged together.
“They wouldn’t have helped you much.” He took a step forward. “But they would have been better than nothing.”