Hideaway

were menaced by pale white slugs as big as men, which reared up and shrieked at them through round mouths full of teeth that whirled like the blades in a garbage disposal. The ascent was six or seven stories, at a steep angle, and other mechanical monsters gibbered, hooted, snarled, and squealed at the train; all of them were pale and slimy, with either glowing eyes or blind black eyes, the kind of critters you might think would live miles below the surface of the earth—if you didn't know any science at all.
    That initial slope was where daredevils had to take their stand. Though a couple of other inclines marked the course of the Millipede, no other section of the track provided a sufficiently extended period of calm in which to execute a safe escape from the lap bar.
    Jeremy contorted himself, wriggling up against the back of the seat, inching over the lap bar, but at first Tod did not move. “Come on, dickhead, you've gotta be in position before we get to the top.”
    Tod looked troubled. “If they catch us, they'll kick us out of the park.”
    “They won't catch us.”
    At the far end of the ride, the train would coast along a final stretch of dark tunnel, giving riders a chance to calm down. In those last few seconds, before they returned to the fake cavern from which they had started, it was just possible for a kid to scramble back over the lap bar and shoehorn himself into his seat. Jeremy knew he could do it; he was not worried about getting caught. Tod didn't have to worry about getting under the lap bar again, either, because by then Tod would be dead; he wouldn't have to worry about anything ever.
    “I don't want to be kicked out for daredeviling,” Tod said as the train approached the halfway point on the long, long initial incline. “It's been a neat day, and we still have a couple hours before Mom comes for us.”
    Mutant albino rats chattered at them from the fake rock ledges on both sides as Jeremy said, “Okay, so be a dorkless wonder.” He continued to extricate himself from the lap bar.
    “I'm no dorkless wonder,” Tod said defensively.
    “Sure, sure.”
    “I'm not.”
    “Maybe when school starts again in September, you'll be able to get into the Young Homemakers Club, learn how to cook, knit nice little doilies, do flower arranging.”
    “You're a jerkoff, you know that?”
    “Oooooooooo, you've broken my heart now,” Jeremy said as he extracted both of his legs from the well under the lap bar and crouched on the seat. “You girls sure know how to hurt a guy's feelings.”
    “Creepazoid.”
    The train strained up the slope with the hard clicking and clattering so specific to roller coasters that the sound alone could make the heart pump faster and the stomach flutter.
    Jeremy scrambled over the lap bar and stood in the well in front of it, facing forward. He looked over his shoulder at Tod, who sat scowling behind the restraint. He didn't care that much if Tod joined him or not. He had already decided to kill the boy, and if he didn't have a chance to do it at Fantasy World on Tod's twelfth birthday, he would do it somewhere else, sooner or later. Just thinking about doing it was a lot of fun. Like that song said in the television commercial where the Heinz ketchup was so thick it took what seemed like hours coming out of the bottle: An-tic-i-paaa-aa-tion. Having to wait a few days or even weeks to get another good chance to kill Tod would only make the killing that much more fun. So he didn't rag Tod any more, just looked at him scornfully. An-tic-i-paaa-aa-tion.
    “I'm not afraid,” Tod insisted.
    “Yeah.”
    “I just don't want to spoil the day.”
    “Sure.”
    “Creepazoid,” Tod said again.
    Jeremy said, “Rocket jockey, my ass.”
    That insult had a powerful effect. Tod was so sold on his own friendship con that he could actually be stung by the implication that he didn't know how a real friend was supposed to behave. The expression on his broad and open face revealed not only a world of hurt but a surprising desperation that startled Jeremy. Maybe Tod did understand what life was all about, that it was nothing but a brutal game with every player concentrated on the purely selfish goal of coming out a winner, and maybe old Tod was rattled by that, scared by it, and was holding on to one last hope, to the idea of friendship. If the game could be played with a partner or two, if it was really everyone else in the world against your own little team, that was