Solitude Creek

Ah, yes, trying to trick him. They didn’t have a clue what he looked like. The sheet of paper was either blank or an advertising flier. They expected he’d see it, then turn and flee, give himself away.

Nice try.

He wondered if the ploy had been Kathryn Dance’s. Betcha, he told the Get.

March turned to the husband, who had been so helpful, and said, ‘That’s odd.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Over there. Uniformed policeman in the park. With the printout?’

The couple both squinted. The husband said, ‘Oh, yeah. And there’re some men over there too with fliers. See them?’

‘Undercover security,’ March said.

‘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 LA.’

‘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 who 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 their three children, about eight through twelve.

March asked this man, 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 officers consulting their advertising fliers. 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. 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 had been 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 somebody 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 Park. 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, Mister?’

‘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. ‘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.’