Thrill Ride Page 5

  He shook his head. “Are you crazy? I would get in huge trouble if I took you guys backstage. Customers are only supposed to see the face of the park, that’s what Dad says. They’re never supposed to see how things really work or it spoils the illusion.”

  “Okay,” I said. I didn’t bother to tell him we’d already been “backstage” today. “So listen … did you see anybody climbing on the roller coaster last week?”

  Little Bernie blinked in surprise. He’d obviously forgotten that Frank and I were here to talk about the accident.

  “Uh … no,” he said. “Why would someone climb on it?”

  “We think somebody set off a firecracker and it caused the roof to collapse,” Frank explained.

  Little Bernie looked doubtful. “Must’ve been a pretty big firecracker,” he said.

  “Yeah, it was. More like a weapon,” I told him. “Lots of people think firecrackers are toys, but they can do serious damage. And this one was probably more powerful than what’s legally allowed.”

  “Wow.” Little Bernie’s eyes were wide. “It was loud. I thought the noise was just from the ceiling falling down. But I guess it could’ve been an explosion.”

  “Your dad told us you were right behind the woman who got hit,” Frank said. Little Bernie nodded.

  “I… I don’t want to scare you,” Frank began. Little Bernie puffed his chest out. “Nothing scares me.”

  Frank shot me a questioning look. I nodded. Little Bernie was just a kid, but if he was in danger, he had the right to know.

  “Well, we were thinking maybe somebody was trying to harm you instead,” Frank told him.

  Little Bernie gulped. “M-me?”

  “Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “Lots of people.”

  “Like who?”

  “Well, there’s that Richardson guy.”

  Frank pulled out the little notebook he carries everywhere. “Who’s Richardson?”

  “He’s this loser who wants to buy out my dad,” Little Bernie said. “He keeps trying to get Dad to sell him the park.”

  That didn’t sound like something Uncle Bernie would want to happen. But I didn’t see what it had to do with Little Bernie. “Why would Richardson want to hurt you?” I asked.

  Little Bernie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s just trying to scare my dad into selling. Or he wants it to look like the rides are dangerous or something.”

  “If the park was forced to close, Uncle Bernie probably would be more willing to sell it,” Frank said. “Who else might want to hurt you, Bernie?”

  Little Bernie scratched his mass of red hair. “Uh … this kid from school really hates me. I had to kick him out of the amusement park a couple of weeks ago.”

  “How come?” I asked.

  “He was getting rowdy, causing all kinds of trouble.” Little Bernie tried to look tough as he said that, but it didn’t really work.

  “What’s his name?” Frank asked.

  “Chris Oberlander. He’s a punk, that’s what my dad says. I caught him spray painting on the walls of the boys’ room.”

  “What was he painting?” Frank asked.

  Little Bernie blushed. “Uh … pictures of me. My head on a pig’s body. But that’s not all. He also threw a match into a trash can.”

  “Sounds like trouble,” I agreed. “Anyone else?”

  “Yeah, there’s Big Jim. He runs the snack bar. He might try to get me.”

  “Why would he be after you?” I asked.

  “’Cause he’s a know-it-all. He’s been working at the snack bar for thirty years, so he thinks he’s a total expert on the fun park.”

  “He probably is,” Frank said.

  “So what?” Little Bernie replied. “I’m still the one who’s gonna own it. So he doesn’t like me. He tries to charge me for hot dogs and everything. Can you believe that?”

  I shrugged. I could believe it.

  “What about people who would like to see the park get closed down?” Frank asked. “Maybe whoever set off the explosion wasn’t trying to hurt you at all. Maybe they just wanted to make Uncle Bernie’s Fun Park seem unsafe. This Richardson guy is a suspect like that. Can you think of anyone else?”

  Little Bernie frowned. “My mom, I guess,” he said slowly. “Her name’s Karen. She’d probably get half the money if the park got sold. But she wouldn’t do anything like that. Especially not with me on the roller coaster.”

  “Probably not,” I agreed. But I noticed that Frank wrote down her name anyway.

  “Okay. Thanks for your help, Bernie,” Frank said.

  “Are you guys gonna take off now?” Little Bernie asked.

  “Yeah, we have to check out all the people you just told us about,” I told him. But before I could even take a step, an ear-piercing scream rang out.

  Another scream rang out, and the sounds of people shouting filled the air. Two men raced past us.

  “They’re heading for the carousel!” Joe cried. He took off running, and I followed. I heard Little Bernie huffing along behind us.

  When we reached the carousel, I had to push my way through a crowd of people just to see what was happening. I couldn’t believe it—the thing was spinning out of control! Where was the carousel operator?

  “Is it supposed to go that fast?” I asked Little Bernie.

  He shook his head. “No way. But it’s been running fine since 1935. I don’t know what’s wrong with it to make it go so fast now.”

  “We have to stop it,” Joe said. “People might get hurt.”

  On the carousel, I saw the worried faces of mothers whizzing by. The kids on their painted horses were crying. One little boy puked over the side of the ride.

  “Bernie, do you know where the controls are?” I asked.

  Little Bernie was watching the out-of-control ride, shocked. “Uh … yeah. But they’re inside. I mean, they’re in the middle of the carousel. There’s no way to get to them while it’s turning.”

  Just then, the carousel operator came running back, looking panicked. “What’s going on?” he shouted, then turned to Bernie. “I had to go so bad I couldn’t wait—just left for a second. How could this happen?”

  I looked at Joe just as he rolled his eyes. What kind of guy would leave a ride full of kids running? This place had problems—big problems. A baseball cap came flying through the air. The carousel was going faster and faster. I saw a woman’s pocket-book get pulled off her arm by the centrifugal force created by the wild ride. Popcorn flew through the air, yanked out of the tubs the kids on the merry-go-round were holding.

  The carousel spun even faster. The tinkly music started to sound warped as the ride whooshed by.

  “Look out!” Joe yelled as a camcorder came flying toward me. I ducked just in time.

  “Somebody stop that thing!” a nearby father shouted. His face was white with fear.

  A loud scream caught my attention. I saw a girl—maybe ten years old—hanging on to one of the poles at the edge of the merry-go-round. One foot was off the ride, and the wind was pulling her harder every second. She couldn’t hold on much longer.

  On the next go-round, she was going to fall for sure.

  I glanced around the area. People were everywhere, screaming, crying—all watching the carousel. Even the park workers had abandoned their booths and carts.

  Finally I spotted what I was looking for. A game booth had a bunch of stuffed animal prizes hanging from the top of it.

  I sprinted over to the booth, leaped up, and grabbed the largest animal I could find—an enormous stuffed bear.

  The girl was still screaming.

  A glance over my shoulder showed me that she was already falling off the ride.

  “Joe!” I yelled. “Think fast!” I hurled the bear at him.

  Joe jumped into the air, grabbed the bear, and threw it to the ground just as the girl went flying off the carousel. She winged through the air, screaming the whole way.


  Then she landed on the bear.

  I drew a huge sigh of relief. Joe shot me a thumbs-up.

  The girl’s mother ran over to pick her up. As they hugged, the girl was still crying. But she hadn’t been hurt at all.

  Still, we couldn’t relax. The ride was still spinning way too fast, and before we knew it other people would fall off too.

  “There’s a horse coming loose!” someone yelled.

  Sure enough, one of the poles holding the painted horses had been jarred loose from the top of the carousel. It was going to come off any second.

  “Hit the dirt!” Joe bellowed.

  Everyone around us dropped to the ground, covering their heads. I heard a sickening creaking sound, then the horse—still on its pole—sped through the air over my head.

  The pole speared one of the wooden concession carts, knocking it onto its side.

  “Cool!” Little Bernie cried.

  “We’re just lucky no one was on that horse,” I told him.

  This was getting serious.

  “Let’s go,” I told Joe as I ran past him. I took a leap and landed on the carousel, lying on my side. The force of impact and the speed of the ride made me roll along the floor, banging into the poles of the horses. From here, the velocity of the thing seemed even greater. The faces of the people watching were just a blur as they whirled past.

  I spotted Joe getting ready to jump. I stood up and pulled my way along by the poles. When he jumped on, I was there to grab him so he didn’t get thrown right off again.

  “We have to get to the middle,” I shouted. But the wind whipped the words right out of my mouth.

  “What?” Joe yelled. I couldn’t hear him over the crazy music and the noise from the spinning ride. But I could read his lips.

  I pointed to the center of the carousel. That’s where Little Bernie had said the controls were.

  Joe nodded.

  We had to get there. But it wasn’t easy. The centrifugal force from the ride was pulling everything—and everyone—toward the outside edge of the platform. But we were trying to get to the inside edge. All the force of the wind and the ride were working against us.

  I grabbed onto the nearest pole. I wrapped my arm around it and hung on with all my might. Then I held out my other hand to Joe.

  He grabbed my wrist and I grabbed his.

  Using me to stabilize him, Joe let go of the cart he was hanging on to. Immediately, I felt him wobble backward. The ride was trying to force him to the edge. I held on tight to the pole and to my brother, straining the muscles in my arms.

  Little by little, Joe made his way forward against the centrifugal force. When he reached the pole behind me, he grabbed on. I let my muscles relax for a second while Joe wrapped his arm around that pole. Then he reached out for me.

  We did the whole thing again, this time with me pulling myself along using Joe to stabilize me. With his help I got to the pole on the very inside edge of the platform. I grabbed on, then pulled Joe along until he was beside me.

  We eased our way down the pole until we were sitting on the floor. The force of the ride was even stronger here. I fought against it, reaching toward the edge of the platform. I grabbed it as hard as I could and held on while I lay down on my stomach. My legs stretched back along the floor. I held on to the inner edge of the platform for dear life.

  Next to me Joe did the same thing.

  From that position I could see the machinery of the carousel. Well, I could see where it was, anyway. We were spinning around so fast that the machine looked like a blur of black and gray. It was impossible to tell what was wrong with it.

  Sparks shot off the mechanism as we spun even faster.

  “It smells like something’s burning,” Joe yelled above the noise of the ride.

  “We have to stop this thing before it blows,” I yelled back.

  I squinted at the machine. There was a wire—a thick orange wire like the one Dad uses as an extension cord when he puts up the Christmas lights outside the house. As we whirled around the center, I kept my eyes on that orange line. After about five spins around, I was sure: The wire led away from the carousel machinery.

  “There’s an extension cord,” I shouted to Joe.

  “I see it,” he replied. “It leads underneath the ride. It must go out to the park somewhere.”

  “You think that’s normal?”

  “Who knows?” Joe yelled.

  I sure didn’t know anything about how amusement park rides worked. But it seemed strange that someone would need to plug in the carousel. My best guess was that the orange cord was somehow responsible for the ride going out of control.

  “I’m gonna pull the plug,” I yelled. “You have to keep me steady.”

  “Right!” Joe managed to undo his belt while holding on to the platform with one hand. As he pulled it out of the loops, the belt was torn from his grip by the force of the ride. It slithered toward the edge of the platform.

  I slammed my sneaker down on it, pinning the belt to the ground. Never lifting my foot, I bent my leg and drew the belt toward me.

  Finally Joe was able to grab the belt. He yanked it up to the pole and looped it around. Somehow he managed to get it buckled around the pole and his leg. He made it as tight as he could, then shot me a look. “In case I have to let go of the pole to hold on to you,” he explained. “As long as I’m tied on, we won’t fall.”

  “If you say so.” I wasn’t sure his plan would work. But the first thing we learned in our ATAC training was that you always need to take safety precautions.

  Still holding on to the pole with one hand, Joe reached out and grabbed the back of my belt. He held me steady as I let go of the platform and leaned out toward the machine in the middle.

  The centrifugal force was trying to yank me backward and sideways all at once. Joe held on, but I knew he couldn’t do it for long. The force was too strong.

  The orange cord whizzed by in front of me. I grabbed … and missed.

  In no time we were back around. I grabbed for it again. My hand grazed the cord. I saw the orange line move a foot or so. Then the ride pulled me away from it again.

  “Frank, come on!” Joe yelled.

  I knew he couldn’t hold on to me much longer.

  The orange cord came by again. I stuck out both my hands and lunged toward it.

  Success! The cord jumped off the ground and came spinning around with me. It felt hot in my hands.

  But the ride kept spinning. The cord wrapped once around the machinery, then tightened.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Let go!” Joe yelled.

  I released the cord just as it snapped taut. The ride kept spinning, but the cord stayed where it was. If I’d still been holding on, it would have pulled me to a stop so fast I’d have gotten whiplash.

  I tumbled backward past Joe. I was rolling toward the edge of the platform. I grabbed the first thing I saw—the hoof of a painted wooden horse—and held on.

  Back in the machinery, the cord was still wrapped around as the machine spun. Sparks flew out from the friction between the cord and the metal.

  Then the cord snapped.

  There was a small explosion somewhere behind me, and the carousel began to slow down.

  Slowly the music returned to normal.

  Slowly the force pulling us toward the edge lessened.

  Slowly the people watching stopped screaming.

  But the ride didn’t stop. It was back to normal merry-go-round speed, but it just kept going.

  “Let us off of this thing,” a mother holding a toddler begged.

  Joe unbuckled his belt from the pole, hopped up from the platform, and jumped down into the middle of the ride. He grabbed a giant lever and pulled it.

  “The ride is still on,” he called to me. “I turned it off!”

  I laughed. After all that, the carousel’s simple on-and-off switch still worked.

  The ride slowed to a halt, and the crowd rushed forward to help pe
ople off. Joe climbed back up onto the platform and slapped me on the back.

  “I know I always say carousels are boring,” he told me. “But that was the best ride ever!”

  “You guys are so cool!” Little Bernie cried, rushing up to us. “What went wrong with the ride?”

  “I’m still not sure,” I admitted.

  “I heard an explosion from somewhere behind me after the cord snapped,” Frank said. “Somewhere away from the carousel itself.”

  “Let’s go see,” I said. I made my way through the crowd of hugging people and crying children. Then I circled the merry-go-round until I found what I was looking for—the orange cord. It came out from underneath the carousel just as I had suspected. I followed it across the walkway and to a locked utility closet. The cord ran under the door and disappeared inside. “Can you open this door?” I asked Little Bernie.

  “No problem. I have a passkey,” he boasted. He pulled a key from a chain around his neck and unlocked the closet. “No way,” he breathed.

  Inside, attached to the orange cord, was a power generator.

  “Someone hooked a generator to the carousel to make it spin faster,” Frank said. “But who—”

  A siren ripped through the air.

  We spun around to see an ambulance come screeching into the crowd of people. Two EMTs leaped out of the back and rushed over to a guy lying on his back near the harpooned concession cart.

  “Oh, no,” Frank said. “Did he get thrown from the carousel?”

  By the time we got through the crowd of gawkers and reached the ambulance, the EMTs were already pulling a sheet over the man’s body.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “We’re not sure,” the EMT replied. “Looks like a heart attack.”

  “Was he on that carousel?” Frank asked.

  I peered down at the poor man. Then I kneeled and took a closer look. “This wasn’t caused by the carousel,” I said. “He’s got a bee crushed in his hand.”

  The EMT knelt next to me. “Where?”

  I pointed it out. The EMT turned the guy’s hand over, revealing a tiny swollen hole. “The bee stung him, he crushed it, and then he died,” the EMT said. “Looks like the bee might be related to his death.”