Page 100 of Deathtoll
Death was his verdict, he’d said. But death was too fast.This,the anticipation—lying paralyzed for hours while Kate waited to be blown to pieces, knowing her sister was going to be blown up with her, along with friends who were there for the parade, knowing Murph was on the torture table in the basement—was the true punishment.
Kate didn’t have enough space to pull back either her hands or her feet to bang on the wood, to make a sound loud enough to be heard over the roar of the souped-up engine of the truck that pulled the float, over the cacophony of the parade. So she banged her head on the wood under her. The volume was pitiful and not worth the pain.
Emma kept squirming, then there was a ripping kind of sound, then Emma said, “Brush the side of your cheek against your shoulder like you’re trying to wipe it until you curl up the edge of the tape.”
“Mmmmmm.”
Minutes passed before Kate succeeded, then more time before she rolled the tape off enough to speak. “Are you all right?”
Instead of responding, Emma shouted, “Help!”
Kate joined her sister. “Help!”
Nobody responded. Nobody heard them over the marching band that burst into music nearby.
Emma kept wiggling and kicked Kate in the head again. “Sorry.”
“I’m going to turn over. Let me see if I can untie your feet with my teeth.” They had to shout now, just to hear each other.
“Okay.”
Kate banged the crap out of her shoulders doing that, but then she was in position and tore at what felt like plastic clothesline. “I’m going to lose some teeth.”
“Keep going,” Emma said. “Murph will love you even toothless.”
Kate didn’t pause to comment on that. She didn’t know how much time they had left. The damn device didn’t have those convenient little countdown numbers like in the movies.
By sheer dumb luck, she yanked the right spot, and the rope gave. Then she pulled back so Emma could shuck off the restraints.
“Kick up,” she told her sister. “As hard as you can.”
Emma did.
Crack.
“Again.”
Emma didn’t have to be told twice.
And then something popped, and the top busted. More dark space opened up above them, with a few more slivers of light. Kate pushed with her tied feet and hands. Until she was able to sit up at last, just as the float stopped moving and a loud murmur went through the crowd outside.
Emma was tearing at the rope around her wrists with her teeth, but paused long enough to ask, “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Kate attacked her own restraints.
Emma finished first, then helped.
They were at the core of the float, inside the platform, a forest of two-by-fours and plywood around them, forming chimneys above. That seemed like the easiest way out.
“Up. Move.” Kate nudged Emma toward one rabbit hole while she wedged herself into another.
It was a tight fit, but Kate wiggled up until she saw something above that was thin enough to let light through. Hope hammered at her heart.Papier mâché.
She braced her feet, then burst through headfirst and found herself in another enclosed structure for a second, this one yellow and sparkly. Then that fell away in sections, and she was out in the open. People were clapping.
She’d come through a giant daffodil—probably the Longwood Gardens float—and sat there for a second in the middle of the yellow petals like a demented ninja fairy while people cheered, thinking her part of the spectacle.
Then Emma broke through in a tulip next to her, and people cheered louder.
