All of Will rode with friend Jim now.
"Jim! Dad!"
How easy it might be to just stand, ride, go round with Jim, if he couldn't pull Jim off, just leave him on and, dear pals, travel! The juices of his body swam, blinding his sight, they drummed his ears, shot electric jolts through his loins....
Jim shouted. Will shouted.
They traveled half a year in slithering orchard-warm dark before Will seized Jim's arm tight and dared to leap from so much promise, so many fine tall-growing years, flail out, off, down, pull Jim with. But Jim could not let go the pole, could not give up the ride.
"Will!"
Jim, half between machine and friend, one hand on each, screamed.
It was like a great tearing of cloth or flesh.
Jim's eyes went b
lind as a statue's.
The carousel whirled.
Jim screamed, fell, spun crazily, on the air.
Will tried to break his fall, but Jim struck earth rolling. He lay, silent.
Charles Halloway hit the carousel control switch.
Empty, the machine slowed. Its horses paced themselves down from their trot toward some far midsummer night.
Together, Charles Halloway and his son knelt by Jim to touch his wrist, to put ear to his chest. Jim's eyes, skinned white, were fixed on the stars.
"Oh, God," cried Will. "Is he dead?"
Chapter 52
" DEAD ...? "
Will's father moved his hand over that cold face, the cold chest.
"I don't feel ..."
A long way off, someone cried for help.
They looked up.
A boy came running down the midway, bumping into ticket booths, falling over tent ropes, looking back over his shoulder.
"Help! He's after me!" the boy cried. "The terrible man! The terrible man! I want to go home!"
The boy flung himself forward, and grabbed at Will's father.
"Oh, help, I'm lost, I don't like it. Take me home. That man with the tattoos!"
"Mr. Dark!" gasped Will.
"Yes!" gibbered the boy. "He's down that way! Oh, stop him!"
"Will--" his father rose--"take care of Jim. Artificial respiration. All right, boy."