“Hey!”

The wide-eyed man said, “Sir, you have family here?”

“Yeah, they’re over at Tornado Alley. Why?”

“There’re terrorists in the park. A half-dozen. They’re going to blow up some of the rides.”

The wife was sobbing.

“No!” March said. He looked at his phone. “Hell, you’re right. It’s my wife. Texting. CNN has the story. Terror alert. Suicide bomber in the park.”

“That’s why the police. They’re all over the place.”

“And they’re not saying anything!” March snapped.

He’d thought he’d have to spread the rumor a half-dozen more times but, nope, it wasn’t necessary. The stories buzzed like locusts. One bomber, a dozen. Machine guns. Al Qaeda. ISIS. Pakistan. Syria.

“What’re we going to do? How do we get out?”

March shouted, “There’s only one way I know about. The front entrance. They don’t have emergency exits, I heard.”

“No exits? Didn’t they think something like this could happen?”

“We’re going to be trapped here!”

March waved his arm. “No, we’re not. Let’s go!”

The crowd was now moving in the general direction of the park entrance. What started as a cluster of a hundred was swelling to three, four, five times that. March walked with them for a ways, then he managed to peel off from the mass, into the bushes, and let the skittish herd continue their quickening drive to what they hoped was safety.

Chapter 45

What’s going on? Dance wondered.

She and O’Neil were back at the Global Adventure entrance, having heard reports that for some reason thousands of park guests were moving in this direction. The agent and the detective were outside the entrance turnstiles and fence.

The patrons clustering on the other side, waiting to exit, appeared fretful. Some exchanged harsh words. A shoving match or two broke out when people cut into the line ahead of others to leave. The crush could have been relieved if the wide gate were functioning but the unsub’s steamy Chevy still blocked it.

Dance thought of the Liverpool fans clustering outside Hillsborough Stadium, the disaster her father had told her about.

Twenty-five years ago. I still have nightmares…

O’Neil and Dance walked up to the head of park security and Sergeant Ralston.

Dance asked, “What is all this?”

Both Herb Southern and Ralston were on their phones. Ralston said, “Jesus.” Whatever he’d learned was apparently very troubling.

Southern disconnected.

“There’s panicking inside. A couple guests beat up on one of my security guards. I don’t know why.”

Ralston hung up too. “Okay, this is a problem. We’re getting calls from everybody: the sheriff’s office, media, FBI, Homeland. Reports terrorists’re in the park. Machine guns. Suicide vests. Fucking rumors but nine-one-one’s flooded, circuits’re almost overloaded.”

Dance muttered, “He’s doing it.”

“Your perp?”

She nodded.

O’Neil said, “All it took was him telling a few people the rumor, one news report, a few blog posts, and it’s spread like fire.”

“It’s what he does. He starts panics. And he’s real good at it.”

O’Neil said, “He’s going to try to get out this way, thinking we can’t check everybody.”