Captive! Read online

  AN UNDERGROUND PRISON

  Suddenly the truck plunged straight downward and stopped. They could hear the two men get out and slam the doors but couldn’t see anything. It was silent for a few minutes and then they heard Ripper yelling.

  “Hurry and get it covered up. It’ll be daylight soon and we don’t want no nosy neighbors seeing anything.”

  Something loud crashed over their heads, and they could hear dirt and bits of gravel hitting the top of the truck. It happened again and again. The last sound they heard was the scrape of a shovel picking up more dirt. Then it was quiet.

  “I don’t like it,” Mitch said. “Something’s wrong. Real wrong.”

  Roman moved to the windows. Nothing was visible. He tried the door. It was locked.

  “Where do you think we are?” Woody asked. “It’s really getting cold in here.”

  Roman hit the back door with his fist. “I’ll tell you where we are. We’re buried alive!”

  Published by

  Dell Yearling

  an imprint of

  Random House Children’s Books

  a division of Random House, Inc

  1540 Broadway

  New York, New York 10036

  Copyright © 1995 by Gary Paulsen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The trademarks Yearling® and Dell® are registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-80426-6

  Interior illustration by Michael David Biegel

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  Dear Readers:

  Real adventure is many things—it’s danger and daring and sometimes even a struggle for life or death. From competing in the Iditarod dogsled race across Alaska to sailing the Pacific Ocean, I’ve experienced some of this adventure myself. I try to capture this spirit in my stories, and each time I sit down to write, that challenge is a bit of an adventure in itself.

  You’re all a part of this adventure as well. Over the years I’ve had the privilege of talking with many of you in schools, and this book is the result of hearing firsthand what you want to read about most—power-packed action and excitement.

  You asked for it—so hang on tight while we jump into another thrilling story in my World of Adventure.

  CHAPTER 1

  Roman Sanchez sat in the back of the classroom pretending to be asleep the way he always did. The bell had rung over ten minutes ago and the teacher was late. A paper airplane shot past Roman’s head, just clipping his ear. He slowly opened one eye and looked up.

  Woody—“the Worm”—Winslow was reaching cautiously for the plane when he noticed Roman stirring. He turned to run, but it was too late. Roman already had him by the back of his coat.

  “Stuff the Worm in the trash can!” Jeff Dodsen yelled. Jeff was the captain of the Mason City Mustangs football team and the most popular kid in school. He started clapping and the whole class took up the chant.

  “Stuff him. Stuff him.…”

  Woody closed his eyes and waited for sure death.

  It didn’t happen.

  Roman simply hauled Woody across the floor to his desk and dropped him like a puppy on the seat. Then the tall, quiet, dark-haired boy returned to his own desk, slid in, leaned back, pulled his cap low, and tried his best to get comfortable again.

  The door opened and Miss Bently rushed in, carrying an armload of papers that smelled like fresh ditto fluid. She adjusted her glasses and looked disapprovingly at the paper wads and airplanes lying on the floor.

  She cleared her throat. “Sorry to be late, class. Mr. Smathers was running off his semester tests, too, and as you know there’s only one ditto machine, so I had to wait my turn.”

  Mitch Tyson, the president of the student council, grinned up at her. “So does this mean we don’t have to take the test now? Because we all know you wouldn’t want us to be short on time and rush through it.”

  Miss Bently began passing out the test papers. “Nice try, Mitch. But no cigar. We still have plenty of time.”

  Silently the door behind her opened and closed. Two men wearing ski masks and dark clothes entered.

  Someone in the front row screamed.

  Miss Bently turned. The men were pointing guns at her and the class. She clutched the papers to her chest and backed up to her desk. “Wha … What is the meaning of this?”

  The shorter man moved menacingly toward her, still pointing the gun. “School’s out, Teacher. Have the kiddies all line up. We’re going on a little field trip.”

  Miss Bently hesitated. The man slammed her against the desk, knocking the test papers from her hands. “I’m not playing games here, Teach. If you don’t want nobody hurt you better line ’em up. Now!”

  Frantically Miss Bently motioned for the students to move away from their desks. They scrambled to obey, spilling books to the floor on their way.

  The larger of the two gunmen, an enormous man with long, curly black hair pulled back in a ponytail, opened the door a crack and looked out into the hall. “It’s clear, Ripper. Let’s go.”

  The short man walked up and down in front of the kids, swinging his gun carelessly. “Listen up, students. We’re all going to follow Spoon here, right down this hall and out the double doors. If you want to live, don’t get out of line and don’t make any noise. There’s a school bus parked right outside the door—everybody gets on.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Anyone watching Miss Bently’s class walk down the hall and across the school parking lot would have marveled at their seemingly perfect behavior. Not one student stepped out of the single-file line, and no one made a sound.

  A closer look would have revealed the fear and confusion etched on their faces. One girl stumbled and fell to her knees. She was hastily helped to her feet by the student behind her so that there was no visible delay and their captors would have no reason to notice them.

  Miss Bently’s face had lost all color as she moved along behind her students. She felt somehow responsible for what was happening, but her mind refused to believe that any of this was real.

  Inside the bus the two men pulled off their masks. The big man with the ponytail, the one called Spoon, slid into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and cautiously pulled out of the parking lot onto the street.

  The short man moved up and down the aisle, silently watching the kids. He was younger than the other man, blond and muscular. His mean, lizardlike eyes constantly searched the faces of the cowering students. His gaze lingered warily for a moment on a big kid with dark hair in the back of the bus who seemed to be sleeping. Then the man moved on.

  The driver coughed nervously and checked the mirror every few seconds to see if they were being followed.

  The bus had been outside the city limits for almost an hour, heading northwest. It was still quiet. The men barely spoke to each other, and only an occasional tense whisper could be heard from the back of the bus.

  The short blond man continued to pace back and forth. Miss Bently had recovered enough to speak quietly to him when he reached the front. “Why are you doing this? These children all have famili
es and homes. They’ll be missed.”

  “That’s what we’re counting on, Teach.”

  “But the authorities will come after you. You can’t hope to get away with this.”

  The man smiled and pulled something out of his pocket—a hand grenade. Miss Bently’s hand flew to her mouth. She drew a sharp breath, and there was a scream from somewhere in the back of the bus. All eyes were on the grenade.

  Ripper savored the moment. “Somehow I don’t think they’ll bother us. We left word that if any cops try to come near us, we’ll blow this bus to kingdom come.” He tossed the grenade in the air a couple of times and then slid it into his pocket. “You see, lady, you and your class are our hostages. You’re our special insurance to make sure my partner and me get what we want.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Don’t talk to the dress, Ripper.” Spoon glanced up into the mirror. “She don’t need to know nothin’.”

  The blond man glared at him. “Shut up, Spoon. I’m running things and I’ll decide who I want to talk to.”

  Spoon glared back but didn’t say anything. He waved one hand in disgust and then concentrated on his driving.

  Ripper turned his attention back to Miss Bently. “This is how it’s going to work, Teach. I’m takin’ you and your class to a special place out in the desert. It’s so far out in the boondocks nobody could ever find us. After we get you settled, we’ll let the cops in on the rest of our plan.”

  “Which is?” Miss Bently asked stiffly.

  Ripper laughed a low, deep, satisfied laugh. “Simple. They bring us three million dollars and an airplane, and we give them back their precious little kiddies.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  Ripper grabbed the teacher’s face and squeezed hard. “Then they don’t get any of you back—ever.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The bus gave a lunge and jerked to a stop on the side of the road. Black smoke boiled out from under the hood, and the air smelled like burning rubber. Spoon cursed, threw open the doors, and rushed outside to see what the problem was.

  He raised the hood and more thick black smoke came rolling out. Then he raced back inside and whispered something in Ripper’s ear. Ripper quickly followed him down the steps.

  “Now’s our chance.” Jeff Dodsen stood up and moved to the back exit of the bus.

  Roman had been propped lazily in the corner of his seat as if the whole thing held absolutely no interest for him, but when he saw Jeff reach for the door he grabbed his arm.

  Jeff jerked his arm away. “Hey! What are you doing, man? I think I can make it.”

  Roman whispered, “The door has an alarm, stupid. You wouldn’t get ten feet.”

  Jeff’s face flushed bright red. He sank into the seat across from Roman’s, almost squashing Woody the Worm. “Then what do you suggest, hotshot? Just sit here and let that idiot blow us all to bits?”

  Mitch Tyson held a finger to his lips. Then he let his window down so that he could hear the conversation going on outside. “Check it out, guys,” he said in a low voice. “Those two are acting like they’re real bus drivers and trying to get cars to stop and help.”

  “Look.” Woody pointed out the window. “That delivery truck is pulling over.”

  A man dressed in a crisp white uniform stepped out of the truck and walked back to the bus. They saw Ripper give the man a toothy grin, shake hands, and lead him off to the side.

  Spoon hastily squeezed through the bus doors and climbed the steps. “All right, everybody, there’s been a slight change in plans. I know you’ll be disappointed, but it turns out that some of you don’t get to go on our little field trip after all.” He moved down the aisle, looking at the students. “You.” He pointed at Mitch. “Get outside. And you three in the back of the bus. Get off.”

  Roman put his head back and closed his eyes. He let out a deep breath, stood up, and started down the aisle after Mitch.

  Jeff grabbed Woody and pushed the smaller boy ahead of him. He whispered loudly enough that Roman could hear him. “Look at the big man. Everybody at school thinks you’re so tough. You’re nothing but a big wimp—a yellow coward.”

  At the front of the bus, Miss Bently gave them a feeble smile. “Try not to worry, boys. I’m sure the authorities are doing all they can.” She had tears in her eyes as the four boys moved down the steps and off the bus.

  Outside they saw the delivery man lying facedown in the dirt beside the front wheel of the bus. Blood trickled from an open wound on the back of his head.

  Ripper growled at his partner. “Get these kids in the truck, Spoon, and make it quick. We’re behind schedule.”

  Spoon jerked open the back door of the delivery truck and motioned with his gun for the four boys to get in. He locked the door and headed for the driver’s side.

  Roman pulled his jacket around him and sat on the cold metal floor of the panel truck. The other boys crowded near the back and watched out the small round windows as they pulled away and the school bus disappeared from sight.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was late at night, and in the back of the truck it was hard to see. Just about the time their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they would pass through another small town and the glare of the streetlights would flood in through the circular windows in the back door.

  Mitch had discovered two loaves of bread that the delivery man must have forgotten, or hadn’t had time to deliver, and passed them out.

  Woody felt around in his backpack and found an apple left over from lunch. “Anybody want some? I don’t have anything to cut it with, but …”

  Roman pulled a knife out of his pocket. “Here, use this.”

  Woody fumbled with the knife and managed to slice the apple into four parts. He passed them out and handed the knife back to Roman. “What do you think those guys are going to do to us?”

  Roman put the knife in his pocket. “For now … nothing. They need us alive.”

  “They obviously don’t intend to feed us.” Mitch bit into his piece of apple.

  “I could have been long gone by now,” Jeff muttered. “Next time—”

  “Next time we’ll wait for the right opportunity. Not some stupid move that’ll get us all killed.” Roman settled back against the wall.

  “Who died and put you in charge?” Jeff smirked.

  Roman sat up straight, dwarfing the other three boys. “Look, we’ve all got something to contribute here. Take Mitch. He’s so full of bull, he could talk a bum out of his last dime. And the Worm’s got enough brains to make an atomic bomb. And if we’re real lucky, we might even find a use for you, Super Jock.”

  Jeff’s jaw tightened and his fists doubled. “Oh yeah? All I know is you were the one who wimped out on the bus.”

  Roman leaned back again. “Save it, football brain. I’ll be happy to settle the score when we get out of this.”

  The truck pulled to a stop, and the boys scrambled to the windows to see where they were. The truck was parked beside some old gas pumps at a small-town gas staion called Freddie’s. An elderly man was on duty. He sat behind the counter, ignoring them, reading a newspaper.

  Roman leaned close to Woody. “You got anything to write with in your backpack?”

  Woody nodded and took out a green Magic Marker.

  “Put it in your pocket. Mitch, the Worm and I need to get inside that gas station. See if you can convince them to let us out.”

  “Will do.” Mitch knocked on the wall of the truck. The back door opened a crack and Spoon snarled, “Keep it quiet in there or else.”

  Mitch whined, “We really, really gotta take a bathroom break, mister.”

  The door closed and then opened again. Spoon stuck his face in. “Ripper says okay. But only two at a time. Don’t try anything funny or the two left out here won’t last long.”

  Roman shoved Woody ahead of him. “You and I will go first.”

  Spoon followed them to the bathroom at the side of the station and waited for them outs
ide the door.

  Roman locked the door behind them. “Quick, give me the marker.”

  Woody handed it to him. “What are you going to do?”

  “Watch.” Roman went into one of the stalls and wrote on the wall:

  Help. Tell the police—students being held hostage in white delivery truck were here at 2:00 A.M.

  He wrote the date and paused. Woody touched his arm. “Why don’t you put the license plate number? It’s JXY 992.”

  Roman smiled. “I knew you were a genius.”

  Woody shook his head. “Photographic memory.”

  Spoon banged on the door. “Get out of there, you runts, before I blast the door open. Ripper’s ready to go.”

  Woody moved to the door and unlocked it. Spoon pulled him out and pushed him toward the truck. “Tell the other two they’re out of luck. Ripper won’t wait no more.”

  When they were back inside, Woody looked at Roman. “Do you think it’ll help much?”

  Roman shrugged. “Depends. The police are probably trying to get a fix on our location. If somebody reports our message, they might get to us sooner.”

  “Big man,” Jeff scoffed. “What would you know about the police?”

  Mitch elbowed him. “His dad was a lieutenant on the force. He was killed in the line of duty last year. That’s why Roman’s a grade behind. He stayed home to help his mom.”

  “Shut up, mouth,” Roman growled. “You talk too much.”

  “I heard your dad was part of a special forces SWAT team,” Woody said. “Everybody says he taught you karate, and that the two of you used to go around the country giving exhibitions at schools and stuff.”

  The truck made a sharp left and pulled onto a gravel road.

  “This may be something.” Roman tried to listen. “From here on everybody pays attention. Nobody sleeps. I want to know every detail we can possibly remember from the time we left that pavement.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The truck was steadily climbing upward. They had turned right three times after leaving the pavement. Now they weren’t even sure they were still on a road. The terrain was rocky and uneven, and they could hear tree limbs hitting the outside of the truck as it moved along.