Last Seen: A gripping edge-of-your-seat thriller that you won’t be able to put down

Cal thought it unlikely Gage would travel down this way alone in such a short amount of time, and trotted back to Faith at the Chambers of Dread.

Her hope that he’d have Gage with him died on her face as they exchanged sobering looks.

“He hasn’t come out here,” Faith said, turning to the chutes. “Do something, Cal!”

Near them, they saw a man in his thirties wearing a work shirt with an embroidered Ultra-Fun Amusement Corp roller-coaster logo above his left pocket, a ball cap and Ray-Ban sunglasses. Obviously a midway worker, he was helping women recover at the slides, his rolled sleeves displaying tattoo-laced biceps.

“Our son hasn’t come out yet,” Cal said. “Can you help us?”

The man was unshaven; his long hair curled from his cap, the toothpick in the corner of his mouth punctuated an expression that told Cal he’d been everywhere, seen everything, heard it all and was bored.

“People get hung up in there. Take it easy, pal, he’ll be out.”

“He’s only nine!” Faith interjected. “He was right at the exit curtains with us and he’s not here. It’s been more than five minutes!”

Cal saw Faith’s body reflected in the man’s mirrored glasses as he assessed her summer top and shorts. His toothpick shifted and he nodded to the Chambers.

“Did you see him on the spinner?”

“Yes, if that’s what you call the last thing before these slides, yes,” she said.

“Hang on.” The man unclipped a walkie-talkie from his studded belt, turned and spoke into it. “Alma, it’s Sid. We got a straggler in the spinner.” He turned to Faith. “What’s he wearing?”

“A Cubs T-shirt, ball cap and sand-colored shorts, khakis,” Faith said.

“Got a lotta kids wearing that same stuff,” he said.

“A blue Cubs shirt and ball cap,” Cal added. “And he’s wearing sneakers, blue SkySlyders.”

“How old did you say?”

“Nine,” Faith said.

After Sid relayed Gage’s description into the walkie-talkie, it crackled and a woman’s bored-sounding voice said, “Roger. Stand by.”

“Your people can see in the dark?” Cal asked.

“We got infrared cameras everywhere in the Chambers and Alma watches from a control desk.”

Several moments passed with Sid’s silent calm countering Cal and Faith’s anxiety, projecting an attitude that this sort of thing happened all the time. He scratched his whiskered jaw, then raised his walkie-talkie again.

“Check the graveyard and the crusher.”

“Stand by. I think...” the radio said. “Yup! Got him. He’s coming your way.”

“Oh, good!” Faith said, relief washing through her.

“He should be at the chutes about...now,” the radio said.

A middle-aged woman with glasses whooshed down one slide, then two teenage girls shot down another, then a big-bellied man followed by a boy in shorts and a Cubs T-shirt—a red one. The kid looked more like twelve.

“That’s not Gage! That boy’s not our son!” Faith said.

“We need to do something now, Sid!” Cal said.

Sid held up a hand to stem their rising concern and he spoke into his radio.

“Alma, that’s not him. Go back farther—the witch, the clown, the butcher—and double-check. Shorts and Cubs T-shirt. Nine years old.”

“A blue T-shirt!” Faith said.

Sid shook his head. “The cameras don’t pick up colors, just shades, black, white and in between.”

A few more tense moments passed, then Faith said, “Sid, we’re losing time and this is getting serious. Gage could’ve fallen. He could be hurt or unconscious in there! You’ve got to shut it down, turn on the lights and let us search for him now!”

“Relax, ma’am. We have procedures for these situations.”

“Then use them, dammit!” Faith said.

“Hang on.” Sid pulled the walkie-talkie to his mouth and took a few steps away, but even with the noise Faith and Cal could hear him.

“Still nothing, Alma?”

“Still looking.”

“Call a Code 99.”

“Vaughn won’t like it.”

“Call it.” Sid turned back to the Hudsons. “What’s your son’s name?”

“Gage Hudson,” Faith said.

Sid nodded and relayed it to Alma, setting in motion Ultra-Fun Amusement Corp’s procedure for a serious incident at an attraction. Within minutes, more staff emerged amid radio dispatches and workers talking on cell phones. Some went to various points to help visitors leave the Chambers of Dread through emergency exit doors and down stairs, apologizing and handing them vouchers for a free return. Other staff converged at the chutes. One of them, a man in his early sixties with a white cowboy hat and aviator glasses, had a private huddle with Sid before he came directly to Faith and Cal. He was wearing a navy golf shirt with the Ultra-Fun logo.

“Vaughn King—I run the midway attractions.” He nodded. “We’ll find your son, folks.” King, face tanned with neat, trimmed white stubble, presented an air of authority as he turned and spoke softly into his phone.

Cal and Faith heard a loud announcement being made within the confines of the Chambers. It was muffled but they could make out a woman’s voice on the PA system calling Gage’s name, telling him to report to a staff member.

“We’ve shut down the ride,” King said. “We turned on all interior lighting. We’ve got staff inside who know every nook and cranny looking for your son. All the actors at the scenes are looking, too.”

“Does this happen often?” Cal asked.

King’s gaze was fixed on the Chambers as he stuck out his bottom lip.

“It happens. In Kansas City, we found a teenager who’d huddled in a corner of a set, her eyes shut tight. She’d refused to open them. Found the Chambers a little too scary. In Indianapolis, we had an eighty-three-year-old veteran off his medication who wandered behind the butcher’s scene without the actor knowing. Found him sleeping behind the meat props. In Cincinnati, a woman fainted near one of the spinner’s exits. Unfortunately, no one noticed until we searched for her. It happens.”

“What about the exits?” Faith asked. “We never saw exit signs inside.”