Panic Read Online Free PDF Page B

rain was a problem. It made the rungs of the ladder slick under her fingers. It blurred her vision and made the treads of her sneakers slip. When she finally reached the small metal ledge that ran along the circumference of the water tank and hauled herself to her feet, the fear came swinging back. There was nothing to hold on to, only smooth, wet metal behind her back, and air everywhere. Only a few inches’ difference between being alive and not.
    A tingle worked its way from her feet to her legs and up into her palms, and for a second she was afraid not of falling but of jumping, leaping out into the dark air.
    She shuffled sideways toward the wooden beam, pressing her back as hard as she could against the tank, praying that from below she didn’t look as frightened as she felt.
    Crying out, hesitating—it would all be counted against her.
    “Time!” Diggin’s voice boomed out from below. Heather knew she had to move if she wanted to stay in the game.
    Heather forced herself away from the tank and inched forward onto the wooden plank, which had been barely secured to the ledge by means of several twisted screws. She had a sudden image of wood snapping under her weight, a wild hurtle through space. But the wood held.
    She raised her arms unconsciously for balance, no longer thinking of Matt or Delaney or Bishop staring up at her, or anything other than all that thin air, the horrible prickling in her feet and legs, an itch to jump.
    She could move faster if she paced normally, one foot in front of the other, but she couldn’t bring herself to break contact with the board; if she lifted a foot, a heel, a toe, she would collapse, she would swing to one side and die. She was conscious of a deep silence, a quiet so heavy she could hear the fizz of the rain, could hear her own breathing, shallow and quick.
    Beneath her was blinding light, the kind of light you’d see just before you died. All the people had merged with shadow, and for a second she was afraid she had died, that she was all alone on a tiny, bare surface, with an endless fall into the dark on either side of her.
    Inch by inch, going as fast as she could without lifting her feet.
    And then, all at once, she was done—she had reached the second water tower and found herself hugging the tank, like Kim had done, pressing flat against it, letting her sweatshirt get soaked. A cheer went up, even as another name was announced: Ray Hanrahan.
    Her head was ringing, and her mouth tasted like metal. Over. It was over. Her arms felt suddenly useless, her muscles weak with relief, as she made her way clumsily down the ladder, dropping the last few feet and taking two stumbling steps before righting herself. People reached out, squeezed her shoulders, patted her on the back. She didn’t know if she smiled or not.
    “You were amazing!” Nat barreled to her through the crowd. Heather barely registered the feel of Nat’s arms around her neck. “Is it scary? Were you freaked?”
    Heather shook her head, conscious of people still watching her. “It went quick,” she said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt better. It was over. She was standing in the middle of a crowd: the air smelled like damp fleece and cigarette smoke. Solid. Real.
    “Forty-two seconds,” Nat said proudly. Heather hadn’t even heard her time be announced.
    “Where’s Bishop?” Heather asked. Now she was starting to feel good. A bubbly feeling was working its way through her. Forty-two seconds. Not bad.
    “He was right behind me. . . .” Nat turned to scan the crowd, but the truck’s headlights turned everyone into silhouettes, dark brushstroke-people.
    Another cheer erupted. Heather looked up and saw that Ray had crossed already. Diggin’s voice echoed out hollowly: “Twenty-two seconds! A record so far!”
    Heather swallowed back a sour taste. She hated Ray Hanrahan. In seventh grade, when she still hadn’t developed boobs, he stuck a training bra to the outside of