Final Girls(102)

She’s dead.

I know that voice. Definitely Craig.

The back door is slammed shut. A lock clicks.

I want to look but can’t. Pain tears through my shoulder when I try to turn my head. It hurts so bad. Like I’m on fire. And the blood. So much blood. It pumps out in time to the panicked thrum of my heart.

He’s still crossing the frost-crusted grass to the cabin, feet crunching over it. When He reaches the deck, the grass crunch changes to wood creak. Inside Pine Cottage, someone screams at the window, the sound muted as it bounces off the glass.

Then the window shatters.

I hear another click, the creak of the door, screams of multiple people making their way deeper into the cabin. They fade until only one scream remains. Amy again. She’s screaming and screaming just inside the now-open door. Then one of her screams is cut short. A sickly gurgle follows.

Amy is silent.

I moan and close my eyes.

The lights are flicked off again.

I’m jostled awake by hands on my arms, pulling me to my feet. The movement reignites the pain blaze at my shoulder. I cry out and am instantly shushed.

Quiet, someone hisses.

I open my eyes, taking in Betz on one side of me and Rodney on the other. Betz’s hands are stained with blood. Every place she touches leaves a red print. I’m covered with them. Rodney is also bloody, smears of it on his face and shoulder. A tourniquet has been wrapped around his forearm, damp with gore.

Come on, Quinn, he whispers. We’re getting out of here.

They throw my arms over their shoulders, not caring how it hurts so much I want to scream. I swallow the sound, choking it down.

As we leave, I get a glimpse of Janelle, lying right where I left her. She’s on her side, head lolled, eyes wide open. One of her arms is pitched forward, stretching across the blood-drenched grass, almost as if she’s begging me to stay.

We leave without her, the three of us crossing to the cabin. Betz and Rodney do all the work. I’m just along for the ride, woozy from blood loss, delirious from pain. I’m so helpless that Rodney’s forced to lift me up the deck steps.

The two of them whisper over me as I’m planted upright again.

Is he there?

I don’t see him.

Where’d he go?

I don’t know.

They grow quiet, listening. I listen, too, hearing only night noises—the last of the season’s crickets, bare branches crackling, the ghostly whisper of falling leaves. Everything else is silent.

Then we’re moving again, faster this time, crunching over a pile of glass near the door before bustling into the cabin.

Amy is just inside the door, propped against the wall like a discarded doll. She even resembles a doll. Eyes as blank as plastic buttons, arms limp at her sides.

Don’t look, Rodney whispers, his voice breaking. It’s not real. None of this is real.

I want to believe him. In fact, I almost do. But then we step in a slick of blood and I skid forward, releasing a yelp. Rodney slaps a hand over my mouth. He shakes his head.

Then we’re on the move again, into the great room, toward the window by the front door.

Where are we going? I whisper.

Rodney whispers back. As far away from here as possible.

The three of us stand at the window, watching. For what, I don’t know. Until suddenly I do.

Craig is outside. Running in a crouch toward the SUV that brought us here. The SUV where all our cell phones have been stowed. Craig opens the door slowly, hands shaking, recoiling when the interior light pops on. Then he’s inside, starting the engine.

Now! Rodney yells.

Betz flings open the front door and we hustle outside, caught in the SUV’s headlights, our shadows looming large against the front of the cabin. I turn to look at them—three dark giants, menacing and tall.

A fourth giant joins them.

He holds a knife, its shadow on the wall three feet long.

Suddenly I’m being jerked back toward Pine Cottage. There’s more screaming. From Betz. Maybe even from me.

Inside the cabin, Rodney slams the door shut and slides the ratty armchair against it. Betz and I return to the window. The SUV’s headlights sweep over us as Craig steers it into a

U-turn.

He’s leaving! Betz yelps. He’s going without us!

The SUV gets about ten feet before it slams into a large maple next to the driveway, shaking loose leaves that rain onto the windshield. Steam hisses through the dented grille. The engine sputters and dies.

Inside the SUV, Craig is slumped over the steering wheel, his chin pressing on the horn. The noise breaks the night silence with a steady blare.

The shadow with the knife is upon the SUV in an instant, flinging open the door and dragging Craig from the front seat.

The blare of the horn stops. Silence reigns again.

Despite his collision with the steering wheel, Craig is still conscious. Yet he doesn’t make a sound as he’s shoved to his knees beside the SUV. He simply stares forward, his eyes sparking with terror.

I turn away from the window, suddenly dizzy. I collapse against the wall, sliding down it, feeling the floor rise up to meet me. Just before everything again goes dark, Craig finally screams.

Later.

I don’t know how long.

I’m on the floor in one of the bedrooms. My room. I recognize the quilts on the wall. Water trickles beneath the door. I don’t know where it’s coming from. A burst pipe? A flood?