She pumped her arms like she could swim out of her skin. He continued to circle her, his masked face flat and expressionless. A shark focused on catching its prey. Tiffany gulped brackish lake water as she fought to keep her head above the turbulent surface. Her arms and legs burned, and her sprained ankle felt like it had swollen into a lead balloon.
The boat swung around again behind her. What was he waiting for? Tiffany choked again on lake water, daring to look over her shoulder.
She wished she hadn’t.
The Slasher’s right arm disappeared inside the boat.
And reappeared with an axe.
Tiffany pushed her aching muscles harder. The summer camp’s dock was so close. The rope and buoys that marked off the swimming area were nearly in reach. If she could slip under one of those, the boat couldn’t follow, could it? He’d have to switch off the outboard motor or else the rope would get tangled.
The boat roared, a wild beast closing in for the kill. Tiffany’s skin went white-cold with terror. TheMary Loutore through the water, eating up the distance between them.
The shark was done playing with his food.
As the Slasher stood and raised the axe, Tiffany screamed and launched herself into her award-winning front crawl. Her right arm came up over her head—and never made it down.
Not in one piece, anyway.
Tiffany floundered, suddenly off-balance, tasting her own blood in the water as pain seared across the jagged stump where her right forearm should’ve been. Panic blinded her, or it could’ve been the fathomless darkness of the surrounding lake and the sky. Was she even going in the right direction anymore? She kicked violently, a desperate mermaid trying to writhe away from the shark. From the greedy bite of the axe.
It was no good.
The axe came down again, and again. Carving off pieces of her with its hunger. Her swollen ankle, sheared off like dead wood. Her right leg at the knee, making a shockingly sharpcrackthat echoed all around them.
The blood-steeped lake filled Tiffany’s throat as she gasped. Her body fought to go in one direction but the waves tugged her in the other, pulling at her partially severed right leg. She nearly passed out as it dragged from the fractured knee socket, the last thread of skin stretching and tearing like taffy.
And finally her left arm, the fingers of her hand forming a claw above her head like she could drag herself across the water as if it were carpet. The blade soared and her delicate wrist split like a wishbone, weakly spraying her face with warm blood. Or maybe it was actually lake water, splashing up her nose as her struggling slowed.
Her last thought, as the blade buried itself in her back, was that it was a shame her funeral would be closed casket.
20
Patrick
Patrick skidded down the hill with Jason’s name in his mouth, grunting every time he bounced over a rock or tree root. Just when he thought he was safe with his friends, fate’s morbid sense of humor had intervened and wrenched them apart.
Patrick heard a loud rip and hoped it was his khakis and not his skin. Though he deserved every scrape and tear. Ever since Ranger Russ had shown up at the cabin, he’d been carrying his regrets like stones in the pit of his stomach.Do you hear that?was the last thing he’d said to Jen. What he should’ve said was,Stay with me.
No. He shouldn’t have told Jen to stay with him. He should’ve stayed withher.But when he’d tripped and had to retie his shoelace, Jen had vanished. And then he’d heard the cry for help.
Still, he should’ve tried to find her first. He should have also been the first to chase after Tiffany, when they’d heard Mikey screaming. She would’ve listened to him instead of Jason,considering the tensions between the couple. He should’ve pulled Jason back when he realized they were dangerously close to the edge of the slope. He should’ve kept his balance when Carrie bumped into him. And now the four of them were sledding down the hill, in different directions, and heaven only knew if they would stop in the same place.
Story of his life. He’d been trying to organize a Jumpscare Society reunion for ages, but the timing had never worked out. Getting such a large, disparate group to agree on something was like herding cats. It was a miracle they’d managed to be in town on the same weekend. Especially Carrie. He thought she’d never return, not even to see her mom. It was why he hadn’t invited her in the first place.
Patrick grunted as his belt caught on a jutting tree root. A shrub flew dangerously close to his face. Or maybe it was the other way around. He put up his hands and it was a good thing he did, because he smacked right into a tree, the bark shredding his palms. Great. It was going to be a pain to hold a knife now.
On the bright side, the tree stopped his descent. Another time he might have laughed. His muddied knees splayed around a great cedar with his forehead against the trunk, like he was pleading with it for mercy. Or gettingveryup close and personal. If Jen were here, she would’ve said something rude and made a reference toEvil Dead.
With whatever dignity he had left, Patrick climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt and leaves off his clothing. “I do like them tall and handsome,” he said to the tree, “but you should’ve bought me a drink first.”
The fall had torn a flap in the left knee of his khakis and thankfully not his skin. His Oxford shirt was also a write-off, streaked with mud and sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty skin. “Jason?” he rasped, making the effort to smooth down his ruined shirt and tuck the tails into his waistband. The simple act gave him some semblance of control over his situation. “Carrie? Tiffany?”
Patrick peered around but could barely see a thing, let alone three other people. The imposing trees blotted out the sky. He patted in his pockets for the flashlight and slumped with relief when he discovered he still had it, along with the compass and his keys. He took it out and swept the beam around. The illumination only reinforced he was surrounded by the woods, and no friends.
He checked his phone, his breathing growing shallow. Another news headline had slipped through. The phone was just trolling him now. No signal, but it felt it was important to inform him that the man found in the Fairvale alley had been killed with a meat cleaver. The hairs on Patrick’s arms stood on end. “Read the room, phone,” he muttered.
Wait. What had Jason said about Russ Meachum? Feathery needles spread across Patrick’s scalp as he dredged up the memory.
