Patrick clung to the car door as the loud bang shattered the nighttime silence. The front windows of the cabin flashed like lightning, revealing two figures behind the filmy curtains. Patrick recognized one of them at once. Jason. He was unharmed. The knot of tension Patrick didn’t realize he was carrying in his jaw unraveled.
The other figure was slightly taller, and also broad-shouldered. Mikey. The knot in Patrick’s jaw retightened as he recalled his earlier suspicions. The initial glare had died down, but the cabin’s front windows glowed erratically. Jason and Mikey appeared to be running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Patrick let go of the car and sprinted for the cabin.
He burst through the door and into the scene of a disaster. The air was thick with smoke and Jason and Mikey’s agitated shouts. “Patrick!” Jason cried out, his face brightening.
Patrick tried to say Jason’s name, but the smoke filled his mouth and stung his eyes. Flames were licking the top of a bookcase and the support beam above their heads. The antler chandelier swung precariously as Jason valiantly battled the flames with a fire extinguisher. Thank God he was all right, and Patrick spared a moment to acknowledge that meant more to him than the damage to the cabin.
“What happened?” Patrick managed to cough out.
“The Slasher. I scared him off with the flare gun, but I’m afraid we’ve lost our security deposit,” Jason said, sweeping the extinguisher’s nozzle from side to side.
Mikey had lifted his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. “Don’t joke,” he said through his makeshift mask. “Did you see what he did to Freddy, Patrick?”
Patrick nodded, a lump forming in his throat.
“It’s lucky you packed the fire extinguisher,” Jason said.
“Two fire extinguishers.” Patrick dug the second one out of the box. He pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle at the bookcase, wincing as the blast sent scorched paperbacks flying off the shelves.
“You packedtwoextinguishers?” Jason raised an eyebrow.
“With Freddy’s smoking—”
“Fair enough.”
“Why didn’t you just run from the fire?” Patrick demanded.
“I know how much this place means to you.” Jason’s eyes cut through the clearing smoke to hold Patrick’s gaze. Something twanged behind Patrick’s sternum. His scratchy throat clenched and he took a step forward, lips parting. Their earlier disagreement about the reunion seemed so far away now, so unimportant.
“Also, the Slasher ran outside,” Mikey said. Patrick broke his gaze from Jason’s face. Right. They weren’t alone. “As long as we’re in here—”
A woman’s high-pitched scream sliced through the room so sharply it should’ve cut a trail in the smoke. Mikey’s T-shirt slipped from his nose as his eyes widened. “That must be Carrie.”
Shit. Carrie was out there, and so was the Slasher. Patrick lowered the extinguisher, torn between helping her and helping Jason.
“Go! We’ll put out the fire,” Jason said.
Patrick shoved his fire extinguisher at Mikey and ran back out the door.
Outside, the scream crystallized into a single word. “Help!”
Carrie’s cry was coming from behind the cabin, down by the beach. Patrick didn’t hesitate. He ran down the rocky path as fast as he could. A slender figure was standing thigh-deep in the water near the dock, bowed over what looked like a large bundle of seaweed.
“Carrie!” he shouted.
She glanced up. Her clothes were drenched and her hair plastered to her scalp. Her round, staring eyes only made her pale face seem more luminous. It took Patrick’s breath away. Carrie was one of those girls who was more beautiful when she was tragic, like a romantic movie heroine with a terminal illness. She was a drowned Ophelia. A Final Girl, her unadorned features full of pure emotion.
A dark stain softly bloomed across her wet tank top like an aurora. At first Patrick was afraid she was hurt, but breathed a sigh of gratitude when he got closer and her skin and clothing appeared intact. It was someone else’s blood. But whose?
He peered at the bundle she was cradling.
Only a few short hours ago, Carrie had dragged Tiffany out of the water. Carrie had tried to save her again, only it was too late. Tiffany was unnaturally still. She gazed up at the sky, wearing her pink bikini and a shroud of seaweed. Her bare skin was bluish in the moonlight, like the hide of a butchered pig. Blood wisped like tattered wings from under her shoulders, and her arms and legs—
The model of Cindy’s severed head had shown a perfect white circle of bone. There was nothing perfect about the jagged edges protruding from bloodless peaks of flesh. Tiffany’s limbs had been hacked off, the bone visible like the ham hock Patrick had made into soup last week.
Patrick knew bones. He’d handled them in his butchery class. He’d cracked them open to prepare the marrow. It was different knowing that the human body was just as fragile and fecund. His stomach lurched, the horrible sight finally sending him over the edge. He turned his head and threw up on the rocks, retching until nothing else came up. The edge of the lake rolled and obligingly washed his sick away.
Although the horror of Tiffany’s death left him hollowed out, he reached deep inside himself for any remaining strength. It was time to live in the present again, for Carrie’s sake. The Slasher—the man with the axe—could return any minute. Patrick had to make Carrie let go of Tiffany so they could rejoin Jason and Mikey. The Slasher surely wouldn’t attack all four of them at once. There’d be strength in numbers.
