Jesus. “Were you even drinking that much?”
“Well…”
But Beck’s words die on her tongue. She picks up our pace.
“The person started moving faster,” Beck mutters to me.
I dare to sneak a glance back.
They’re practically jogging. Clearly trying to catch up to us.
I stop breathing.
I grab Beck’s hand.
I start to run.
And it’s not just our footsteps pounding on the pavement. It’s theirs too.
We reach the second stoplight just as it gives us the walk signal. We speed across the street. Our stalker runs behind us.
“We need to move,” I pant.
Beck glances out at the street. A moment, two, before she—
—yanks us out into the street. Into any car that passes by.
And we bump right into a car. Not enough to fall over, but enough for my balance to falter and a nasty ache to bloom on my hip. Beck and I wheel around as we reach the other side of the sidewalk.
It’s a cop car.
We ran right into a cop car.
But it rumbles away from us.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
When I look to the other side of the street, our stalker stares back. Hoodie huge enough to engulf their figure, strands of long hair covering the major features of their face.
And I swear I see a knife in their hand.
A scream trapped in my throat, I sprint again. Like I’ve never sprinted before. Beck is right beside me. When we hit the final stoplight before the campground, I don’t even remember looking both ways.
Tears burn in my eyes, blurring my vision as we step onto the campground property. We move from the asphalt of the street to the gravel of the parking lot. The welcome center is right there to greet us.
We’re so close.
But I can hear the third set of footsteps on the gravel.
We’re twenty yards away.
Ten.
Five.
How is this real?
My body slams against the welcome center door. My sweaty hands fumble for the handle. The weight of the door, so heavy a few hours ago, suddenly feels feather-light.
