Page 41 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

“Climb out of a mudslide in the middle of a storm? You can’t be serious. We’d get maybe one foot and then be swept down this fucking hill.”

I look from him to the mudslide, watching as more of the earth is torn away and runs down the hill, disappearing into the dark.

“Nah,” Javi says, shaking his head. “We gotta try to find another path. This is insane.”

I stare at him, then at the mudslide, then at Marlene, her eyes wide and shining in the moonlight.

“We’ll figure out something else,” I say. “Maybe the drive leading up to the house is clearer than this.”

“But Caulder said that would be dangerous,” Marlene says. “That the attackers might be—”

“I don’t care what Caulder said,” I say. “We’re going that way.”

I lead them away, more pissed at Marlene with every step. Obviously, I don’t blame her for the mudslide—but I do blame her for suggesting I need everyone to love me. She hit on a weak point, and she almost cut clean through to the bone. More than that, she threw me off my game, and it’s making me question everything. Even the decision to come out here, which I was so sure of back in the house.

She’s already seen too much of me, and we’re going to have a big fucking problem if she keeps digging. If she sees more. And worse…What if she tells Javi?

He can’t know. Not this secret. Because he’d never look at me again the way he’s looking at me now. That trust in his eyes? It’d be gone forever.

And I’ll die before I let that happen.

Chapter 22

Avery

October 17

1:43 a.m.

Was that someone screaming, or am I imagining things?

It took approximately forty-seven seconds after Kaitlyn, Marlene, and Javi left for me to regret my terrible decision. After all, I’ve seen horror movies and know how it ends with a person being alone in a house. Or, I’ve looked up the plots of horror movies on Wikipedia and then begrudgingly watched them from behind my hands when Mom forces me to.

Of course, I’m not actually alone. Caulder is here. And Emerson. And I hate to admit it, but I’m grateful for both of them. Right now, every noise in this place is setting me off. For a moment, I considered turning the record player back on, just to drown out the noises, but then I realized that I need all of my senses acting at full capacity.

The reality is this: We don’t have any good options. Even if we had followed the others outside, we’d just be out there at the mercy of the murderer. I suppose, though, that out there, the murderer could come from anywhere. Here, at least, we have lights and two locked doors keeping us safe. I’ve also found several potential weapons while searching the kitchen’s numerous cabinets. We have a wide variety of frying pans, pots, and knives, though I still haven’t found anything exactly right for myself.

Emerson’s been pacing in the living room, muttering to himself, since the rest of the team left. And Caulder’s still at the table, keeping his eyes pinned on the door just like our dog, Marty, does when he hears the UPS truck outside. There’s a hard set to his jaw, and his leg bounces beneath him.

I shake away my drifting thoughts and return to the cabinets. I set aside a wok that’s heavy but not too heavy that I could probably use as some kind of a club, and dig further.

The truth is that I won’t be good with any weapon. I have approximately zero coordination. And I hate to admit it, but Caulder, Javi, and Kaitlyn are all athletes, and Lucas can at least skateboard. Marlene…I don’t know about Marlene. Maybe she’s just as uncoordinated as I am. As far as I know, though, I’m still the most ill-matched for facing off with a murderer.

“I’m going upstairs,” Emerson announces, and I jump at his sudden appearance in the hallway, which only makes him smirk.

“I really think we should stay together,” I say. “Here. Where we can see the exit—”

“Winslow, I don’t actually give a shit what you think,” Emerson cuts me off. “I still think you murdered Jay, and I’m going to tell the cops that the second they arrive. What I do care about is cleaning these wounds.”

“You’re supposed to be watching Lucas,” Caulder says.

Emerson does an overly dramatic double take back at where Lucas remains immobile on the couch. He’s still breathing—we keep checking—but there’s no change in his state.

“Maybe we should try to clean Lucas’s wounds,” I say, the idea striking me. “We don’t want them to get infected, do we?”

“I think he’s beyond that point,” Emerson says, disgusted. “Did you see that gash?”

“Avery’s right,” Caulder says. “We should do that. Where’d Dorman put the emergency kit?”