Page 48 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

“Every single one down here is empty,” he says.

I force myself to breathe, trying to convince myself not to go over the deep end.

“Maybe he isn’t dead,” I say, trying not to sound hysterical. “Maybe Emerson just left. We don’t know that anything actually happened to him.”

Caulder looks back at me, grim determination etched on his face.

“We do know that someone killed Mr. Jay,” he says. “And they tried to kill Emerson and Lucas. You’re right. Maybe Emerson’s not dead. But that doesn’t mean we’re safe.”

His words send a shiver down my spine.

“Get the kettle,” he says. “There’s still hot water. We see someone we don’t recognize come around the corner, throw the whole thing at them, okay? I’ll fight them off after that.”

I feel like he’s giving me and my aim a lot of credit, especially considering the fact that he’s literally a pitcher. But I grab the kettle anyway and return to Caulder’s side.

“Right,” he says. “We’ll check the upstairs together and—”

Thump. Thump thump.

Both Caulder and I turn back to the kitchen, to where the sound registered even clearer than before. Without thinking, I step closer to him, and with one move, he pushes me behind him completely. I’m nearly flush against his back, breathing hard, holding the kettle out so I don’t burn him.

“Avery,” he says, tone soft and urgent. “They’re not inside the house. They’re…”

Along the side. I realize it the same time he does. The persistent thump of someone hitting the side of the house. Footsteps, too.

“It could be Emerson,” I say, voice shaking. “Or the others?”

“It could be someone else, too,” Caulder says. “We can’t take any chances.”

I swallow at that reality. If it’s the killer, do they know it will be two against one? Will they care, or will they kill us just like they killed Mr. Jay? Like they attacked Lucas and Emerson?

Which is why we need to move. Why we should move. Why we have to move.

But we don’t.

Caulder’s waiting for something. But what?

And then, I realize what he’s looking at. The window. It’s stained glass, distorting the outside world ever so slightly. As the thumps get closer, Caulder’s gaze remains fixed ahead.

Then, a hooded shadow crosses over us—and I have to bite back a scream.

“New plan,” Caulder says. “Come on.”

Before I can process, Caulder’s hand is around my wrist, yanking me with him as he runs out of the kitchen. I clutch the kettle tight in my other hand as we rocket around the corner. And it hits me where he’s taking us.

The room where Caulder and I spent our seven minutes. Just as we reach the threshold, I hear the sound of a knob jiggling. Of someone trying to get in the front door. I want to scream, but Caulder’s practically hurtling me forward. We’re skirting the hallway, darting along the edge, bare feet sliding over the hardwood floors. I see the heavy door, and then Caulder’s throwing it open, shoving us inside before snapping the lock shut.

It’s the first time I’ve tried to inhale since hearing the noise outside, and I find that I’m wheezing, clutching my knees. There’s that same rich mahogany smell in here as earlier, except now it feels like I’m choking on it.

“Avery,” Caulder’s whispering. “Avery, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

I drop the kettle, but I don’t even have the breath to answer. I feel like I’m underwater, gasping for air, but there’s none that I can find. No sweet exhale to take because I’m suffocating.

“Avery,” Caulder says, and I don’t think he’s ever said my name so many times. I don’t know what to make of it. Can’t focus on anything except fighting to get air into my lungs.

“You—” I try to say, but his eyes flare wide, and he holds up a hand. He goes to the door, presses his ear to it.

“Someone’s out there,” he whispers, and even if there isn’t panic in his voice, there’s fear. “They’re in the house.”