Page 55 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

October 17

2:19 a.m.

My body knows what it is to run, to feel the burn of it zipping through every muscle. Even when I’ve been injured, my body’s always been able to push past the pain.

But running for fun and running for your life?

Two entirely different things.

Right now, it’s not so much a burn as it is every muscle’s being torn to shreds. I push myself deeper and deeper into the woods, heart banging against my chest, branches tearing at my skin, sneakers struggling to grip the slick ground.

I’m going to die. It’s all I can think. I’m going to die—actually die—and it’s all because of fucking Emerson.

I round a bend in the trail and skid to a stop. I have no idea where Javi or Marlene went or how long I’ve been running for. When I heard those footsteps and when Emerson shouted, something primal took over and I just bolted. I don’t even know where I’ve been running to. But now that I can think, all I can see in my mind is Javi.

I need to go back and find him. I’ve got to find him and keep him safe.

I look around, trying to get my bearings. Trying to figure out how the hell to tell which direction to go in to find my way back to the Airbnb. But every damn tree looks the same, and the rain’s erased any sort of trail I might be able to follow.

Or has it?

I was never a Girl Scout, but even I can trace the path of destruction I smashed through the trees. Limbs are broken, ripped off and scattered around, and the mud’s marked with traces of hands and feet scrambling for balance. I trek along the haphazard damage, following it this way and that. I’d be the easiest person to track by a long shot. Shit, I wonder, did all of us leave paths like this one? I think of how we must’ve looked: like deer startled by a hunter.

Still, at least I can make use of my own thoughtlessness to double back to the place we split apart, and if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to follow Javi’s trail.

I listen for any sign of someone nearby, but all I hear is the wind, so I keep going, following the evidence I left in the mud.

After several minutes of working my way back, I hear a groan, and I freeze.

Shit. Who the hell was that? I turn around slowly, narrowing my eyes to better see in the darkness. It didn’t sound like Javi. But it also didn’t sound like Marlene.

“Who’s there?” I dare to whisper.

“Me,” says the douchiest voice I know. “Obviously.”

I step back, and it’s so dark that even standing so close I have to strain to see Emerson, who is practically right under my feet. He’s curled up on his side in the mud, holding on to his thigh where Marlene stabbed him, though the knife is no longer sticking out of it.

“Jesus, Butler,” I say. “You don’t look so good.”

And it’s true. His hair’s a rat’s nest, and his clothes are ripped and torn. His true form, if you ask me.

“Yeah, awesome, great police work,” Emerson says, straining to sit up. “I’ve been attacked twice, remember?”

I cross my arms. “Marlene didn’t attack you. She stopped you from stabbing Javi. You’re lucky it was Marlene who grabbed that knife and not me.”

Emerson glowers at me, blue eyes as sharp and beady as ever.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t take my chances with your lunatic boyfriend,” Emerson says. “I wouldn’t have actually done anything. Marlene’s the one that lost her fucking mind.”

I bite my tongue. Going off on him right now won’t get me the answers I want. I channel my anger, keeping it just under the surface, holding on to the reins like I’ve been trained to do.

“Where’s the knife?” I ask.

He waves his hand. “I pulled it out. Dropped it somewhere when I was running.”

Do I buy it? I scan the ground, and I don’t see it anywhere. And, in the chaos, maybe he did drop it? Still, I don’t trust him.

“Marlene’s going to pay for this,” he grumbles, wincing as he tries to stand.