Page 80 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

“Hey,” I say. “Don’t call Marlene—”

“A dumbass?” Kaitlyn says, tossing a Taki into her mouth and crunching down almost as forcefully as Caulder did with the Pop-Tart. “What should I call her, then? A whining baby?”

Marlene’s eyes water again, her hands gripping the edge of the bar so hard that her fingers turn white.

“I’ll call her a dumbass when she’s being a dumbass,” Kaitlyn says. “Because she’s not the pathetic coward you all seem to think she is.”

“I don’t think she’s a coward,” I say quickly, then feel guilty.

“Sure.” Kaitlyn snorts. “You just treat her like she’s made of porcelain.”

“I just don’t want her to have another panic attack,” I say, but then that’s more guilt. Because didn’t I have one myself?

“It’s okay, Avery,” Marlene says. “I’m fine—”

The lights around us suddenly flash on, making us all gasp. We’re looking around, realizing we can finally see properly, when the door slams open, and we jump. We whip around toward the sound, and Caulder’s immediately in front of us, eyes narrowed, focused on the slash of night now visible through the open door.

“But we locked it,” Marlene whispers next to me. “We locked it.”

There are heavy footsteps, the sound of something being dragged, as a figure steps inside. He moves slowly, bordering on lumbering, and then his eyes find mine.

“Jesus Christ,” Emerson says, his face covered in mud and blood and who knows what else. “Why’d you lock the door on me?”

Chapter 44

Emerson

October 17

3:33 a.m.

This team is lucky to have never had the Butler rage rain down on them. With them, I have been patient. I have been courteous. I have been giving, offering not only my wide-ranging expertise but my knowledge and resources as well. I booked this Airbnb, obviously, but before that, I was always a conscientious guy. Even now, I flipped the breaker for them so this house wasn’t completely pitch-black. Here I am, always handing out favors.

Not that they have ever appreciated it.

But this time.

This time, they took their lack of gratitude too far.

Thanks to the Tylenol I found in the bathroom, the pain in my thigh has ebbed slightly, moved from an ever-present, constant surge to a pounding. I might’ve fallen asleep at some point out there. There were periods I don’t remember. I heard my father’s voice, delivering his disappointment.

“I can’t believe you won’t be on that stage as the valedictorian,” he’d said after we got the news from the counselor about my third-place finish. “But this…This I’m not sure I can abide.”

But he doesn’t know that I’ve taken his advice to heart. That I won’t give up. Not least of all now when I’m so close.

I breeze in through the front door, past Avery and Caulder, and into the kitchen. I strip off my filthy, muddy jacket and drop it on the marble floor with a wet plop. Who cares about the cleaning bill at this point. I can just charge their parents and have my father’s collectors follow up.

But for now? Now I need something for the raw, aching thirst in my throat. I go to the fridge, pull out a beer, crack it on the side of the counter, and begin to down it.

“What the hell happened to you?” Caulder asks, staring at me. “Dude, are you okay?”

I snort. Am I okay? Of course not. I glance down at my pajama shirt, equally as filthy as my jacket and covered in what looks like literal sludge.

“I tried to get to the road.”

“You mean the mudslide?” Kaitlyn asks, snorting with laughter. “You tried to climb a mudslide? After being attacked twice?”

I glare at her. “I was trying to save our lives. And, yeah, thanks for reminding everyone that I’m the one who’s taken the beating tonight.”