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The irony is not lost on me.

Cupping the cool river water in my hands, I drink until my stomach aches, and fuck, I'd forgotten how good cold liquid tastes. It almost burns all the way down my throat, but the sting is a welcome distraction from my thoughts.

When I finally pull away, I splash my face a few more times before pushing myself back to my feet. A flash of shadow catches my eye on the opposite bank, and I freeze, spotting a shadow disappearing behind a tree.

“... Orion?”

Only silence answers back. The river continues rushing before me, birds chirping somewhere high above. I stand there for another full minute, searching the surrounding forest, but see nothing more. Distress floods my senses at the fact that I'm alone.

“Get it the fuck together,” I mumble, shaking my head as I turn to follow the bank downstream. He's not here, and there's nothing out there except the ghosts of everything I left behind.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Benji

By the time I catch my first glimpse of civilization, the sun has fallen well below the horizon.

Ambient light spills across the forest, painting the trunks in streaks of misty grey. The river eventually gave way to an old logging road, less a paved path and more like two muddy tire tracks cutting through the wilderness. I'd followed it for hours, stopping only long enough to drink from streams and rest my leg when it ached too much to continue. Swear, my body is simply running on spite to punish me for leaving at this point.

Every step sends a dull throb through my middle. With a huff, I shrug my burning shoulders, wincing as a blister on my foot rubs against the worn sole of my stolen boot. When a familiar, weathered wooden sign emerges around the next bend, I halt in my tracks and blink at it with bleary eyes.

DEADFALL Population: 312

My gaze drifts over the stretch of road leading to town. Paula's diner is packed full. Across the street, Mary's gas station is lit up like Christmas and someone's getting gas at the pump. Their loud music reaches my ears even from here. It all looks exactly the same.

My entire world imploded, completely rearranged, and yet meanwhile, everyone up here continued on with their pointless, boring lives as they've been doing, apparently, for almost a century. Maybe longer.

All the while sacrificing anyone who threatened their way of life. Trying to kill my monster.

“Pathetic,” I mutter, stomach seething.

How many people wandered into Deadfall looking for a fresh start, just like I had? How many of those skeletons in the bone pit belonged to people who'd trusted this town? Like Dennis, or the miners from Earl and Gale's stories. They all died so the people inside those cozy little buildings could keep pretending nothing was wrong.

With a slow breath, I adjust the dead man's jacket around my shoulders and start toward town, heart thundering in my chest. First stop on the ‘get-as-far-from-Deadfall-as-possible’ train is finding some help—though I don't know who I can trust. Everyone thinks I'm dead. What the hell am I supposed to tell them, anyway?

“Yeah, sorry, your sheriff shot me, and I got kidnapped by an eight-foot cryptid who healed my injuries with his spit. Oh, and he also ate my ass.”

Despite the snort that leaves my throat, a stab of longing and grief rages beneath my skin. It forces a gasp out of me, but I shove thoughts of Orion deep, deep down where nothing and no one can hurt him again.

Not even me.

After a moment's hesitation, I decide to head for the gas station. Mary’s the only one who ever tried to warn me about what's been happening here, so maybe she'll have some answers. Or at least a phone. Bus money, maybe.

Keeping my head down, I limp toward the building as every step sends another dull throb through my body. The closer I get, the stronger the smell of gasoline becomes, and I quicken my pace, intent on getting inside as fast as possible. The growl of a V8 engine, though, wrenches my attention toward Main Street, where a familiar red Camaro rounds the corner up ahead...

And my blood runs cold.

Because it's my fucking Camaro.

I'd recognize her anywhere, even if she was a crumpled mess the last time I saw her.

There's barely enough time to dive behind the ice freezer before the Camaro rolls into the lot, parking beside a pump. And when the driver's side door swings open, a growl of fury nearly barrels out of my lungs at the asshole who slides out from behind the wheel.

Sheriff fucking Earl. Off duty, it would seem, judging by his street clothes. No uniform or police cruiser tonight, though he does leave the rifle he shot me with sitting in the passenger seat.

How the hell did he get a hold of my car? And he fixed her? Probably just another attempt at a cover-up, I think bitterly, glaring at his smug expression from behind my hiding place. The man doesn't even glance over his shoulder as he walks into the gas station, as if nothing could possibly threaten him here. Little does he know, my monster would just love to have him for dinner⁠—