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Because knowing my luck they’ll be hundreds of Ragers wearing “Kill Adelaide” tee-shirts. When had anything ever been this easy for me? Because escaping an army of Ragers and jumping off a highway were most definitely easy.

I tried to put as much warmth into my smile as I could muster. I’m afraid the ended effect made me appear more constipated than anything else.

After one last glance at Tommy, I moved towards the staircase.

Please don’t let there be anything up there. Please don’t let there be anything up there.

I really didn’t want to be one of those too-stupid-to-live heroines I had always seen and laughed at in horror movies. I mean seriously, what made thefinal girlso deserving of life? Was it because she was pure and a virgin? Because she was nice? Scoff.

The nice girls never win in real life.

My hand was white where it gripped the stair rail, but I was pretty proud of myself when I didn’t pass out. I quite literally, and shamelessly, was shitting my pants as I climbed further into the darkness. I hated the dark. Hated it.

The beam of my phone’s light did very little to help me conquer this fear. If anything, the added glow only created more shadow monsters, more places they could hide.

Now a stupid person would say into the darkness, “Hello? Anyone there?”

A smart person, like me and deserving of life, would instead trip over a toy truck and fall onto her ass.

Yup. Totally final girl material right here.

The first two rooms were devoid of any dead bodies or nasty zombies. My body practically sagged in relief by the time I got to the last room.

A child’s nursery.

From the painted walls and collection of dolls, I figured that the room was made for a baby girl. I prayed that the family had gotten away - that the little girl wasn’t the food in her mother’s stomach.

Vomit threatened to escape me at the thought, but I pressed it down.

A single picture was on the dresser of the room, the gilded frame immediately illuminating in my thin shaft of light. Despite knowing I was wasting precious phone battery, I picked up the picture and trailed a finger over the happy family. A mom, a dad, and two kids. An older boy, about five, and a baby girl. They were all smiling at the camera, even the infant.

Why couldn’t I be that happy?

Have I ever, in all my years of existence, ever been that happy?

I was just setting the picture down when something outside caught my attention. The blinds were open, revealing a gray backdrop steadily turning darker as the sun fell. My eyes narrowed at the figure ducking behind a tree.

A Rager?

My heart was hammering, brain turning to liquid, as I stared penetratingly at the unknown figure. The unknown variable.

Who was he, and what did he want? Was he friend or foe?

But the figure never showed his face (or her, I wouldn’t discriminate), and I wondered if I had imagined it.

Maybe I really was losing my mind.

With a shaky breath, I walked back down the staircase. Tommy was where I had left him at the foot of the stairs. I could hear the sobs emitting from his body.

“It’s safe upstairs,” I said, deciding not to mention the person I may have or may have not seen outside. There was no use worrying Tommy more than necessary.

Absently, I shone the flashlight into Tommy’s tear-stained face. It was then that I noticed something that I hadn’t seen earlier.

I had assumed he was a young boy, maybe eight or nine, but on closer inspection, he looked older. The baby fat contorting his features took off a few years.

“How old are you?” I asked, and then mentally winced.

His mom just died, and you’re asking him his age? Good going, Addie.

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