Page 108 of Primal

Wesley’s back arches. Payton screams.

Ozone stink fills the room.

Taser. Not Derek’s.

The scythe slips—

—Derek’s gloved hand lashes out, snatching it.

The screen catches a rubber snout.

Pigface steps out of the shadows.

Derek presses the scythe to Wesley’s throat. “Surpriseee. Now, that’s the punchline, Death!” Static shreds his voice. “New rule … no one leaves before the credits roll.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Godfuckingdammit. Should’ve known there’d be a twist. Derek’s brought his emotional support slaughter-hog. A silent hillbilly pig demon with a taser kink.

We left four—maybe five—bodies in the security building. Left the monitors glitching on a looped snuff film. Left sanity behind in a puddle of someone else’s blood.

Now we’re being marched through a rusted door wedged between the generator shed and a wall of blackberry thorns. Staff-only emergency exit—guess that includes abductions with a side of tetanus.

Derek leads, his gun pressed to Kristy’s spine.

The sky’s finally cracked open too—first drops hitting like ice picks to my forehead. Perfect timing.

“The ground’s gonna be real cozy if you don’t pick it up, Cupcake.”

Kristy flinches at the nickname—her safe word, now a fucking punchline.

But she moves along, Wesley swaying beside her. His big frame jerks with every step—taser aftershocks—but he still tries to shield her, his zip-tied arms angled like a broken fence.

Kade and I come next, his weight dragging us both down. Blood from his wound soaks through my hoodie. Still breathing. Still with me. Barely.

I fumble for leverage—arms bound, strength shot—but I get us moving.

Because that thing’s stalking behind us, a robed specter with its grotesque snout.

Pigface. Nearly a head taller than me. Dead silent—which is somehow worse than any taunt. Every few steps, that damn taser clicks to life. Just waiting for an excuse.

“Left,” Derek chirps, gesturing toward the broken SECTOR 5 sign.

Kristy hesitates. “That’s not—”

“Move.” He taps the gun to the back of her head. “Before I bleed you out slow like Lana, then play tag with your fucking guts.”

She whimpers but doesn’t argue.

Kade’s grip tightens on me—fingers grave-cold. His breathing seems to be easing, if only a little. I’d take anything over the jagged sound from a few seconds ago.

I curl against him, trying to share what little warmth I have. Without the mask, he seems hollowed out. But his eyes stay sharp. I know that look. He’s thinking. Probably cataloging shadows, exits, weapons.

The knife. Must’ve left it in the control room. Without it, we’ve got nothing. The cameras are useless—especially when the only person watching is the one who wants us dead.

No one’s coming. We’re on our own. Just us, two killers, and whatever fresh hell Derek has planned.

Another raindrop hits my eyelid. Then another.