Page 72 of Primal

“She … she told me to find you.” I glance at the phone in her hand. “Call 911.”

She swipes the screen. “Signal’s still out.”

“We have to go, Kristy.”

Her hands clamp onto mine. “Okay. Okay, we’ll go.” Her voice is paper-thin. “But we stick together. No matter what.”

All I can manage is a nod.

She exhales sharply. Squares her shoulders. “There’s an emergency exit near the chapel. Staff only, but fuck it.”

Of course she knows that. Kristy always memorizes escape routes.

We move fast, arms brushing, our breathing synced. Every shadow makes my pulse spike, but Kristy’s grip is iron.

“Left here,” she whispers, yanking me off the trail.

The trees thin slightly. Up ahead, a crooked sign dangles from a rusted post: SECTOR 5–HAUNTED CHAPEL.

“Can we skip the whole chasing bit? These thighs ain’t built for cardio. They’re built for riding.”

I pause. “You hear that?”

Kristy nods slowly. “Sounds like … Vanessa.”

“Aht-aht. No touchy. You wanna slice ‘n’ dice, at least buy me dinner first.”

My stomach drops. “Shit. She’s with him.”

Kristy’s eyes flick to mine. “Who?”

“Ghostface.”

“The killer?” she mutters under her breath.

“Maybe,” I whisper back.

Kristy straightens. “We have to find her. And save her.”

I nod, but she’s already creeping forward, following the voice.

I lunge, catch her arm. “You got a weapon?”

She digs into her fanny pack. Pulls out a canister—pepper spray.

Good enough.

Leaves crackle underfoot, and every snap of a twig has my spine doing the worm.

“Wanna say hi for the fans, Ghost Daddy?”

Fuck, she’s definitely with him.

“You gonna stab me now or later? I like a little build-up, you know.”

“She sounds … okay?” Kristy whispers.

“Damn, Ghost Daddy—what kinda janky-ass angle is this? You tryna get me lookin’ like a busted piñata on camera?”