Page 80 of Primal

Boots step into view. Polished black. Laces neatly tied.

A porcine snout blots out the moon as it bends down.

Up close, the mask looks like an ugly patchwork of skin. There’s something in its gloved paw. A needle.

“Shhh,” it coos, stroking my hair like I do with Max after a nightmare. “Just a little nap.”

The prick in my neck burns.

The trees blur. Stars gutter out. My heart kicks—one last fuck you.

If I get up, I’m skinning that pig.

Chapter Seventeen

Kristy tears ahead, neon shorts flashing like a rave ghost, our breaths tangled in a panicked chorus of ohgodohgodohgod.

She stops—so sudden I nearly crash right into her.

Her shoulders shake.

Crying?

No.

Laughing. Sharp. High. Wrong.

I grab her shoulder. “Hey.”

She folds in on herself. Elbows digging into her thighs.

“Kristy, breathe.”

“F-fuck—” A shuddering gasp. “Fuck, we’re dead.”

I place a hand on her back. “We’re not.”

“Lana’s dead.” Her voice cracks. “Vanessa’s dead.” A giggle bubbles up. “And we’re next—hiding behind fucking poop shacks—”

A branch snaps in the dark.

We duck lower behind the plastic walls.

Kristy kills the flashlight on her phone.

Footsteps crunch through dead leaves.

Closer.

Closer.

Then—

A shape stumbles into the clearing.

Tall. Shirtless. Neon body paint snaking across his chest in the same dizzying swirls they all wear.

Staggering like he’s drunk.