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She’ll find help. Emily is somewhere out here. Grant. Holden. Anthony. Miranda. She’ll find them and they’ll help her. They’re counselors. It’s why they’re here. She keeps repeating the sentiments over and over, trying to comfort herself. It’s going to be alright. Everything is going to be fine. There’s help. She just has to findthem.
She wants to call out for Emily, but she can’t make the sound come out of her mouth. If she yells, he might hear her. Even the words she’s turned into her mantra aren’t enough to cover the silence from the craft building behind her. No more screams. No more heavy blows.
The pain from her fall is starting to set in, making it harder to focus as she runs. Rain stings her eyes and fills her lungs with heavy dampness that steals her breath. It isn’t a chill rain that would keep her mind clear. It’s thick and suffocating, making each step more difficult.
Another scream tears through the camp and Lisa drops to the ground. Her fingernails dig into the wet dirt as she crawls desperately across the ground toward the tree line she can see just ahead. She scrambles behind the first tree, not wanting to go any deeper into the woods. Pressing her back into the bark so she can feel it through the fabric of her t-shirt, she pulls herself in as tight as she can, trying to make herself small enough to be completely concealed.
Ragged breaths don’t get enough oxygen into Lisa’s body. She’s starting to feel lightheaded, her body trembling. She tries to focus on bringing in deep breaths so she can think. As much as she wants to stay right here, she knows she can’t. She has to think of something. She has to getaway.
Ahead of her, she notices something that doesn’t fit with the rest of the dark green and shadows of the woods. Something bright orange sticking out from behind a tree a couple of yards away. There’s someone else hiding. They would be better together. Safer.
Lisa makes a soft hissing sound in the direction of the orange flash against the darkness, hoping to catch the person’s attention without having to call out. It doesn’t move. She leans forward, hissing again, but there’s still no reaction. The rain is muffling the sound too much for whoever it is to hear her. She takes a breath and peeks to either side of the tree to make sure she doesn’t see anyone. When she sees there’s nothing but rain, she throws herself forward.
Her hands hit the tree and she curls against the base, catching breath that shouldn’t be so short after such a brief burst but won’t stay in her lungs.
“Hey,” she says as loudly as she can bring herself to. There’s no response. “Hey.”
The bright orange, the corner of a pair of camp shorts, hasn’t moved. Being against the tree now lets her see a small portion of the person’s shoulder. Lisa wonders if they are too afraid to react, paralyzed into not wanting to respond even to a friendly voice. She moves around to a position in front of them so they can see her, and instantly her hand clamps over her mouth to try to stop the scream tearing its way out of her throat.
She falls back, hitting the ground hard and scuttling backward like a crab to get away from the tree. She doesn’t recognize the person leaned against it. She can’t. Their face is gone.
Cradled in the roots of the trees is a body soaked in blood, still curled up like the person is trying to get away.
Lisa tries to get to her feet, inhaling tears and raindrops at the same time, but can’t get them under her. The shock and fear have taken the strength and control out of her body. She pushes against the ground, forcing herself backward as much as she can. Her back hits another tree and she presses into it, trying to find some comfort in itsstability.
The solid feeling lasts only a second before moving out from behind her and she does nothing to conceal the scream as she realizes it isn’t a tree but a person. A hand clamps down hard on her shoulder and Lisa’s vision blurs. She fights to hold onto consciousness. She can’t give in. She can’t just abandon herself. Notnow.
Finding a last remnant of strength where she thought she had none, Lisa digs her fingers into the hand on her shoulder and wrenches it away. Before she can get away, two hands grab her and pull her up to her feet. Struggling as hard as she can against the grip keeps her from processing the voice coming into her ears. The hands grip painfully tight and shake her, jostling her harder and harder until it finally dissolves away the adrenaline panic and forces her into sharper focus.
“Lisa! Lisa, stop!”
The face in front of her clears and she can see Mike’s eyes staring back at her. Lisa can’t let herself believe it’s really him. She keeps pushing back against him, trying to free herself, screaming and thrashing to get away. He shakes her again, so hard her teeth knock together and her head snaps back.
“Stop. Lisa, look at me. You need to be quiet and listen tome.”
Finally, Lisa goes still and looks at him. It is Mike. The camp director is wet, his clothes torn and stained, and his eyes are wide and shot through with terror.
“They’re dead,” she says. “He gotthem.”
Mike nods. “I know. Anthony and Holden came to me after they discovered Miranda is missing and there’s blood in her cabin. They went into town to get thepolice.”
Lisa blinks, confused. “Into town? Why didn’t you callthem?”
She doesn’t realize until this moment that she’d started feeling hope when she looked into Mike’s familiar eyes. He was even better than a counselor. He was in charge. This was his camp, his plan for a summer session. In that moment, the handful of years that parted their ages seemed so much more significant. He was the one who would save her.
“The phone lines have been cut. There’s no way to call,” he says. “They’re going to get them. For now, I’m trying to get everybody into the dining hall so we’re together. Comeon.”
He pulls her up against his side, tucking her head against his wet chest to shield her eyes from the bloodied corpse tucked against the tree. She wishes she knew who it used to be. She’s glad she doesn’t.
“What’s happening?” she asks desperately as he guides her out of the woods. “Who’s doing this? I thought the masked killer was just astory.”
Mike releases her head so she can stand up fully. She can see his focus intently ahead of them, but his head isshaking.
“No. He’s not just a story,” he says. “Twenty years ago there was a massacre here. I justthought…”
His voice trails off and he turns to look over his shoulder. She realizes his hand is wrapped tightly around her wrist. There’s blood on his shirt and a wild look in his eyes. Any feeling of reassurance that came from him appearing drains out of her. The police haven’t come. No one has come. She tries to think of how long it must have been since she and Hillary started running. Long enough. They should havecome.
Mike is leading her across the camp, moving so fast her feet are tangling under her as she struggles to keep up. It doesn’t feel like they are moving toward the dining hall. She’s still disoriented, but instinct tingles on the back of her neck, telling her something is wrong. She has to get away fromhim.
