by Sergio Gomez
“Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.” Rachel looked over her shoulder. Her long, auburn hair was covering the damaged side of her face, while the good side was in plain sight, grinning at Noelle. “That was my favorite part. Go back to the cabin, big sister. Be valiant. I know you can be.”
Before Noelle could respond, her little sister disappeared into thin-air.
Noelle waited a few seconds, to see if the hallucination was gone for good. When she was sure it was, she slid off the boulder and scanned the area she was in. Trees as far as the eye could see. She thought this must be how someone lost at sea must feel, trapped in a seemingly directionless expanse.
“I have no idea where I’m going, Rache,” Noelle was whispering, like she always did when her sister visited her. She didn’t want others to think she talked to herself—although she was aware that was exactly what she was doing when talking to her hallucinations.
Just pick a direction and go, she told herself. What’s the worst that can happen?
Noelle started walking, moving steadily away from the boulder she’d been laying on. She thought—and hoped, too—that she was right about where the cabin was. If not, she might be lost for hours. Maybe days. Shit, she might even get lost in these woods forever.
A lump, cold as hail, formed in the pit of her stomach at the thought.
Chapter 43
“We are here, investigating a possible cannibal hideout,” Emeril said to the group as they marched toward the barn.
“You think he lives in a barn?” Fletcher asked drily.
Emeril shook his head and pointed at the farmhouse that was another fifty yards behind the barn. He was doing this for the college kids, but also for the camera. “If a cannibal lives in these woods, the likely place is over there.”
Molly was walking ahead of them so that her camera was capturing footage of Emeril and the campers making their way to the barn, stepping backward to keep them in the shot. At the same time Emeril pointed and the campers turned their attention to the farmhouse, Molly turned around and pointed the camera at it. She zoomed in on the trees, even though she was afraid of what she might see. But the zoom-in didn’t reveal anything except more details of the run-down farmhouse.
“Then why’re we going to the barn?” It was Fred who asked.
“As an investigator,” Emeril explained, “it is my duty to look into anything that seems peculiar.”
They all knew what the old man was talking about and why he wanted to inspect the barn. The door on the structure looked newer than the rest of the damaged wood making up the structure. Fred and company hadn’t seen the picture of the ear necklace dangling in the woods, so they didn’t quite understand the consequences of what this might’ve meant the same way, but they knew something was odd about it.
“What do you think we’ll find in there?” Vanessa asked. Her and Brooke looked at one another and giggled nervously.
The story of the cannibal was nothing but fun and games for the campers. For now, anyway.
“I don’t think anything. I make no assumptions. I just investigate,” Emeril told her.
“Rad answer,” Fletcher said, nodding in approval.
They reached the barn and stopped in front of it. Up close, the damage the structure suffered from the weather elements was more noticeable. Some of the wood had been waterlogged and was bumpy, while other spots (mainly on the roof) were milky white from having been bleached by the sun. Slick, bright green moss grew between the walls and the roof, and there was a musty smell hovering over the structure. None of them were sure if it was coming from inside or outside or both.
Maybe it was the isolation, but there was something more unnerving about this dilapidated barn than even the cabins behind them.
“Let’s see what’s behind door number one, shall we?” Emeril wished he hadn’t made that joke. His nervous energy was showing through. He made a mental note to ask Molly to edit that out of the movie later.
He reached out to undo the lock on the barn door, but stopped halfway there when Molly shrieked.
Everyone turned to look at her as she dropped her camera. She was pointing out into the woods, her mouth agape. Almost in unison, they all diverted their attention to the spot her index finger was directing them to.
A figure, obscured by the shadows it stood under, stared back at them.
“What the fuck is that?” Fletcher yelled.
And then everything seemed to speed up before their eyes as the man emerged out of the woods, machete in his hand.
Nadine opened her eyes, waking up to the sound of people talking outside of the barn. She sat up, unbelieving.
It’d been so long since she’d heard anything other than rain pelting on the barn rooftop, animals scurrying around, her chains clanking, or her captor’s voice, that the voices outside of the barn sounded like an alien language to her ears.
But it wasn’t an alien language. It was English they were speaking. Plain, American English.
Nadine tightened her diaphragm, opened her mouth, and was about to scream to let the people know she was in here—when someone else, someone outside with them, beat her to the punch.
The scream was so loud and foreign to the quiet world she was used to that it hurt her eardrums. She clapped her hands over her ears, realizing that this unknown screaming was worse than the total silence.
Because the unknown sometimes brought danger with it.
The mask he was wearing was undoubtedly the face of someone else, covering his own face. The weapon he carried had flecks of dried blood on it from his latest victims. If this person approaching them wasn’t a legitimate giant, then there was no such thing outside of mythology.
“RUN!” Fred screamed, and they did exactly that.
Except for Emeril, who fired at the maniac. The shots were wild and aimless and missed completely. Panic flooded him, then he too was running for his life.
They scattered in each and every direction. No one worried about maps or where they were heading or if they would get lost in the woods.
Survival was all they had on their mind.
She was here. Now that he was closer to the group, Ignacio saw her. Mamá’s lookalike was here.
They ran like roaches scattering through a suddenly lit kitchen. Their bodies and clothes turned into blurs of color heading in a direction that they hoped would take them to safety. Whether it was distance from him or a spot that would hide them from his eyes, it didn’t make a difference.
There was no way he was going to catch all of them, but that didn’t matter. The only one that mattered was Mamá’s lookalike.
She was running toward some trees east of the campgrounds, screaming at the top of her lungs, not realizing that her screaming would make it easier for him to follow her.
He took off running in that direction.
Behind him, he heard gunshots. Ignacio looked over his shoulder in time to see the old man start running away from him. Fear had made him give up on trying to kill Ignacio.
Good.
He was in the clear to chase Mamá’s lookalike now.
“Ven, ven! Vamos a jugar!” he called after her, the words echoing through the woods: Come, come. Let’s play.
Vanessa heard him huffing and puffing behind her as he chased her through the woods.
Why me? Why? she thought.
Her head felt light, like it was ready to pop. Her legs were turning to jelly with each step, but it wasn’t from the exertion of the sprint. She ran regularly as part of her workout regimen; it was fear doing this to her. Hours of running a day, pushing through when she wanted to quit, eating salads for lunch, it all added up to nothing.
Fear trumped all.
Vanessa felt huge hands wrap around her neck, and then she was pulled down to the ground.
Ignacio grabbed her, her skin was so soft and smooth. It gave him a tingly feeling in his groin like he’d never felt before, but before he could get too excited
, Varias Caras awoke.
We have to focus, estupido.
He pulled the girl down to the ground as hard as he could, then jumped on top of her, and squeezed her neck with both hands.
The girl stared up at him with almond colored eyes that were pleading, while her hands clawed at his arms to fight off the choke. Her nails dug deep enough to break his skin and draw blood, but that didn’t do anything except anger Varias Caras.
Vanessa felt consciousness slipping out of her. Her scratching had done nothing. His grip hadn’t loosened a bit—if anything, it’d gotten tighter—so instead she closed her eyes and waited to pass out.
It was better to do that than to continue to stare at this monster’s soulless eyes behind the disgusting mask on his face.
The girl went limp. He took his hands off her throat and got up. She was sleeping, but not dead.
Good.
With her taken care of for now, he shifted his focus and listened for the sounds of the others. He heard them running through the woods. He could catch some of them if he hurried. None of them moved very fast.
But no, he had Mamá’s lookalike. A good hunter knew when enough was enough. He’d let the others go. They didn’t matter, anyway.
He picked up the girl and threw her over his shoulder, then headed for the barn. It was time to celebrate Mamá’s birthday.
Chapter 44
The stories of the cannibal were true.
He was here in the flesh. A gargantuan man, wearing a mask made from the face of one of his victims. His long hair was a curly mess on his shoulders, his pants were filthy.
After missing his first shots, Emeril had run to hide behind a thicket of bushes, terrified by the reality of the situation. But he had his bearings back now, and knew the girl needed his help.
Emeril peeked over the bushes, and saw the cannibal putting Vanessa on his shoulders. It was too risky to take a shot from where he was—he might hit her, considering his poor aim. He had to get close enough that he wouldn’t miss the cannibal. Maybe with the threat of the gun, he could persuade the maniac to put the girl down, and then shoot him in the chest. It was crazy, but he couldn’t just run out of here and leave an innocent girl to die.
Emeril got out from behind the bushes and walked over to where he was, slowly inching toward the cannibal. Like some sort of illusion, he seemed to grow the closer Emeril got to him. But he had the upper hand, because in the excitement of catching his victim, the cannibal had his guard down. He didn’t notice Emeril approaching him.
“Take your hands off the girl,” he said, aiming the gun. He and the cannibal were about two arm’s length away from each other.
Varias Caras finished putting the girl up on his shoulders like a fireman, and then turned around to face Emeril. His eyes grew big behind the mask when he saw the pistol pointed at him.
“Put her down,” Emeril said again, trying to make it come out like a barked order, but there was a nervous quake at the end he couldn’t hide.
“Whaaa?” Varias Caras said, kneeling down. With one arm, he started putting the girl down. Meanwhile, his free hand felt around the ground for the machete he’d put to the side. He did this while never taking his eyes off Emeril.
Emeril aimed at the cannibal’s arm and pulled the trigger. But his hands trembled too much to aim properly, and he missed.
The bullet struck the ground a few inches from where Varias Caras’ hand was. Grains of dirt flew up into a cloud. Varias Caras leapt up from his crouch and lunged forward with the speed of a panther.
Emeril shot again. The bullet struck the giant man in the shoulder, but it didn’t stop him, so he fired again. The bullet tore through the cannibal’s body near his ribs. Blood sprayed out from the wound and started leaking down his body, but the cannibal persisted.
Varias Caras swung the machete through the air. The blade went through the hand Emeril was holding the pistol with and chopped it right off at the wrist. The dismembered hand went through the air, an arc of blood following its trajectory before it hit the ground with a meaty thump.
Emeril screamed, and backed away, but the cannibal continued forward. He felt like a wall was about to collapse on top of him, and he knew death was imminent.
Varias Caras grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up into the air. Emeril tried to fight the grip off, but before he could lift his arm up, he was launched through the air at a tree. There was a thick, broken branch protruding out of the tree, with a sharp end like a javelin. The point went through Emeril’s back and came out of his stomach. Several feet of his intestines were pulled out of his body as inertia slid him down the branch. They unraveled and hung from the tree like morbid vines.
When his momentum stopped, he still had enough life in him to be aware of what was happening. Emeril could see his blood and guts slicked on the branch coming out of his body and feel his legs dangling in the air. He felt like his body had been split in two, and he was becoming one with the tree. Then, he began to cough, and a torrent of blood poured out of his mouth.
Varias Caras approached him with the machete readied. He drove the blade down through the middle of Emeril’s head, splitting it open. Emeril slumped over, dead. The tree branch was the only thing keeping his body from crashing to the ground.
Varias Caras pulled the machete out of his skull with a twist. There were a few pops, followed by the muddy sound of the blade dislodging from the skull.
Now that the rush of the kill was over, he felt the pain from the bullet wounds. He dropped the bloodied machete to the ground and fell to his knees.
Ignacio put his hand over the wound in his rib—the one that hurt the most—and felt the warm blood seep through the spaces of his fingers.
This was bad.
Stupid, stupid Ignacio. Why did he have to try to fight a man with a gun? He should’ve run.
He stayed there for a few seconds like a three-legged dog, with his right hand over the wound in his side, listening to his labored breathing. Wondering if he was going to live or not.
Le vantate, hijo. No te dejes.
Mamá. She was talking to him. Her spirit was near. He could feel her even closer than when he prayed to her head. She’d come to make sure her son was OK.
Ignacio was invigorated by this, and suddenly, the bullet wounds weren’t as bad.
He picked himself up, bringing the machete with him, and strapped it to his back all in the same motion.
Then, he turned his focus back to the girl—and his heart nearly jumped out of his throat. She was gone.
Varias Caras dropped down to his knees and screamed at the top of his lungs.
The pain of having had Mamá’s lookalike and losing her was worse than the bullet wounds.
“NO! NO! NO!”
Wildlife in the vicinity hearing his cries flew or scurried from their hiding spots in a mad dash to get away from whatever was making those awful, awful sounds.
Chapter 45
He was back on the normal trail, but the sound of the gun was loud enough that Gavin heard it. It made every hair on his body stand up. He turned around, and when he saw someone there, he almost screamed, but then he realized it was Brooke.
She was sprinting down the hidden path toward him, still several yards away, but even from this distance he knew something was wrong. Her skin was as pallid as used charcoal and she looked about ready to keel over and throw up at any second.
“Yo, Brooke, what’s going on? Where’re the others?” he shouted at her.
His first thought was that the old man and his accomplice had turned out to be perverts—but that didn’t explain why Brooke was by herself.
It also didn’t explain the gunshots, and he realized how stupid the thought was.
He stretched his neck out to see if maybe the others were in the distance coming behind her, but there was no one. Just Brooke.
Brooke was close enough now to hug him. She threw her arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder. She was dry heaving but held en
ough composure to talk. “Gav, we need to get the fuck out of here!”
“What’s going on?” he said, putting his arms around her and bringing her close to him.
She shook her head. Something bad had happened. Gavin felt his balls begin to shrivel up into his body, and his mind raced with the worst thoughts possible, imagining the others had been shot dead.
“Some guy—this huge fucking guy—came out of the woods with a machete. We all ran… Oh, damnit Gav, we all should’ve left with you. Goddamnit.”
“Whoa, whoa! Slow down, Brooke.” Despite his words, the thoughts in his mind were coming faster now. “What’re you talking about?”
“Emeril—that old man we met at the camp—he told us about this cannibal in the woods. And he’s real, Gavin. He’s real. He came running after us.”
Gavin stepped back to examine her face. “A-are you shitting me?”
She shook her head. “We need to get the hell out of here.”
“Where are the others?” Gavin said. He could hardly believe this.
“I don’t know. We all just started running—he had a machete.” Brooke broke into a sob, recounting it was too much for her to contain.
“We can’t just leave them,” Gavin said.
“Then you go back,” she said, breaking away from him and starting down the path. “I’m getting out of here.”
She meant she was going to take one of the cars back at the cabin and drive out of here. Which would leave just one escape vehicle for the rest of them. Noelle, Wayne, and Dalton could escape with Brooke. Gavin could go to the campgrounds and help the others fight off the cannibal.
Except, he had no fucking weapon on him.
He was trying to think this through quickly, knowing every second counted right now. With no weapon, if he returned to the campsite, he might be as good as dead. What would be the point of that?