by T. A. Kunz
I slam my door closed. “She’s dead! Go, go!”
“Where the hell did she come from?” shrieks Drea as she throws the car into reverse and slams on the gas.
We barrel backwards. The body shifts onto the hood, startling both of us. Our screaming continues. The car swerves hard to the left and Tawni’s body is flung from the hood. A sudden bump near the back of the vehicle has the car tilting back, leaving us at an awkward angle.
“Crap, I think we’re in a ditch,” I say.
Drea puts the car into drive and tries to floor it, but we stay put. The tires rev and just seem to spin without gaining any traction. She reverses and encounters the same outcome.
“Dammit, we’re stuck,” she says while banging on the steering wheel in rapid succession. “What was that about us sucking at this?”
“What are we going to do now?” I ask. My voice squeaks a little at the end.
“I don’t know, but we need to get the hell out of here, like, yesterday.”
I whip out my phone. “I’m going to call the station.”
I hit the button on the side of the cell to wake it up and go to press the phone icon. The screen flashes black and shows a low battery warning, then shuts off. I hit the button on the side again, but nothing happens.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice slightly higher than usual in her panic. “Are you going to call for help or what?”
I pan my uncertain gaze from the phone to her. “What’s the worst thing I could say right now?”
“No. Did your freaking phone just die? Really? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I nod and stuff it back into my pocket. She slams her head back against the headrest and releases a lengthy moan.
“We’re screwed,” she says. “Absolutely, one hundred percent screwed.”
“Hey, we need to stay positive, all right?”
I don’t even believe myself right now.
She takes in a deep breath and lets out an even deeper exhale before looking at me. “Okay. What are our options?”
I wish I had an immediate answer, but unfortunately my mind is a big ball of mush trying to sift through this absolute worst-case scenario. My desperate eyes dart around before landing on the cruisers again.
“What do you think the odds are that there are keys in one of those vehicles?” I offer up.
At first it doesn’t seem as though she likes the idea of leaving the safety of the car. But then again, neither do I.
“If how things have been going so far is any indication, I’d say the odds aren’t great,” she says.
“It’s worth a check.”
“Is it though?” Her voice goes up a couple more octaves with the question.
“Hey, we both decided to come out here,” I say. “And now we’ve got to get ourselves out of this mess somehow.”
She goes quiet for a moment and then sighs. “Fine. Let’s not argue. We’ll go check.”
“Actually, you stay here and keep watch. If you see anything, flash the high beams. At least that might give me a fighting chance. There’s no need for both of us to go.”
Clearly my outer self has giant brass balls that my inner self lacks.
“Uh, problem,” she says. “What if when you get over there the doors are locked? You could get trapped out there.”
“Yeah, good point. But it’s the only option I see at the moment.”
She lets out another heavy sigh. “Please be careful. I can’t lose you too, okay?”
Her words bring a slight smile to my face. “I will be, don’t worry. And you be ready to flash the lights.”
She nods. “Wait. If we’re about to die—”
“We aren’t.”
“But if we are, I want you to know something before that happens,” she says. Her timing is either terrible or perfect, depending on what leaves her mouth next.
“Okay,” I reply with reluctance.
She gives me a brief nod. “Lori and I kissed over the summer. And I’m bi,” she says, taking a deep, dramatic inhale between each statement.
“Wow. You really know how to wind a girl. I’m happy you’ve had this revelation. It’s freeing, right? I’m happy for you,” I say. She nods and I gather her in for a quick, enthusiastic hug. “Points to you for a great confession.”
“Do you have anything to get off your chest before … you know?”
“I do, and I promise I’ll tell you once we get out of this,” I reply, causing a smile to form on her lips.
I reach for the door handle and pull it open.
“Wait. Take the knife with you,” she says.
I look over and see her searching the back seat for it. She leans back with the knife in hand and holds it out for me to take.
“No, you keep it,” I tell her. “I should be able to find something to use in the deputy’s car.”
“But what about the trip over there?”
“Then you’d be stuck in here without anything. I’d feel better if you kept it.”
There are those big ole’ brass balls again.
She sends me a look resembling both frustration and acceptance. We both nod, and with one last glance between us, I leave the protection of the car. I look back over my shoulder and say, “Lock the doors,” before shutting the door behind me.
I hear the locks engage as I stare down the daunting task ahead of me … trekking the short distance between myself and the cruisers. From where I’m standing, it seems like they could be a distant mirage on the horizon promising false safety. It takes a moment to psyche myself up to put myself out in the open. To make myself vulnerable.
Taking the knife might’ve been the better choice.
I move out in front of the car and commence with my shaky approach. With the headlights to my back, they cast an elongated shadow out in front of me, looking like an impending omen. I realize I’m practically casting a beacon into the sky like freaking Batman, giving away my positon, and promptly jump out of the way of the lights. In the next minute, it’s like I’m in a rave when the high beams start to flash. I spin around to face the car, eyes filled with terror, expecting the worst.
Drea pokes her head out of the now open passenger’s side window. “Sorry, hand freaked out. False alarm,” she whispers.
A steady exhale calms my nerves just enough to continue. The sound of static cuts through the multitude of forest noises filtering through the air. At first I’m convinced it’s the wind, but then it happens again. The sound is coming from inside the closest vehicle.
The radio system.
I sprint for the door handle and tug. I’m surprised when it opens. I leap into the car and shut myself in right away. My hand reaches for the keys in the ignition, but they aren’t there.
Great. Just great!
In the passenger’s seat are a copy of the Haddon Falls Daily, a few light blue file folders, and other random paperwork strewn about. I dig around those to see if I can maybe find the keys, or at least something that could be useful to me.
Nothing. I lean over further to pop open the glove compartment and start feeling around inside. My hand bumps into a small flashlight. I click it on to see if it still works, and I’m relieved to find it does. I slip it into my pocket and relax back against the seat again.
If I were a spare set of keys, where would I be?
The static comes through the radio again. There are two walkie-talkies connected to the center console. A rigid plastic black one and a smooth plastic tan one with a polished finish.
Which one do I talk into?
“Deputy Owens, do you copy? What’s your twenty?” The voice comes through the tan one.
I struggle to remove the hand radio from its holder. It’s stuck. The moment it’s free, I fumble with it in my fingers while trying to untangle the cord wrapped under the seat. I’ve never used one of these things before. There are a couple knobs and buttons all around it. I decide to press the large flat one on the side and get some feedback.
“Hello?” I
say into it.
“Who is this?” the person on the other side asks.
“We’re here at the Wilson Family Barn. We need help. There’s a dead body, possibly more,” I exclaim.
“Is this some kind of joke? How did you get on this channel?” the officer presses, annoyance present in her voice.
“I’m in Deputy Owens’s car and he isn’t here. I think he’s in trouble, and so are we. We need help. Please come to the barn, now!” I say, my voice getting hoarse.
High beams flash through the window. My eyes dart over to Harrison’s car. I cut into the person’s response and say, “Please, hurry!”
My eyes return to look at the car. The headlights have stopped blinking.
Another false alarm?
I abandon the walkie and let the cord snap it down to the floor beneath the passenger’s seat. It chirps to life again, startling me.
“Ten-four. We’ll send assistance right away. Over and out,” the officer replies, again drawing my attention away from Harrison’s car.
A horn blares. My head whips to look back out the window. All I see is black. Unforgiving darkness. Then bright pink neon lights glow before my eyes. I’m so stunned I can’t even muster a scream.
Well, shit.
I immediately hit the lock on the door. The figure’s gloved hand rises into the air. It’s clutched around the handle of a blade.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The knife clinks against the glass three times, growing harder each time. I flinch more with every tap.
“Hey, asshole!”
Drea’s voice booms from behind the figure. It’s muffled through the window, but there’s no doubt it’s her. The figure turns to peer over their shoulder, their movements slow and deliberate. I catch a glimpse of Drea’s silhouette standing in the distance, knife firmly gripped in her hand.
“Mine’s a lot bigger than yours,” she grinds out, showcasing the knife.
The figure taps the window one more time and then points the knife at me before turning their attention squarely on Drea. Alarm rocks through me. I bang on the glass.
“No … me. Come get me!” I say, but it seems to be in vain as the figure continues to stalk Drea. “Drea, run!”
She takes off toward the barn. The figure hurries after her.
I have to help her!
I throw open the car door and jump out. Drea enters the barn and manages to slam the door shut before the figure can interfere. They punch the door before slipping around the side of the barn, disappearing into the thick mass of surrounding foliage.
There are more entrances.
I rush to the front door of the barn and attempt to pull it open. I’m met with resistance. It won’t budge. I bang on it.
“Drea, it’s me,” I say in a harsh whisper through the thin gap between two of the boards comprising the door. “Please, open up.”
A high-pitched scream erupts from within the barn. My heart falls to the ground. I bang on the door harder this time.
“Drea, I’m coming!”
I curse my legs when they can’t seem to carry me as fast as I want them to go as I sprint to the opposite side of the barn than the figure went to. With the help of the flashlight, I spot the side entrance Shaun used that night and waste no time bursting through it.
I find Drea standing there staring at a person sitting on the couch. A lamp resting on the side table next to the person casts an eerie glow on Drea’s face. Her horrified look fills me with dismay.
Who’s sitting there?
The person’s back is to me, their silhouette static. Still. I close the door behind me and move in her direction, my eyes darting around in search of the masked figure. Drea pans her gaze to me and squeaks while pointing the knife in my direction.
“It’s me, Drea,” I say in a soothing manner.
“It’s wasn’t the sheriff,” is all she says.
“What?”
She returns her attention to the person sitting there and I move the flashlight to follow her line of sight. The closer I get, the more the person’s face comes into view until I can see them clearly. The body of the sheriff is propped up on the couch.
Blood. There’s blood everywhere.
I have to avert my eyes from the gruesome sight he’s been reduced to. My gag reflex activates, and I struggle to suppress the feeling.
“We should take his gun, right?” Drea stammers. Which means I have to look at the body again.
“Probably. It might be nice to have,” I reply. “Maybe see if he has a flashlight you can grab too.”
I try my hardest to keep the flashlight fixed on his utility belt so Drea can search more efficiently as I look and listen for the masked figure. My hand quakes, making the otherwise simple task difficult. She removes his flashlight from the left side of his belt and then goes for the gun. It’s missing from the holster. It’s empty. No dice.
“Okay, we’re getting the hell out of here,” I say.
I take her by the elbow and retrace my steps back to the door I came through. It’s suddenly thrown open, slamming hard against the wall. A person slumps through the opening and stumbles toward us. They throw their hand up to shield their eyes from the shine of the flashlight.
Connor?
It’s Connor!
My gut reaction is to run over and wrap him up in the biggest hug I can muster, but I don’t. I want to trust him, but his presence there leaves me with serious doubts. Doubts that I never thought I’d have about him. This hurts … so much.
“Connor!” I exclaim. “What are you doing here?”
“The sheriff brought me here. He said someone wanted to see me,” he replies.
“Are you hurt?”
I want to go to him. To be there for him. But for some reason, I can’t.
“Someone in a fox mask chased me around after—”
He’s cut off by a loud sound that resonates behind us. Drea and I jump closer to each other as we twirl around to investigate it. We pan our flashlights over and reveal Carter standing there propped up with one arm against a stack of hay bales. A few farm tools are strewn about on the ground, presumably knocked over by him.
He pushes himself away from the hay bales to stand on his own, and hobbles toward us.
“Carter, were you hiding back there?” I ask.
“Yeah, from him.” He points toward Connor. “You can’t trust Connor, Donovan. He did that to the sheriff.”
“I didn’t, I swear,” Connor shouts back. Drea’s flashlight stays on Carter as I shift mine over to Connor. He takes a few steps forward. “Someone in a fox mask did that to him. You’ve got to believe me, Donovan.” The distressed look in his eyes shatters my heart.
“Stop, both of you,” yells Drea, brandishing the knife. “Don’t either of you come any closer.”
They both stop in their tracks. I drop the light to Connor’s left hand. It’s covered in a bandage. My heart sinks again. I look over at Carter and his is wrapped up as well, but in a piece of cloth.
“Connor, how did you hurt your hand?” I ask, hoping for the truth.
He stares at it and then back up at me. “I hurt it at the dock. I slipped on a pool of blood and cut it when I tried to break my fall.”
“And you, Carter? How did you hurt your hand?”
Drea focuses the light on his face. He squints and holds up the hand in question to shield his eyes. She adjusts the light down and he looks me square in the eye. “I was attacked by that asshole in the fox mask,” he replies, just as direct as Connor.
“You’ve got to believe me, Donovan. Why would I lie to you?” pleads Connor, pulling my attention back to him. “I think Carter’s dangerous. I think he might be the fox.”
Carter growls. “He’s lying! How else do you think he got away from the sheriff unless he killed him, huh?”
“I escaped when the sheriff was attacked by the fox,” Connor insists. “Then he chased after me. I barely got away with my life.”
&nb
sp; “Enough of this,” Drea booms. “The sheriff’s gun is gone. It’s probably safe to say that whoever has it killed him and took it.”
A moment of dead quiet falls on the space as we hold both potential suspects in our lights. Wind lashes the barn, causing some of the wood panels to rattle, breaking the silence. We’re in a classic standoff.
What if neither one of them are the fox? What if the fox is watching all of us right now from the shadows?
“You both just couldn’t play along,” Carter says, his voice carrying throughout the barn.
He reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun, aiming it at us. A gasp escapes our collective lips as Drea huddles closer to me. I throw my arm out in front of her and try to position myself between Carter and our trio.
“Why did you do it, Carter?” I demand.
“Why? Why? How about we play a little game first, huh?” he asks with a cold, twisted smirk. “Here are three truths and one lie. Ready?” He pulls back the slider on the gun and lets it snap back, prepping the next bullet and adding a punch to his question. “One. Sophia poisoned Lori because she was jealous of what you and Lori had, Drea. Two. I killed that piece of shit Trent for what he did to Carrie. Three. I gutted the sheriff here because he covered up the real cause of Carrie’s death to protect his drunk driving son who ran her off the road. Oh, and he made all us kids that witnessed it keep quiet,” he says in a hushed tone with his hand up to his mouth like he’s telling a secret. “And four. Someone used every single one of us to get their final revenge,” he finishes with a flourish, nodding his head to look behind us with an even more sinister smirk than before.
I shine my light to Connor. “What’s he talking about?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s true that the sheriff made all of us promise not to say anything about the accident, but I haven’t done anything else. I swear!”
Carter lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Now, Connor, you know better than that. You broke the rules, man. No giving hints to the foxes. I may have let you cheat to win before, but I’m afraid tonight’s the last time, bandmate.”
Gunfire resounds behind us. My hands fly up to cover my ears, and the world slows down around me as I watch on in horror. Connor staggers back from the force of the bullet when it pierces his left shoulder. His painful groan rips through me. His hand moves up to the wound as he’s rocked back off his feet and slams hard to the ground.