by Kieran Scott
“You’re alive!” she blurted, throwing her arms around him.
“Of course I’m alive. I just went to do my business and I saw you tear by.” Ted gently pushed her away, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “Take a breath. Are you okay?”
“No! No, I’m not okay! I just—”
At that moment Jeremy came moseying around a bend in the trail, scratching at the back of his hair, which was matted and scraggly.
“Callie. What’s going on? Where’d you go?” he asked with a yawn.
Callie took two steps back from him—from the both of them. “Where’s Penelope?” she demanded. “Why are you covered in blood?”
Jeremy gestured over his shoulder with one thumb. “Pen is back at the camp. She and Zach were using the ‘bathroom.’ ”
He splayed his fingers, studying the backs of his hands, which were crusted with dried blood, then flipped them over to look at his palms.
“Oh, that.” He gave a rueful snort. “I got up to pee in the middle of the night and tore up my calf on a sharp branch. I made some mud and smeared it all over to stop the bleeding.”
Ted bent for a better look at Jeremy’s leg, and when he stood up, he was wearing an impressed, thoughtful frown. “Not bad, Little Man.”
Jeremy seemed nonplussed. “Thanks.”
“So. We all made it through the night, then,” Ted said, knocking his fist against his open palm. “That’s good news.”
“Yeah. So let’s break camp and get to this ‘cabin’ of yours already,” Jeremy said, with a dubious lilt to his voice. “Callie?” he added. “You okay?”
Callie flinched. She was shaking from head to toe, and she couldn’t believe she’d doubted Jeremy. Just yesterday she’d realized she still loved him—that she was holding on to hope for them—and the sight of blood on him was all it took to send her careering into the woods? She had to get a grip on herself.
“Sure,” she replied. “Fine.”
She brushed past the guys, hoping they wouldn’t notice that she was starting to come apart. Because Callie could feel how dangerously close she was to cracking, and if she did, it wouldn’t be good. Not for anyone.
“There’s not gonna be a cabin.” Penelope’s voice was hoarse as she gripped Callie’s side and limped along next to her. “You know that, right?”
Callie ignored her and took a step, bracing her torn and battered foot as best she could against the steep incline of the hill. She had last tended to her feet the night they’d split the Snickers bar. By now, all the new Band-Aids had detached thanks to the sweat and the grime. There was a good chance that, after this trip, Callie’s feet would never be the same again.
Up ahead, the guys rested Lissa and her stretcher down on the ground and fished out their water bottles.
“Did you notice that Ted’s bungee cords are missing? Yeah. He used some of Lissa’s rope to tie up his sleeping bag before,” Penelope went on, as if giving voice to all the paranoia Callie herself had felt. “I bet he used the bungees to strangle Lissa and then threw them into the trees and now he’s taking us to some remote ravine so he can strangle us, too, and toss our bodies over. Or even better, an old slaughterhouse with the crusty ancient tools hanging from the ceiling.”
Callie gulped, trying with every fiber of her being not to cry or shout or scream. Fifteen more minutes. Fifteen more minutes of walking and we’ll be able to call home. Last night Ted had said it would take them less than an hour to reach the cabin, so Callie had started a countdown on her watch, clinging to the hope that he was telling the truth.
“Or maybe he’s actually found the Skinner’s lair,” Penelope suggested, cocking her head as if this was the most intriguing idea yet. “He said he knows these hills like the back of his hands. Maybe he’s—”
“Shut up, Penelope,” Callie said finally, as they neared the bottom of the hill.
“What?”
“I said, shut up!” Callie shouted. “Please! Please! Please! Shut up!”
Out of nowhere, it began to pour. For a split second they were dry, listening to the water tap at the highest leaves in the highest trees, and then fat raindrops battered Callie’s face and shoulders. She slid the rest of the way down the hill to level land, dragging Penelope with her. At the bottom, Pen fell to her knees and Callie reached down to yank her up by her sleeves.
“Ow! What’s wrong with you?” Penelope blurted.
Callie laughed. She couldn’t help it. She was losing it. Bit by bit. She was losing what was left of her mind. “What’s wrong? Are you serious? What’s wrong?”
Up ahead, Jeremy and Ted lifted the stretcher, but the now wet branch instantly slipped from Jeremy’s grip. He dropped one side and Lissa’s body came tumbling out, side over side, rolling across the ground and coming to a stop right at Callie’s feet.
Her skin was gray and her eyes had peeled open. There was a milky film across her retinas. Penelope screamed.
Callie felt her stomach heave and she turned around, vomiting onto the wet ground behind her. She didn’t even know there was anything in her stomach to expel.
“Penelope, stop!” Jeremy shouted against the high-pitched screech Pen was producing. “Stop!”
“Put her back in. Please. Put her back in,” Callie said, holding one hand to her mouth and keeping her back to the body. “She’ll stop if you put Lissa back in the tent.”
The guys did as they were told, struggling with the limp, heavy form of her friend in the pouring rain. Cold raindrops soaked Callie’s shirt and trickled down her arms. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks and forehead and water dripped from her chin.
“Oh, God,” Jeremy said as they wrestled the body onto the stretcher. Callie could hear the tightness in his voice, as if he was barely holding back his own nausea. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.”
“It’s done,” Zach said finally.
Penelope did stop screaming then. She pressed her face into her knees and cried. Her skinny back swayed, the bones of her spine like a curved comb beneath the thin, wet layer of her T-shirt.
Zach threw his pack on the ground and untied his sleeping bag.
“What’re you doing?” Callie asked.
“I’m going to zip Lissa up inside this,” he said, unfurling the bag. “She’s starting to … attract flies.”
Callie’s stomach twisted again. She had to look away as Jeremy bent to help Zach with this new task. It was impressive, how well they were dealing with this whole thing—how they were pressing on and doing what needed to be done.
“We’re almost there, Penelope,” Ted said, standing near the stretcher, pulling in a ragged breath. “I promise you. This is all gonna be over soon.”
“We’re here!” Ted shouted.
The first glimpse Callie got of Ted’s cabin was the very top of the chimney, a wide rock structure with a waterfall of rain running down one crumbling side.
“I don’t believe it,” Jeremy cried. “I don’t believe it! The cabin’s real!”
“Of course it’s real,” Ted snapped.
The three boys hoofed it a bit faster up the rest of the trail, their boots splashing mud with each step as thunder rumbled in the distance. Callie felt such a rush of excited, relieved adrenaline that her head became weightless. She automatically upped her pace, forcing Penelope to sprint-hop the rest of the way with her. The cabin did exist. They’d made it. They were safe.
The house was rustic, fashioned of red wood logs and aging shingles, but it was also huge. Much bigger than Callie had imagined. There was a dirt driveway leading up to a two-car garage, a wide porch that stretched the length of the house and around the corner, and a large balcony off the second floor. On the back of the roof sat a satellite dish, and the mere sight of technology made Callie laugh a manic laugh.
They could call the police. Their parents. They could go online. They could reach the rest of the world.
Ted and Jeremy walked up the three steps to the porch and laid Lissa down carefully, the soles of their boo
ts squeaking on the dry wood. Ted retrieved a key from underneath a worn green mat and walked inside. Penelope grabbed the railing and hopped the last few steps. Zach held the door open for her.
“We made it,” Jeremy said.
Rain ran into Callie’s eyes, but she didn’t care. The terror of the last few days was melting away. Her first instinct was to hug Jeremy, but she hesitated. Could you hug a person you’d just broken up with? Did extreme situations allow that kind of thing?
“Yeah,” Callie said quietly. “We did.”
Then she turned sideways and slipped awkwardly past him into the house.
The first floor of the cabin was one wide-open space composed of a sunken living area, a massive dining table, and a large kitchen at the back. The air inside was cool and dry and smelled like tangy citrus—some sort of air freshener that instantly soothed Callie’s nerves. Just the feeling of being safe indoors made her want to cry euphoric tears.
Ted, Zach, and Penelope were rummaging through the kitchen cabinets and pulling out random packages of food. Callie sat on the entryway bench and untied her boots, then peeled off her socks. Her feet were mottled white and red, her blisters angry and raw. She sighed and tossed her balled-up socks onto the floor.
Against the wall across from her was a wire basket full of athletic equipment—golf clubs, a baseball bat, a couple of tennis rackets, a basketball. Those objects looked so odd to her in that moment. Like part of a life she’d never thought she’d return to.
“You okay?” Jeremy asked, joining her as he took off his shoes as well.
“I’ll live,” she replied. Then nearly choked on her own saliva. Lissa’s dead body was right outside the door.
“Come on.” Jeremy’s eyes were soft with sympathy. “Let’s get something to eat.”
They walked across the hardwood floor past a wide staircase with a banister made of raw branches, and across a plush rug that felt like heaven to Callie’s feet. They joined the others at a large marble island in the kitchen. Penelope was munching on a pretzel stick and a baby carrot—one in each hand—while Ted downed a bottle of Coke like he’d never had a drink before in his life. Zach reached for a bag of cookies and tore them open, shoving two in his mouth at once as he handed the bag over to Callie.
For a second, Callie just gazed around. There was another set of stairs from the kitchen, curving upward around a corner, and a back door leading out to what looked like a stone patio. Beyond it was a quaint garden that had been flattened by the rain, and then the woods. Always the woods.
“Shouldn’t we be calling the police?” Callie asked, staring down at the blue cookie bag. The very thought of eating made her stomach turn, even though she knew how badly she needed food. “We have to tell them about Lissa.”
“Callie’s right. Where’s the phone?” Jeremy asked.
Ted glanced around as if he wasn’t sure, then picked it up from a cradle on the counter, right next to his gun. Callie hadn’t seen him take the weapon out, but the sight of it tossed there so casually sent a shiver of apprehension through her.
“Cal, let’s go upstairs and take showers,” Penelope said excitedly, walking around the counter and grabbing Callie’s hand. “Ted, there are bathrooms upstairs, right?”
Ted only chugged more of his Coke.
Callie’s skin actually ached at the wonderful thought of hot water rushing over her. “But we need to call first,” she protested.
“We’ll do it,” Zach said, reaching for the phone. Ted watched him, still wearing a suspicious expression. “You guys go ahead.”
“Come on!” Penelope pulled on Callie’s hand. It was like she’d regressed from a half-dead old dog to a peppy puppy in a snap. When Callie didn’t move, Pen groaned and headed for the stairs on her own, disappearing onto the second floor. Callie watched her go as she finally reached for a cookie, knowing she should try to choke something down.
There was some thought forming at the back of her mind and she grabbed at it, trying to bring it into focus, but it wouldn’t come. She was too tired. And her adrenaline was quickly wearing off. The idea of a shower and maybe a nap sounded like heaven. After the police arrived.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Jeremy as Zach began to dial. Then slowly, heavily, she dragged herself up the stairs.
The second floor was dark. With the storm still raging outside, it could have been night. Callie glanced up and down a long hallway, listening for Penelope or the sound of running water, but there was nothing. She pushed the cookie into her shorts pocket and decided to go right, running a hand along the wall in search of a light switch.
“Penelope?” she called out. “Pen!”
The first door Callie came to was ajar and she pushed it all the way open, flicking on the light. She gasped so quickly she almost choked. A huge stuffed bear—claws extended, fangs bared—angled toward the door. The thing had to be seven feet tall and its glassy eyes seemed to stare at Callie. Hanging from every other wall were several severed, stuffed heads of deer, fox, moose, and one feral cat.
This creepy place belongs to Ted’s family.
Callie backed away and didn’t bother turning out the light, but closed the door behind her.
“Penelope!” Callie shouted. “Where are you?”
Hurriedly, Callie opened the next two doors. The first was a bathroom done in grays and whites, but there was no sign of Penelope. The second was a bedroom with walls painted a deep, grotesque red and a black lacquer bed at its center with four posters draped in red fabric. Callie backed away from it, freaked. It looked like the kind of place some vampire would sleep.
Did Ted really live here? Where were his parents?
A door creaked and Callie whirled around. The fourth hallway door swung slowly on its hinges and suddenly, an awful thought occurred to Callie.
What if Ted had left someone behind? Someone who’d been lying in wait all this time? Maybe he wasn’t the Skinner, but he could have been the Skinner’s son. Or grandson. Maybe Penelope was right. Maybe he’d lured them right back to the Skinner’s lair.
From the corner of her eye, Callie saw the staircase that led back down to the kitchen. Ignoring the swinging door, she sprinted down the hall. She was halfway to the stairs when she heard the gunshot.
“No!” Zach shouted as Callie hovered just above on the stairs. She could see a sliver of the tiled floor below. “Nonono please!”
The gun went off again. Callie’s heart stopped and she covered her mouth with both hands to keep herself from screaming. Suddenly Zach’s body slumped into view. He lay back on the tile, staring right up at her. For a split second, his dark eyes registered total shock, and then they fluttered closed. A bullet hole in his upper chest oozed blood down into his armpit. He still held the phone in his lifeless hand.
Callie whimpered. What was happening? Who had killed Zach?
“I know you’re there, Callie. You might as well just come down.”
Callie’s jaw fell open. She tried to breathe, but it came in short, panicked, fluttering bursts.
“J-Jeremy?” she gasped.
Her head pounded, making everything around her go sideways. Not Jeremy. No. It couldn’t be Jeremy.
“Come down. No one wants to hurt you. I promise.”
Jeremy’s voice sounded strained—tight and hoarse. She squeezed her eyes closed. It couldn’t be Jeremy. The sweet boy she’d kissed in the back of the bus, the boy she’d held hands with, studied for finals with, spent hours in his backyard talking about life with. It couldn’t be him. It simply couldn’t.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
“Callie.”
Now he sounded impatient.
Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her. Up until a couple of days ago, he’d loved her. She was sure of it. If she could just make him remember that—keep him calm until the police got there—maybe everything would be all right.
Wait. Had they even called the police?
“Callie!” he
shouted.
Slowly, Callie tripped forward.
Lying at the foot of the stairs, Zach’s legs draped over his, was Ted. His eyes were closed, one hand still clutching the neck of a broken Coke bottle. The wound on his chest pulsated blood across his gray T-shirt.
“Omigod,” Callie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Omigod, omigod, omi—”
Jeremy stood on the far side of the island, a pleading look in his eyes. Sweat poured down the sides of his face and dotted his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Jeremy, what did you do?” Callie whispered.
Then, suddenly, the light in Jeremy’s eyes went out. His mouth dropped open at an unnatural angle.
“Jeremy?”
Callie watched, disbelieving, as his knees buckled and he slumped, lifeless, to the floor. His skull made a sickening thud when it hit the hardwood. Standing behind him was Penelope, holding Ted’s gun by the barrel in her small hand.
“Penelope?” Callie gasped.
Pen tossed the gun in the air deftly and caught it, the business end now pointed at Callie’s chest. A rush of relief collided with a wave of dread inside Callie’s chest, making her dizzy. Jeremy was innocent. He was not the bad guy. But he was also unconscious on the floor.
And Penelope—Penelope had the hungry, focused eyes of a rabid hyena stalking its prey.
You’re my best friend, Callie remembered Penelope saying to her. You’re a good person. Was that really just four days ago? What had happened to her? To them?
“What … ? I don’t … What did you do to Jeremy?” Callie demanded. Her brain seemed to be two steps behind her mouth. Penelope could never hurt Jeremy. She could never hurt anyone. Yet there she was, standing over his body with a weapon in her hand, and Ted and Zach, they were gone. One shot for each of them. Gone.
“I threatened to shoot him so he’d get you down here and then I knocked him out. Don’t worry. Jeremy will be fine. Unlike those two,” Penelope said, taking a few steps toward Callie. The gun trembled ever so slightly in her hand, but she never took her eyes off Callie’s face. She seemed utterly, eerily calm. Determined. “I told Ted I’d let him go, but he had to try to be the hero and take his gun back. Guess his survival skills weren’t exactly what they were cracked up to be.”