Slasher Summer(42)

Freddy wasn’t lying to the girls. He wasn’t a sleaze. His parents needed a lot of help around the house. Umma had arthritis in her hands, and Appa hadn’t been the same since he’d hurt his back in a car accident. Freddy had started smoking weed only because he’d swiped it from his dad’s stash. George Sr. needed it to manage his chronic pain. George Jr. had been in college when the accident happened, so he got to go to med school and fulfill that immigrant dream. Freddy was the spare who got left behind to take care of his elders. He didn’t mind that much. He was being a dutiful son. And frankly, he was good at it.

But performing in Slasher’s shadow cast had been the one time Freddy had gotten to escape his responsibilities. He could pretend to be a regular guy. A regular guy who got a claw hammer between the eyes in the first hour, but a regular guy nonetheless. Guileless Chad was like a young Keanu Reeves, and Freddy took it as a compliment when others remarked their personalities were similar. And honestly, after Chad died on-screen, it was so much fun standing in the wings and spraying the audience with fake blood. Freddy kind of missed it.

The lake shimmered in the moonlight. Almost there. Freddy could even see some of the gravel road to the side of him, but he stayed deep within the foliage. He’d be a target if he walked out into the open. Russ wouldn’t even need the knife. He could get into his SUV and reduce Freddy to roadkill in a hot minute.

The peaked roof of the Slasher cabin eventually appeared above the tree line. And there! A familiar white shape loomed ahead. Freddy’s beloved van, Sidney, flat tires sunk in the mud. He wanted to fall to his knees and weep. Girls had come and gone, but Sidney had always been faithful. Resilient and loyal, like her namesake in Scream. She’d never let him down before.

“We’ll find the bastard who did this, Sid,” he muttered.

Well, he wouldn’t. But someone else would.

Freddy cautiously emerged from the woods, looking and listening for signs of life. The driveway was seemingly empty, except for their abandoned cars. He clung close to their sides, hiding from view just in case. He could always hop into one and lock the doors if Russ came around. Or maybe not. The possibilities played out in his mind again. Windows could be broken, trunks could be jimmied open and Freddy dragged through slashed backseats. He’d seen that a hundred times in movies.

The front door of the cabin was closed, the windows dark. That was a good sign. Russ hadn’t stormed back inside, leaving the door ominously ajar. All the lights were off. The power was still out. That would work to Freddy’s advantage. It would be easier to hide in the shadows and wait out the night.

He crept around Ranger Russ’s SUV, checking underneath first, keeping below the windows in case Russ was hiding in the back seat. All clear. Only about twenty paces from the front porch. He could make it.

He was about to dart across to the steps when he stiffened. He had the feeling of being watched. A lifting of hairs on his neck, the sensation of the air currents against his skin shifting.

Weed put you in tune with the universe. And the universe was telling him he wasn’t alone.

Freddy listened to what the universe had to say. The drip of rainwater sluicing off the cabin’s roof and onto the front porch. A bird trilling from deep within the trees. A multitude of chirping crickets. The gentle, patient crunch of footsteps on gravel.

The last sound turned his bowels to ice. Someone was trying to be as stealthy as him. He peeked under the chassis of Russ’s car, and saw booted feet standing on the other side.

Shit. Shit!

Freddy slowly lowered himself to the ground and slid underneath the car. Thankfully Russ had been obliging enough to park over a natural dip in the ground, and Freddy was able to comfortably squeeze underneath. Just in time, too. The boots began to move, stepping around the car. Like they were looking for someone.

Like they were looking for him.

Freddy tried to think background player thoughts, but his heart was beating too fast. Okay, what would Jason Statham do? A movie hero would never hide under a car, unless he was planning an ambush. So what would Frederick Min do? What was the one thing Freddy was good at?

Running away. He excelled at that.

His shaking fingers closed around a pebble as he watched those boots, waiting for the toes to point away from the car. That would be his cue to flick the pebble in that direction and hope it sent Russ toward it. Then he’d scooch out and take off into the woods.

The boots stopped, the scuffed leather toes just inches from his nose. Freddy forgot how to breathe. The rasp of creasing denim breached the silent night like tearing paper. Russ was about to find him. Freddy’s hand went rigid around the pebble, totally forgetting his escape plan. He felt like an ant watching a magnifying glass come closer, powerless to do anything about it.

A knife blade swept under the car.

Freddy yelped and swerved his body away, the blade missing his neck by inches. Panicked, he kicked out at his attacker from under the car. His skateboard sneaker was no match for the sturdy leg it connected with, but it bought him enough time to roll out from under the SUV and dart for freedom.

“Ow!” came a female voice, sounding more dismayed than homicidal.

Freddy halted his dash to the woods and turned around to see Carrie folded over, rubbing her shin.

“Carrie?”

“Freddy?” Carrie glanced up. She looked none the worse for wear, although her chest was heaving and there was a scrape on her cheek. “Oh my gosh, I thought you were Ranger Russ.”