Slasher Summer(72)

The Slasher straightened and calmly cracked his neck from side to side as if this was only a warm-up.

“Jason—” Michael croaked again. His heart thudded in his chest. This was it. This was the end. It wasn’t at all how he’d imagined it going down. He could feel his cousin’s body quivering in front of him, although Jason’s chin was raised, ready to fight to the bitter, bloody end. He always had to be the hero, even when death was staring him right in the face. What was the point in being brave? They’d seen Freddy flung carelessly over the banister, gutted like a fish. They’d seen what the Slasher could do.

Michael wanted to tell Jason to give up. For once in his life, couldn’t he accept defeat? It was over. Defiance wouldn’t save him from that axe.

Jason suddenly dove over the sofa, leaving Michael exposed to the Slasher. The Slasher cocked his head, like he was saying, Can you believe that? Michael couldn’t. He gaped at the Slasher, paralyzed. The axe blade was only a few feet from Michael’s face, so close he could see a dark smudge across the blade, like it had been hastily wiped clean. Wiped clean of Tiffany’s blood, he realized. His pulse resounded in his ears like a gong and his mouth dried up.

In that heartbeat, a strange noise breached the night. With the power out, the sound of a sputtering engine was as foreign as another language. Was one of their friends trying to drive away despite the deflated tires?

The Slasher also tilted his head toward the billowing curtains. Jason took the opportunity to roll across the floor and spring to his feet by the front windows. He plunged his hand into one of the boxes Patrick had brought, pulling out an orange snub-nosed pistol.

The flare gun. Was Jason nuts? He couldn’t fire that in the confines of the cabin. It would do more harm to themselves than to the Slasher. “Jason, no!” Michael yelled.

The next minute seemed to happen in slow motion, measured by the hammering of Michael’s pulse in his ears. The Slasher whipped around to face Jason. Michael tumbled over the sofa to get to Jason’s side. “No!” he shouted. “Not the flare gun! It’s not safe!”

The Slasher crossed the room in long strides. It was too late.

Jason waved the flare gun. “Stay back!”

The Slasher ignored him, raising his arms over his head.

“Run!” Michael cried, bracing for the impact of the axe.

He cowered as a deafening bang sent shock waves through his skull, and the world detonated before his eyes.





23



Patrick

    Patrick clung to the car door as the loud bang shattered the nighttime silence. The front windows of the cabin flashed like lightning, revealing two figures behind the filmy curtains. Patrick recognized one of them at once. Jason. He was unharmed. The knot of tension Patrick didn’t realize he was carrying in his jaw unraveled.

The other figure was slightly taller, and also broad-shouldered. Mikey. The knot in Patrick’s jaw retightened as he recalled his earlier suspicions. The initial glare had died down, but the cabin’s front windows glowed erratically. Jason and Mikey appeared to be running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Patrick let go of the car and sprinted for the cabin.

He burst through the door and into the scene of a disaster. The air was thick with smoke and Jason and Mikey’s agitated shouts. “Patrick!” Jason cried out, his face brightening.

Patrick tried to say Jason’s name, but the smoke filled his mouth and stung his eyes. Flames were licking the top of a bookcase and the support beam above their heads. The antler chandelier swung precariously as Jason valiantly battled the flames with a fire extinguisher. Thank God he was all right, and Patrick spared a moment to acknowledge that meant more to him than the damage to the cabin.

“What happened?” Patrick managed to cough out.

“The Slasher. I scared him off with the flare gun, but I’m afraid we’ve lost our security deposit,” Jason said, sweeping the extinguisher’s nozzle from side to side.

Mikey had lifted his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. “Don’t joke,” he said through his makeshift mask. “Did you see what he did to Freddy, Patrick?”

Patrick nodded, a lump forming in his throat.

“It’s lucky you packed the fire extinguisher,” Jason said.

“Two fire extinguishers.” Patrick dug the second one out of the box. He pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle at the bookcase, wincing as the blast sent scorched paperbacks flying off the shelves.

“You packed two extinguishers?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“With Freddy’s smoking—”

“Fair enough.”

“Why didn’t you just run from the fire?” Patrick demanded.

“I know how much this place means to you.” Jason’s eyes cut through the clearing smoke to hold Patrick’s gaze. Something twanged behind Patrick’s sternum. His scratchy throat clenched and he took a step forward, lips parting. Their earlier disagreement about the reunion seemed so far away now, so unimportant.

“Also, the Slasher ran outside,” Mikey said. Patrick broke his gaze from Jason’s face. Right. They weren’t alone. “As long as we’re in here—”

A woman’s high-pitched scream sliced through the room so sharply it should’ve cut a trail in the smoke. Mikey’s T-shirt slipped from his nose as his eyes widened. “That must be Carrie.”