‘Well?’ he asks.
They continue to stare. They’re both wet, their hair a couple of shades darker than normal, clothes damp. He hadn’t realised it was raining.
Carl notices that Darlene is holding a sharp knife down by her side.
‘What are you doing with that?’
Buddy and Darlene smile in tandem.
‘Whatever,’ Carl says. ‘Leave it here. I need you to deliver—’
‘No,’ says Buddy.
Carl can’t quite believe his ears. ‘What?’
‘We’re not going along with your stupid plan any more.’
‘We’ve got our own plan,’ says Darlene.
‘Much better than yours.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ says Carl, looking from one of them to the other.
There’s the slow, liquid drip of fear in his belly, and he has to remind himself they’re just kids. He ought to punch the smirk off of Buddy’s face right now, get control of this situation. But he sees the bulge of the gun in the boy’s pocket, and Darlene is holding that big-ass knife, the one she presumably brought from her own house.
Now, looking at it more closely, he sees blood on the blade.
Darlene notices him noticing. ‘It’s Dad’s,’ she says with something like pride. Like if a cat could talk and tell you it’s brought you a mouse.
‘Greg’s? What the hell are you talking about?’
‘It seemed like the perfect time,’ says Buddy.
Carl takes a step back. The bow and arrows are outside. He has no other weapon to hand.
‘You want to spend the rest of your lives in prison?’ Carl says, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice.
‘We’re not going to prison,’ says Buddy.
‘We’re innocent,’ adds Darlene.
‘Innocent children.’
‘Oh yeah? So who are you going to blame for killing Greg?’
‘You,’ says Darlene.
Carl attempts to force out a laugh but it gets stuck. Instead, a weak croak emerges and dies in the air between them.
There’s a flash of contempt in Buddy’s eyes before the bored expression returns. ‘You came to our house, killed our dad, forced us to come here with you.’
‘You and the woman from the bookstore.’
The icy drip of dread has grown to a trickle. Where is Nikki? He hasn’t seen her for a couple of hours, since she came in from having a smoke outside earlier. Her cigarettes and lighter are still by the door. He thinks she’s sleeping in the bedroom but can’t be sure.
Buddy goes on in that bored tone. ‘You’d gone crazy. You were ranting about how some woman called Abigail told you to do it. Kill them all, she said. Kill Greg. Kill the twins. Kill the kids in the basement and burn this place down.’
Darlene snickers.
‘We begged you to let us go but it was obvious. You were insane. You told us you murdered those teachers too, and Everett Miller. You hid his body in the basement. All these years.’
‘This is bullshit,’ Carl says. He takes another small step back towards the table. Maybe if he can get outside he can use one of the arrows as a weapon. Get it against Darlene’s throat.
‘Don’t even try it,’ Buddy says, stepping in front of the door to block Carl’s exit, and he takes the gun from his pocket, aims it at Carl’s chest.
Carl blinks. There’s sweat running into his eyes. He attempts a smile. Changes tack. ‘Come on, kids. You’re not seriously going to hurt me, right? After all I’ve done for you. All the fun we’ve had together. I gave you the run of the camp, let you take whatever you wanted.’
‘Except the pills.’
‘Well, taking those pills was dumb. It drew attention. But yeah, sure, maybe I was a little hard on you. It won’t happen again, all right?’
‘No, it won’t,’ says Darlene.
Buddy’s eyes have fallen upon Abigail’s altar. Carl follows his gaze.
‘It’s dumb,’ Buddy says.
‘Such crap,’ adds Darlene.
‘Ghosts,’ Buddy scoffs. ‘Spirits.’
Darlene giggles and puts on a high-pitched voice. ‘Oh Abigail. I must protect your woods from all these scary tourists.’
Buddy locks eyes with Carl. ‘We’re the scary ones.’
‘And these woods are ours,’ says Darlene.
Buddy marches over to the altar with its framed photograph of Abigail at its centre, and picks up the photo. He examines it with a sneer on his face.
‘We’re the big bad wolves,’ he says, and he chuckles at the expression on Carl’s face. ‘What big eyes you have.’