Chapter Twenty-Four
The Wounds We Inflict
Sam hurried down the basement stairs. She was god-damned starving and in desperate need of a shower. Not to mention that she'd feel much better once she saw the boys again. Her fingers tangled in the necklace's chain, stuffed deep in her coat pocket. The wire of the pendant cut lightly into the pad of her thumb.
She felt strangely hopeful for the first time in a while. Even having no idea if the necklace would do anything, it helped to remember the good things about Hannah, especially in the face of this new, vindictive shadow. They'd found Josh and it seemed like the medicine from Dr. Hill was at least slightly helpful. Everyone was still alive. It was almost enough to make her start to sing. Instead, she snorted to herself as she walked. It was kind of sad that her bar for hope and joy was so low these days.
Dropping down into the dumbwaiter was growing to feel like second nature. She wasn't sure that was a good thing, but if it meant that she wasn't treated to a flash of remembered terror, she'd take it. The hallways of the old hotel were clear and quiet.
"Hey guys, I—" Her voice trailed off as she entered the empty saferoom. That was odd. She glanced around. A few things had been moved and there was a mostly-eaten can of pinto beans on the table that she was fairly certain hadn't been there before. She picked it up and blinked at it, puzzled. "Guys?" she called, louder.
She set it down and headed back into the hall. "Mike? Josh?" Her voice echoed back at her, mocking her. A knot tightened in the pit of her stomach. Where had they gone? Clearly, they'd been here, even if only for a few minutes. How long had she been in Hannah's room? "Mike?" she called again, heading down the hall away from where she'd come from. She would have seen them if they'd been that way.
As she rounded a corner, she came to a dead stop. Josh was sitting against the wall, knees pulled in to his chest and his head down. "Josh?" She rushed to his side, dropping down and putting her hand on his arm. "Josh? Are you okay? You freaked me out. I thought you'd be in the saferoom." She forced a rueful laugh. "I thought the worst had hap—"
Josh lifted his head. His eyes seemed to look through her for a moment, then he focused on her with considerable effort. There was a streak of red along his cheek. He lifted a hand to rub his nose and she saw more red on his fingers, under his nails and thin along his skin.
"Josh, what—" Sam looked around the hallway desperately. He would be there too, wouldn't he? Something had happened, but he would be there. The small stretch of visible hallway was empty. "Josh, where's Mike? What happened?"
He chuckled, a dry, harsh sound in the back of his throat. "Gone."
"Gone? What do you mean 'gone'?"
"Means Mike's gone," Josh said, shrugging roughly. "Not here. Absent. Elvis has left the building. He peaced out. Blew this popsicle stand. No innuendo intended."
Her temper flared and she shoved him. He didn't resist, letting the force of it send him sprawling back onto the floor of the hallway. He just smiled. "You should leave, you know? There's nothing but death up here."
Death.
"Josh, what happened?" Sam swallowed hard. "What did you do?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Why would you assume I did anything? That's kind of insulting, really. Why would you think I would do something to Munroe—just because you fucked him?"
She froze in place, staring at him. "What did you say?"
"Oh, sorry. I thought it was common knowledge. Didn't you want me to know? After all, you know I have my kickass new monster senses. Why else would you show up to find me with his Axe body spray scent all over you?" Josh's grin was harsh and joyless. "It's cute. You guys match now. Eau de Douchebag. Like a combination of hippie granola and fresh mountain man, or whatever they market that shit as."
"I—"
Josh sat up and punched playfully at her shoulder. "Aw, come on, Sammy. No secrets between best pals or potential in-laws, right? I can't believe it took you this long to jump into the sack with the dude who got Hannah and Beth killed. I mean, he's so dreamy."
She went cold. All the panic, all the uncertainty and anxiety she'd felt when he brought it up so bluntly vanished. "How dare you," she whispered, meeting his gaze squarely. Her voice hardened. "How dare you say that to me."
"How dare I? Quite easily, really. Does he have a magic dick, Sammy? I assume he must, since apparently it's impossible to resist, even when he killed Beth, who you claimed to love." Josh tapped his finger against his lips idly, a parody of thoughtfulness. "You know, it makes sense. Hearing Hannah extoll his virtues must have been an excellent sales pitch. Then you just had to wait for all possible obstacles to disappear. Too bad Jessica didn't die. Then he would have been single even earlier. Or is he even single now? Are you a homewrecker too, Sammybird?"
Her hand connected hard with his face, the sound of the impact echoing down the hallway. She shoved herself to her feet, backing away from him. "Fuck you, Josh."
"No thanks. I'm not really into sloppy seconds," he sneered, leaping up as well. He paced from wall to wall, watching her with a strange, intense gaze.
The derision in his voice cut into her like a knife. That was the tone he used when he mocked the guy who made fun of him or the teacher that he showed up in Chem. It was the tone he reserved for those he thought were lesser. It had never been aimed at her. "Asshole," she mumbled finally, turning away so he wouldn't see her tearing up. She didn't want him to know he'd gotten to her. He didn't need any more ammo. God, she should have just let him rot up here.
Behind her, she heard him mutter something she couldn't make out. "What was that?"
"Nothing, nothing. I'm sure you have important things to be doing. Run along. Fly away."
She spun back to him. "What did you do, Josh? Where is he?"
Josh held out his hands, palms up, and looked down at them. "No idea."
"You're lying. What did you do? Is—Is that his blood?" If Josh had killed Mike—she couldn't even finish the thought. The time for kid gloves, though, was over.
"Probably. You know me. Psycho-killer. Qu'est-ce que c'est." He hummed a little under his breath. "Would that break your heart, Sammy? If I killed your lay?"
"God dammit, Josh. What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought the meds were working! Or, fuck, were you always a huge asshole and I just didn't notice somehow? God, you know, after we got off the mountain last month, I kept thinking about all the things I'd ever done wrong. Every time I'd ever done something to hurt you. I kept pouring through my memory, trying to figure out what I did to make you hate me so much that you decided to—to torture me." Sam felt powerless to stop the words flooding out of her mouth. She could feel the tears on her cheeks, but even that wasn't enough to stop her. Every resentful, bitter thought she'd had about Josh was bursting forth in a rush. Josh had grown very still, watching her, waiting expressionless.
"And I just couldn't do it. I couldn't think of a reason. Not a real, solid reason. Josh, I thought we were friends. More than that—after the girls—you were my best friend. How could—why would you do that? Why are you doing this? Have you just hated me for years and now you've just given up pretext? You don't have to pretend just because your sisters like me, so you just cut loose? You know, your illness doesn't even excuse it. I did research. I read stuff. And you know what? There are tons of people who have what you have who didn't decide to imprison and torture their friends on an isolated, subzero mountain."
She pressed her fists against her eyes, trying to get herself under control, but she couldn't. "Josh, I thought—I thought—" Biting back a furious, desperate sob, she saw him take a step forward and she backed away. "No. No, Josh. What—what did you do this time? What did you do?"
They locked eyes, unblinking. The silence was thick and almost palpable between them in the hallway, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
After what felt like an hour, he blinked and dropped his gaze. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Why did it have to be him, Sam?" he asked softly. "Really, out of everyone, why did it have to be him?"
Anger flared in her chest again. "You know nothing about—"
"I thought it made sense before," he continued, still not looking at her. His voice seemed calm, remote, almost dreamy. "You were too hurt; it was too soon. You were grieving. I was grieving. You were right to call a halt to it. And then you came, in your ridiculous little fake-furry hat, and you seemed calm, y'know? Good. Good-ish. And you looked at me and you saw me and you smiled and you joked and for a second it was like old times and I let myself think maybe but maybe couldn't be. That would be a betrayal. So I wanted to show you, to make you leave, but then, with him, Sammy, I just… I couldn't think, couldn't think straight."
Sam stared at him, trying to process his monotone ramble. "Josh—"
"I'm not sure why you came back, really. I'm not sure why you'd forgive me. You always were a wrench in my plans, Sammy. Too good at escaping, at thinking on your feet, at forgiving, with your dumb little vegan heart always forgiving everyone. You forgave me. I guess you forgave him too. Forgive the entire world their sins. Maybe then we can all hold hands and sing kumbaya around a campfire. With marshmallows. Vegan marshmallows. Do they do that? They probably do that."
"Josh—" she tried again, but once more he started talking, still detached.
"I can't though. I can't let it go. I wish I could, but I just can't. I'm bad at letting go. I always have been. I just can't believe he took another thing from me. I can't believe he took another thing I care about. It's just kind of unbelievable at this point. And I just saw red, Sammy. I'm sorry, Sam. I just couldn't think anymore. I couldn't. I tried, but I just couldn't. The pills aren't enough. Not anymore. The voice I hear now. It's not the same. It's different, Sam. It's hungry and it wants and it's too much and it's never going to go away, I can feel it. It's rooted in my chest, in my stomach. It's too much. It's too much." He finally lifted his head again to look at her. In the blood-streaked, gaunt, monstrous face, she saw the eyes of her friend, desperate and alone. "I'm sorry, Sam. For everything."
He took off running, hurdling a busted wooden crate, and vanished from sight. She didn't try to stop him.
Sam stared at the empty place he'd left. The walls of the hallway seemed to press in on her. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to process anything that was happening. She closed her eyes, steading herself on the wall.
What now?
What was she supposed to do now?
She opened her eyes and gazed dully at a piece of chipped tile on the floor. The chip looked a little like a lightning bolt. Her fingers found Hannah's necklace and she almost burst into tears again. Only a few minutes ago, she'd been so hopeful. The things she wanted seemed so straightforward, so simple: she wanted to be safe and warm with her friends—her family. She had to admit that after what they'd all been through, the other survivors were starting to feel more like family than her own blood relatives.
Josh… What the fuck was she even supposed to do with that tirade? After what he said to her? And Mike… She straightened, tugging her coat into place and scrubbing her palms across her tear-stained cheeks. There had been blood and Josh had talked about death, but that didn't mean anything, not really. Even after everything he said, she still couldn't quite bring herself to believe Josh had killed Mike. If he did… if he did, that really did signal the end, she thought. She wasn't sure she could bring him back from that.
She wasn't entirely sure she would want to try.
"Don't be dead, Munroe," she muttered, zipping the pocket holding the necklace. "Don't you dare be dead."
-o-
Ashley rubbed her arms vigorously, shivering. The novelty of being able to see her breath had worn of about thirty seconds after she'd gotten off the bus back in town and now she just wanted to go to the beach. And she didn't even like the beach. There was too much sand and it just got absolutely everywhere and it was hard to lie at the right angle to read your book without straining your neck. But it didn't matter. She'd put up with all of it just to soak in the sun like a lizard.
She glanced to Matt, who was looking around, studying the ground. "See anything?"
He shrugged. "I'm a football player, not a tracker. I don't think I've even gone camping."
"We're a great pair. So good at this stuff." Ashley looked up at the sky. The snow was still threatening and she expected it to start up any moment. "What if we just follow our tracks back to where we all started running? Then we can find their tracks or something. Find them?" Before he could respond, another thought occurred to her. "But that's probably what the monster wants, right? Ugh. What are we supposed to do now?"
"That's not the worst idea, though," Matt said, looking back along the tracks they'd left. "That thing could be anywhere right now. We probably won't see it before it sees us anyway."
"Um… Is that supposed to be reassuring?"
Laughing ruefully, he shook his head. "No, I guess not. Sorry."
They began to head back through their old tracks. Ash jumped at every sound, including a heart-stopping moment where Matt zippered his coat with a sound that made her audibly yelp. "Sorry," she mumbled, blushing.
"I think that one's on me, actually."
Movement caught her attention and she stopped dead, Matt bumping into her before he realized. She reached behind her to grab his hand, tightening her grip warningly. Far ahead, up the hill, she could see the monster, creeping through the trees. It was strangely fascinating to watch, like going to the arachnid house at the zoo. Its muscles bunched and extended smoothly, even when it reached behind and up to hook its claws into a branch and swing itself upwards. The action should have looked awkward, but it made it look graceful. It lifted its head, scenting the air, then swung its head towards them.
Did it see them? She could feel Matt trembling with the effort of staying perfectly still and she held her breath. She had Mormon relatives and Catholic ones, but her own parents hadn't really held with organized religion. In this moment, though, she wished she had something to pray to. She didn't think it would help, but thinking something more specific than ohpleaseohpleaseohplease would have been nice.
She didn't even dare blink and her eyes were starting to sting with the cold, dry air. The thing opened its mouth—her curiosity noted that it had multiple rows of teeth, like a shark—and Matt's voice carried clearly down to them: "It's way too dangerous to be out here by yourself."
Her fingers clenched around Matt's, clutching at him for reassurance. Even watching the monster make the sound, it was still unsettling.
After a few more breaths, the thing took off, leaping from one tree to the next and out of sight. Every muscle in her body seemed to release at once and both of them sagged. "Jesus," Matt muttered. "Holy shit."
"That was… nuh-uh. Nope."
"At least it wasn't right in our faces," he offered weakly. "Being in the mine was insane."
She looked at him curiously. They hadn't really talked, after the events of the previous month. He'd gone to Seattle right after they were finally released. "What happened?"
Re-tying his boot, he snorted. "Jess and I barely got out alive. I'm not sure if it was the Hannah wendigo or a different one, but it was right up on us and Jess was in such bad shape… we couldn't run. We just kept hiding and staying still. It sucked, big time."
Ash shuddered. "So, um… It went the way we were going. What now?" Matt pointed. Following the line of his finger, she saw a small, wood-framed opening leading into the mountain. She shook her head. "Nope. No way. Bad, bad, bad plan."
"I know, I know." He sighed. "But we know it's up here, right? And we know that the mine will get us back to the old hotel. All we have to do is find some of the others' chalk marks and we can follow them back. That's where the others will be. Mike and Sam and probably the others too."
"I guess it makes more sense than just wandering through the forest playing cat and mouse with that thing." She squared her shoulders. "Okay. Let's do it. I didn't get to go into the mine much last time. This'll be exciting. Right?"
Matt didn't answer and she was grateful. She wasn't sure whether she wanted confirmation on that particular point.
-o-
"Chris, will you hurry the fuck up? I want to find the others." Emily glanced back over her shoulder at the blond and sighed. "How did you even manage to do that?"
There was snow up to his thighs. He waded forward, trying to feel for the ground before every slow, trudging step. "I don't know. The ground under the tree seemed so smooth and flat, and we keep climbing stuff, so I thought…"
"Thought you'd take a snow bath?" She tried to keep from laughing. He looked like Tinnie did when he was still a kitten and he got stuck in the laundry hamper. "Hey—try going back out the way you got in and then walk around the snow drift, genius."
It took him a good five minutes to get back out again. He brushed ineffectually at himself and groaned. "I hate this mountain."
"Look at that," Emily said drily. "Another thing we agree on."
There was no sign of the others. After their previous conversation, neither dared shout, but they kept their eyes peeled for any sign of Jess's blonde hair and camo, Matt's burgundy jacket, Ashley's pompom hat. But there was nothing, just white and brown and black. Emily pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed again. She was going to tie Jess to her waist, like a toddler on one of those leashes shaped like a monkey. At least last time, they'd been running together. This time they'd been right next to each other! How had Jess managed to end up somewhere else?
And what was going on with the monster thing? Emily frowned at the snow as if it could answer her questions. She thought the thing was supposed to be nocturnal or allergic to sunlight or something. Was that all just a connection she'd made incorrectly? Perhaps they'd just been lucky the last few days. If so, they needed to regroup even sooner. Maybe even yesterday, if that was an option.
"Emily!" Jess's voice carried through the cold.
"Jess?" she called back, spinning in place, trying to locate the direction the sound was coming from.
Chris pointed through the trees to their right. "That way," he said quickly, and took off, hopping over a small downed tree branch.
Following him as quickly as she could, Emily craned her neck, trying to see ahead. "Emily!" She heard Jess shout again, her voice slightly frantic. Something was nagging at her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "Emily!" the shout was louder this time, closer.
…and had exactly the same intonation as the first two times they'd heard it.
Instinct seized her and she lunged forward, grabbing Chris by the wrist and yanking him back, just as the wendigo came flying down through the trees to land right where Chris had been. Chris yanked the shotgun off his back and aimed, but the monster swatted the barrel down with one casual movement and the shot glanced off a rock.
Emily cast around for something, anything to use as a weapon. She saw Chris try to bring the butt of the gun around to clock the thing in the face, but it slid to the side and he stumbled from the unspent inertia.
"Oh for fuck's sake," she swore to herself, yanking her arm free of its sling and grabbing a hefty rock with both hands.
It grabbed Chris by the shoulder with a clawed and snarled in his face, spittle flecking Chris's glasses.
"Hey asshole!" Em shouted, heaving the rock overhead. It was an awkward throw with a heavy object and a broken arm—not to mention the fact that she was no athlete—but she was close and the wendigo was hard to miss. The rock struck it hard in the shoulder and its fingers sprang open, dropping Chris to the ground.
It hissed at her, then its lips twisted into words. "Emily!" it called again, in Jess's same frightened voice. "Emily, wake up!"
Was it… was it mocking her? Oh hell no. No one mocked Emily Davis. She grabbed for a nearby branch, ignoring the way her shoulder was protesting the movement. If she got out of this, she'd have whatever surgery she had to have to deal with it. "Stop sounding like her, you unbearable dick," she muttered, swinging the branch like a club.
The thing caught the end and forced it back, continuing to babble in the voices of her friends.
"Duck!" shouted a voice from behind her.
Emily didn't like to follow orders, but she followed this one, throwing herself to the ground just as flame sprouted in the air where she'd been standing.
"You heard her! Stop sounding like me!" The fire waved in the thing's face and it screeched loudly. "You're just the poor man's Jess, anyway. Look at you. You clearly don't know how to dress."
Whether in pain from the fire or from Jess's critique of its fashion sense, the wendigo had clearly had enough of them for the time being. It laughed—a high, wild sound that reminded Emily of Josh for some reason—and somersaulted backwards, twisting in the air like a cat to land on all fours. It paused, considered them, and smiled. The voice it used was gruff and annoyed, like the guy with the flamethrower that had tried to help them. "Nothin' but time, you piece of shit. Nothin' but time."
With something like an easy wave, it turned away again and vanished.
Jess grasped Emily's hand and pulled her awkwardly to her feet. "You okay, Chris?" she called over.
He nodded brusquely and reloaded the shotgun. Emily considered it an act of kindness that she didn't call out the way his hands were shaking.
"How did you find us?" Em asked, shaking the snow off her coat as best she could. She considered putting the sling back on but decided to just shove it in her pocket. She'd put it on again when they were safe.
Jess beamed at her triumphantly. Her cheeks were flushed and rosy from the cold and adrenaline and tendrils of blonde hair had escaped her long braid to frame her face. Emily cleared her throat and bent to adjust the lace on her boot. Which was coming undone, obviously, and had to be corrected. Otherwise she might trip in a critical moment. "Well I knew I wasn't the one yelling, didn't I? It's a cool trick, but not super effective if you're trying it on the person who's voice it is."
"I mean, I think it was trying it on us, to be fair," Chris said, coming up beside them.
"Whatever. It still knew I was around, right?"
"Maybe it's bad with faces?" The blond guy shrugged. "You have pretty kickass timing, though. I dig the look, too, by the way. Didn't get a chance to say earlier, but it's very Lara Croft meets Cadet Kelly."
She raised her eyebrows. "You've seen Cadet Kelly?
Chris flushed and looked away. "No. I mean… my sister watched it. I just saw a snippet."
"Oh come on, Chris. There's no shame in liking what you like. Plus, Hillary Duff is super cute." Jess's smile faded and she shot Emily a worried look. "Um… I don't think it cares that it's daytime."
She nodded grimly. "We need to find the others."
-o-
The doctor left the room and they sat in silence. Melinda stared at the familiar, ordinary furniture, trying to sort through her thoughts. On the one hand, it was a relief to learn that her injuries weren't as bad as they could have been. On the other hand, it made her feel even more guilty for leaving the mountain at all. She should have toughed it out. She would have been fine. Probably. She supposed it was lucky that Hank had even been able to get the resort doctor to come to his house to check her out and hadn't insisted on flying her to the nearest real hospital.
Finally, Hank cleared his throat and leaned forward on his knees. "You want to tell me what happened, Mel?"
"Not particularly."
"Okay, let me rephrase." He cleared his throat and said, over-enunciating each word: "Tell me what happened, Mel."
She huffed out a little laugh and glanced at him. "Really?"
"Yes, really." Hank's voice was fierce. "Mel, last I saw, you were planning to go up, get the kids, and come back down. Next time I saw you, you were bleeding and injured and talking about Josh. Now you get to tell me what the hell happened." He folded his arms over his chest and settled back in the chair expectantly.
"What I said. Josh is alive." The words still felt alien on her tongue. Alien but oh, so sweet. She said them again, for good measure. "Josh is alive."
"How?"
This was the part that was going to be hard to explain. Melinda bit her lip. "Do you remember Jack Fiddler?" she said finally.
"That tin-foil hat fellow? Yeah."
"Remember the creatures he was obsessed with?"
Hank nodded. "Wendigos, right? Cannibal monsters? He didn't talk about them much, but I was getting a drink one night and he got a bit talkative. Went on and on about these monster things that didn't like fire. Talked about you and Bob, too, actually. Called you idiots."
"We were." She frowned. Hank was not going to like the next bit. "He was right."
"He was right? About what?"
"The monsters are real."
The man just stared at her blankly, then pushed himself to standing. "I'm going to get the doctor back in here. I think your head injury is worse than he realized."
She glared at him. "Hank, you sit your ass down and listen to me."
"Fine," he said, scowling. "You get five minutes to convince me you're not just heavily concussed."
-o-
"Okay, no, look. Matt and Ashley aren't stupid, right?" Jess said.
She was silent for a few awkward seconds before Chris realized she hadn't meant it rhetorically. He shook his head. "Nah, I guess not."
"So they'd know to go back to the lodge," she said, smiling triumphantly. "We have a saferoom there. Or at least it's the closest to a secure place that we've found since we've been up here. The food is there and everything."
"Food?"
Emily rolled her eyes. "Uh, yeah. Food. Like the thing that humans need to eat. Jesus, Chris. Aren't you supposed to be one of the smart ones? Or are those glasses just for show?"
"I just didn't think—I didn't realize it'd been so long…"
"Yeah. It has. A few days at least. A few days without you, by the way. I note with interest that I was more willing to come rescue Josh than his own best friend was, but whatever."
He swallowed the lump in his throat that had come with her words. She wasn't wrong, and it hurt. Jess reached out to brush his arm with her fingers comfortingly. "You're here now. That's what counts, right? We all—we all do stupid shit we regret." She glanced pointedly at Emily, who frowned and folded her arms over her chest. "Anyway, I think they'll go back there. That's what would make the most sense."
Considering it, Chris finally shook his head. "You don't know if they can even find their way there. And that… that thing… it's still out here somewhere. And they don't have a gun or a flamethrower or anything. They're sitting ducks. It makes more sense to backtrack to where we were when the deer showed up and then follow their tracks."
"Okay, you know what?" Emily said sharply, throwing her good arm up in annoyance. "Fine. You go do that. You have the gun, you'll be fine. We'll meet you at the lodge. Probably where Matt and Ashley are already, along with everyone else." She turned on her heel and began to head up the slope, using some jutting, exposed roots as a pseudo-staircase.
Jess and Chris exchanged a bewildered look and Jess rushed after her. "Em, what the hell? We can't just leave him?"
The black-haired girl glanced back down at Chris, her face grim. "Why not? It's what he wants, right?"
"I want to go back and track Matt and Ash," he said sullenly. "I don't particularly want to go alone, but I will if I have to."
"You have to."
Jess put up both her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Whoa, guys. Bad plan. This seems like a very, very bad plan." She turned to Emily and, though she dropped her voice, Chris could make out her words. "Em, what the fuck? Why are you so pissed at Chris?"
The other girl didn't even bother to lower her voice. "Because he was also on team 'let's-shoot-Emily.' Whatever. If he's so sure his plan is best, he'll be fine. He's got the gun, he knows how to get to the lodge. Either he finds them and makes it there, or he doesn't find them, gives up, and makes it there anyway. But I want to get somewhere safe before the sun goes down."
"It's fine," Chris called to the girls. He shifted the shotgun on his shoulder. "I'll see you guys soon!"
"Um, okay. Be careful, Chris," Jess said. "Don't forget about the staying still thing. Or that it can copy voices. Or that it's super big and fast. Or that—"
He cut her off quickly, shuddering. "Thanks, but I don't need to hear the reminders. That's—thanks."
The girls disappeared quickly into the trees, heading upwards towards the lodge. Hoping against hope that he wasn't making the biggest—and possibly last—mistake of his young life, he turned to follow their tracks back. Though it was snowing lightly, the snow had been deep enough and soft enough that their tracks weren't filled in.
He followed them through the mess of broken boughs and burn marks that marked their second encounter with that huge-ass wendigo and on. Should he be walking in his own footprints? That was a definitely a thing people did, but he wasn't really sure it mattered in this situation. If it was following his tracks, he'd run into it before it ran into him. This was stupid. This was really stupid. He had his phone out and was unlocking it before he remembered he'd have no signal. Shoving it back into his pocket, he grumbled to himself. It was annoying to realize how much checking his phone had become habit. Not that it was a bad thing to have a habit like that, but he should be able to not do it in a place like this.
A bird took off in the bushes, cawing loudly as it launched into the air and he jumped, then laughed nervously. His own words to Emily earlier echoed in his own head. Don't split the party. And here he was, splitting it even further. He hoped he had an actual player class in this scenario. It would suck nuts if he was an NPC or something. He glanced down at where the collar of his t-shirt peeked out from under his layered coats and felt even more stupid. Red. A red shirt. He'd literally worn a red t-shirt. He was just fucking asking for it, wasn't he?
The woods were so quiet it was starting to get to him. The steady crunch of his footsteps and soft swishing sound of his clothing seemed overly loud in the snow-muffled landscape.
A twig snapped behind him and Chris spun, the gun coming off his back and up against his shoulder smoothly. A flash of pride shot through him. That was the kind of instinct he'd always hoped he'd have post-apocalypse, but had never really thought he would be able to pull off.
"Whoa, whoa. I surrender, Cochise," Josh said, raising both hands and grinning. "Say, is that a gun in your hands or are you just happy to see me?"
-o-
Mike Munroe opened his eyes.
The room was nearly pitch black and for a moment he wasn't sure he had actually opened his eyes after all. Then a small red dot lit up for a fraction of a second before going dark again. Okay. Eyelids up. That was good, he supposed.
Gingerly he touched the contusion on the back of his head and winced. What had Josh hit him with? He remembered Josh talking about Sam and getting angry. He remembered Josh attacking him and—he ran his hand up his left arm and along his chest and bit back a groan as his fingers brushed against what felt like an open wound just below his collar bone. There was another on the other side. He hadn't realized that Josh's nails had grown so sharp and strong. Another set of scratches lay along his forehead, narrowly spaced.
He felt around him. What felt like cold, dry concrete met his fingers and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. The only thing he could make out was that red light. Rather than try to stand and possibly hit his head again, he crawled along the floor, letting his fingers lead the way. They brushed against cold metal bars and he felt his way up. When he was on his knees, the light was at about chest-height. His fingers met more thin pieces of metal—the edge of a shelf?—and he reached forward.
The little bump of the red light was solid and stationary, but just below it was a piece of plastic that moved slightly as he brushed against it. He pushed. With a click, Mike heard the distinctive hiss of a cassette tape player start up. After a few seconds, a voice began. The volume was low, lending the recording an air of intimacy.
Tsk.
Tsk.
Tsk.
So sloppy, Michael. To let yourself get taken like this. I honestly expected more of a fight. How disappointing.
I'm sure you have questions, Michael. So many questions. No doubt you're muttering them aloud to yourself even now as you listen to this. Why am I being targeted? What did I do to make this happen? How am I going to get out of this? Will there be anyone around to see me make my heroic escape? Me-me-me-me-me. Your ego is rather magnificent.
I'll make it simple, so it's easy for you to comprehend. You aren't being targeted.
There was a clunk and all the monitors switched on, blinding him. He shielded his eyes, letting them readjust. The recording continued, Josh's false voice vicious.
This isn't about you, Michael, even if you're used to everything else in your life being that way. For once, you are going to be the outsider, the bystander, the one who isn't there to rush to the rescue. You don't get to be the hero of this story. Not when all you really are is a spoiled, selfish coward who takes what he wants without a thought to anyone else. So you get to wait here, alone in the darkness. You get to watch my plans unfold and know that you are utterly unimportant to them.
Enjoy your stay.
Mike's eyes smarted from the screens' light and it made his head ache even more. Fuck Josh. It instantly turned into a furious, ranted mantra in his head: Fuck-Josh-fuck-Josh-fuck-Josh-fuck-Josh-fuck-Josh-fuck-Josh-fuck—
He turned in a slow circle, trying to assess the situation. Monitors with cabling that vanished into a tiny hole in the wall behind them. It was cold and no air was moving, giving the space the feel of a coffin. Empty shelves lined the walls, making the room even more cramped and claustrophobic. A freestanding wire shelving unit had been shoved against one side, as evidenced by the deep scratches its legs had left on the concrete floor. On one shelf was the tape player, with another cord that ran to a place out of sight between the monitors and the wall. At the opposite end from the screens was an oversized metal door with a huge handle.
Testing it, he found it didn't give easily. Mike gave it a dirty look and leaned into it, trying to push the handle down and release the door. It wouldn't give.
He stumbled back, glaring at it. It looked familiar. Something about the design reminded him of Italian food. Why in the flying, focaccia fuck would it remind him of Italian food? Then it clicked. "Zitinellis," he said, smacking his head with the palm of his hand. He'd done a brief stint doing food prep at a faux-Italian restaurant in high school. That's why he knew it. It was a familiar design.
He was in a fucking fridge.
He scowled and slammed his fist into the metal door. Pain flashed up his arm and he shook his hand, angrily. Was it… was it supposed to be a reference to The Shining? Or had it just been the most convenient place to set up some kind of insane jail cell for his stupid fucking plan? "Oh fuck you, Josh," he muttered. He was going to punch the smug right off that dick's face when he got out of here. Or maybe he'd light him on fire. Mike figured he had time to decide while he figured out how to escape.
Resting his head against the closed door, he let the cool of the metal seep into his aching skull. It didn't make the pain vanish, but it calmed him down a little. The only sound besides his own breath was the soft hum of the monitors.
The monitors.
Mike turned and crossed to them. What were they there for? You get to watch, Josh had said in the recording. As he scanned each one in turn, he realized what that meant. They were feeds like the ones in the saferoom, but only specific rooms were included. One showed the shed, one showed the table where he and Sam had found Chris and Ashley. One showed the room Jess had described. Another showed a fuzzy, off-kilter view of the upstairs bathroom in the lodge, while the fifth camera showed the shadowy media room. The last one showed a room he didn't recognize. He might not be the smartest guy, but he could sure as hell put those pieces together.
He was meant to watch all of his friends suffer.
God, Josh was a dick. He knew he deserved some kind of comeuppance for what had happened to Hannah. He would never deny that. But this? This was fucking sadistic. He would have been watching an unidentified, crazed serial killer torture everyone he cared about.
And now this. He remembered how Josh's face had changed, the way he'd said I can smell her on you. Mike didn't exactly want to dwell on that statement, but here, alone, with nothing but the empty video feeds, it was impossible not to think about it. The memory of Sam, of her warmth and affection and the sweet press of her body against his felt impossible now. Like it was some great dream he'd had in the middle of this disaster. But he clung to it. Josh couldn't take that away from him; he just couldn't. He wouldn't let Josh taint that.
He slid down to sit against the wire rack, watching the monitors dully. He would escape. He would. But first he would rest for a moment. His eyes fell closed, shutting out the monitors' invasive glow.
His leg jerked and his eyes snapped open again. He sat up abruptly. Had he fallen asleep? In this timeless, airless tomb, he wasn't sure. Oh, and that was a fun thought. Was it truly airless? Was he going to slowly suffocate? Because that would just be fucking icing on this cake made out of dog shit and old, cold coffee grounds.
Movement caught his eye and he turned to look at the monitors eagerly. Something. Anything.
Miraculously, there was movement on two of the monitors. The first one made him shout and pump his fist in the air. Sam was poking around in the room with the table. Mike had no earthly idea where the fridge was located, but Sam was there. Sam was alive and looked healthy enough, if extremely unhappy. Her face, from what he could see on the pixelated screen, was fixed and angry. She ducked down to look under the table, then kicked the table leg and headed to the side of the room.
More movement on the other drew his attention. He glanced over and his blood went cold. The thing. It was the huge wendigo monster thing, creeping through the shed. It sniffed at Josh's fake entrails and then took a huge, messy bite. Mike's stomach heaved and he glanced away for a second. When he looked back, the thing was leaping, jumping straight up to land among the rafters. It lifted its head and its jaw opened in a soundless screech, then it launched itself out of view of the camera.
Mike rushed back to the door, heaving again at the handle. Enough was enough. He'd spent enough fucking time in here. Josh couldn't possibly have sealed it perfectly. The edge of the handle cut against his hands as he pulled and pushed at it.
"Come on, you stupid, stubborn piece of sub-par, mediocre, bought-at-a-discount cold box. What do you do? You don't even do anything. You keep food cold. That's dumb." He wasn't even listening to himself as he argued with the silent door.
Finally, he sagged back against it and looked to the monitors again. Sam was still visible, at the very edge of the frame. She was taking a drink from her canteen. "I sure hope you're looking for me, Sam," he told the tiny version of his friend on the screen. "Because I have no idea how to get out."