For Want of a Mohawk

by CeruleanSeaScorpion

What difference do our choices make? When Duncan refuses to wake up and help the Killer Bass during the Dodgeball challenge, his decision has consequences that will change the entire outcome of the game. A re-imagining of Total Drama Island where one small change leads to huge differences, and every episode takes the story further away from its original path. Updates weekly.

17. Interval of Darkness

Deep in the woods of somewhere cheap to film in, Ontario, two teens that looked suspiciously like thirty year olds were making out in their car. They couldn't possibly know the mortal danger they were in. How could they? The whole night they'd heard screams of terror from the woods as their friends vanished one by one, there was no way they could ever guess that a killer was on the loose from these contextual clues.

The psychotic maniac slowly stalking up to the car from behind wasn't the only witness to their impending doom. Eight teenagers watched as the carnage was about to unfold in front of them, projected onto a tall canvas littered with stains. The movie was made in the 90s, but the secondhand projector imbued it with such a grainy quality and stuttering frame rate that it would be easy to mistake its origin as the 1890s, if the fashion wasn't so atrociously grunge.

"Hey dumbasses, stop sucking face and start the car." Noah heckled from the audience.

The killer revved up his chainsaw as he emerged from the woods. Only with this final, most obvious giveaway did the couple stop kissing and notice the hulking psychopath trundling towards their car at about a rate of one step per minute. The turtling pace with which he approached gave them plenty of time to scream, panic, and for the music to get more tense as the boyfriend tried to start the car.

"Oh no!" Lindsay gasped. "It won't start."

Beth huddled behind her, alternating between shutting her eyes, then flickering them open to glance over Lindsay's shoulder with morbid curiosity. On the opposite side of the crowd, Gwen was at the edge of her seat.

"Here comes the blood." She grinned.

The screen exploded into a gory spectacle. Intestines, eyeballs and limbs were hacked apart and flew at the screen. The victims were like limitless reservoirs of blood, with seemingly gallons of the stuff exploding with every strike of the chainsaw. Enough of the liquid to fill an elephant was expended by the time the couple had perished.

While some covered their eyes in fright, others were less shaken. For a veteran of the genre like Gwen, less was more when it came to gore. The directors of this campy romp were clearly trying to make up for their lack of effects quality, with quantity, and failing quite badly by her standards. If she really wanted to be terrified, one well-shot scene of carnage was worth more than a thousand amatuer bloodbaths. Still, she did enjoy it for what it was. Being a horror fan meant taking the ups of the genre along with its many downs.

Having slain the last victims, the killer now stalked away into the woods, never to be found by police. If that were to happen, then they couldn't milk the franchise for sequels, a cardinal sin for any good slasher movie. Even low budget trash like this. Actually, especially low budget trash like this, whose only hope of turning a profit was to gain cult-like following and to make a killing on home video sales, or just keep milking theatrical releases with increasingly low cost, low effort sequels. Ideally, both at once.

Still, for the campers there that night, this was the end of the killer's reign of terror. Unless Chris decided to make the next challenge watching a marathon of terrible horror movie sequels, the scaredy cats in the audience could rest easy for now.

"Whew, glad that's over." Beth exhaled sharply as the credits rolled.

"I know right?" Lindsay said. "These movies give me such bad vibes."

"Oh, don't be such babies." Heather rolled her eyes. "That was so obviously fake and corny."

"Come on Beth." Gwen said, trying to sound encouraging. "As far as slasher flicks go, that one wasn't too bad. Like, in Bloodbath 2: Summer Camp Reign of terror, they have this wicked close-up of a guy getting his hand shoved in a lawnmower. Or this girl who falls off the dock and gets sliced in half by a proppeller! Oh, and when the big guy goes head first through a woodchipper. It was so wicked."

It wasn't very wicked to Beth, who was curled up in a ball and looked ready to cry her eyes out in terror. Lindsay consoled her, Heather scoffed in disgust, and Gwen decided to stop gushing about her favorite slasher movie.

"...forget I said that." Gwen said.

If this cheesy, low budget fun was too much for her, she hated to think of how Beth would react to some real good horror fare. Maybe Gwen could start her off on something easy like Tremors. Beth seemed to like animals, maybe creature features would get her more invested in the monster. Then she could move her up to something like the first Alien movie, and finally onto The Thing. Which was, to anyone who knew anything, the pinnacle of creature horror. Besides, Beth could use a few lessons from Ellen Ripley in how she conducted herself.

"Wow, you really missed your calling as a therapist, honey." Noah said.

"You missed yours as a paperweight." Gwen shot back.

"Whatever. You're all dweebs for caring." Heather said. "Horror movies are just mindless guts and gore. Complete worthless trash."

"Horror movies are not mindless." Gwen shot back. "They're loaded with psychological trauma. Something you wouldn't get with your shallow chick flick romcoms."

"Oh well. Sorry you're too miserable to watch something fun once in a while." Heather said.

"Not to interrupt this thrilling conversation." Courtney said, sounding not thrilled at all. "But where's Chris? He said he had something really important to tell us."

"Yeah man." Geoff said. "Where is the Chris-meister?"

The sound of a boat motor sputtering to life gave them their first hint. They followed it down to the dock. From afar they could see Chef and Chris hastily throwing their bags into the back of the boat of losers. As they got close enough to see their features, the fear in their eyes became chillingly apparent. Chris's hands were trembling as he grabbed the last couple bags, his knuckles white and his face drained of color.

"Excuse me." Courtney said. "Where do you think you're going? Get back here and do your job."

Neither stopped to acknowledge her. Chris jumped on the boat, and Chef was right behind him, tossing the last of the bags aboard. Chris gunned the engines and Chef had to jump from the dock as the boat pulled away. Once underway they didn't stop, sailing into the night until the boat disappeared somewhere in the murky gloom.

The noise of the motor faded, and in its place an uneasy silence settled on the campgrounds. Usually there was always some noise. There were camera crews buzzing around them trying to get all the best angles during the challenge, staff catering to Chris's every whim, or just interns shuttling across the campgrounds in four wheelers and trucks to prepare the next day's challenge or pack up whatever they'd gotten out for the current one. They were all gone. The hosts leaving was one thing, but as they looked around they couldn't see a single crew member anywhere near or around the camp.

The other campers caught up with Courtney shortly after the boat left. Geoff noticed a bag left on the dock and grabbed it.

"Dudes! You forgot this." He vainly shouted into the night.

"Don't think they can hear you." Noah said, confiscating the bag from the party boy and rummaging through it.

"What are you doing?" Beth asked.

"Making a quick buck." Noah said. "Dude was in a band, I can sell whatever knicknacks he has in here and pocket a few grand after the show."

As he dug through it he tossed out a newspaper, which Beth caught and unfolded. Her eyes settled on the headline, a lump forming in her throat as she read it.

"Escaped Psycho Killer on the Loose." She said, her eyes brushing over a mugshot before arriving at the body of text beneath it. "Be on the lookout for a man with a hooked hand wearing a hockey mask."

"Oh no." Noah said. "He's on the loose."

"Oh come on." Heather said. "They don't seriously expect us to fall for this. Scary movie, followed by hasty exit, followed by strategically placed prop."

"I-I don't know." Lindsay said. "He looked seriously spooked."

"Please." Heather rolled her eyes. "It's all a part of their little stunt to freak us out."

"If this was a stunt, would Chris leave behind his hair gel?" Geoff asked, holding up a bottle with Chris's face on it.

That caused quite a stir. Lindsay and Beth looked around terrified, even Gwen seemed genuinely unsettled.

"Now now, that doesn't mean anything." Courtney said, sensing the anxiety developing. "He probably has dozens of those, right?"

"Okay look, it doesn't matter if this is real or a challenge." Gwen said. "We need a game plan."

"Right." Courtney nodded. "Let's meet up back at camp and discuss strategy."

"You dweebs might need a plan, but I need a facial." Heather snapped her fingers. "Lindsay, Beth. Let's go."

"You're joking right?" Gwen said. "First rule of slasher films, never go off alone."

"I might listen to you if we were actually in a movie." Heather said. "You are so gullible. We're being punked. Hey Chris! Next time, rent one that takes place at an actual summer camp!"

Unbeknownst to her, the host had tried his best to do so, but alas all of them were rented. Such was life when you needed to send your interns on a six hour or more trip to the mainland to get anything to the island not scheduled by studio logistics.

"Come on guys. Beth, Lindsay, you aren't seriously going along with this, right?" Gwen asked.

They hesitated. Beth especially, who glanced at Gwen, then at Heather, then back at Gwen. One way lied a possible encounter with a killer, but the other way promised Heather's unconditional wrath. She opened her mouth to speak, but just a nasty look from Heather was enough to shut it down.

Beth looked away from Gwen regretfully, and trudged along behind Heather as they went to go find the washrooms. Gwen inhaled sharply. If this was real, she'd never live it down, but she wasn't completely convinced yet. She decided to take the risk, and prayed she was right.

Heather's alliance had never been the most friendly place to be. Even during the glory days, when they had ruled over the Gophers unchallenged and wiped all serious opposition off the team, Heather had not been a magnanimous leader. Sure, Lindsay and Beth were friends, but their friendship lived in the shadow of their obligations as lackeys.

Tonight, things were different. There wasn't a lot of back and forth chit-chat like normal. No rumors being spread about the other contestants, no fashion tips being exchanged. Beth had been to the confessional shortly before the movie began, outlining her feelings which, remained applicable despite the daunting situation she now found herself in.

"Okay so, I'm going to do it." She sighed deeply. "I'm going to leave the alliance. I just…I don't know how. Like, do I ask Lindsay first? Do I go to Gwen?" She trailed off, her hands fidgeting in her lap. She chewed on her bottom lip, nervously.

"And what do I even say to Heather?" She swallowed. "If she looked at me the right way I think I'd literally die! How do you stand up to someone like that? Ugh, I just need…more time. Yeah that's it." She nodded to herself. "If I can just think of the right thing to say, the right person to talk to, I can get out of this stupid alliance."

Presently she had nothing to say. No clever retort or scathing insult to put Heather on the backfoot so that she could leave without fear, her head held high. Standing up to your bullies looked really easy in highschool romcoms. Not so much here. The fact that there might be a killer lurking around the corner certainly didn't do anything to make her more courageous, either.

Their walk to the washrooms was surprisingly uneventful, despite how many times Beth swore she saw the shape of a stalker in the bushes nothing ever came of it.

They arrived at the washrooms, and a switch suddenly flipped in Beth's head. That latent paranoia had grown into a voice in her head screaming at her that something was wrong. The first hint was the door already being slightly ajar. The second was more subtle, and insidious. A pungent, acrid smell that took her a second to recognize. It was raw gasoline.

She looked over at Lindsay. She could sense it too. Her expression was tense as those big blue eyes scanned her surroundings rapidly, like a squirrel trying to spot lurking wolves.

"Uh, Heather?" Lindsay said. "Maybe we should just uh…do your makeover in the morning. Nothing like starting fresh, right?"

Unlike her two minions, Heather's expression betrayed not the slightest hint of fear. The only emotion she did let slip was frustration, that their scaredy cat bullshit was making them less useful. "No way, I am not going to sleep with skin peeling this badly. Now come on pussies, my shower isn't going to heat itself."

She grabbed the door and flung it open. Before she'd actually turned to look ahead she stepped inside, and hit something within the open doorframe. Lindsay and Beth saw it first and cowered. Heather staggered back and looked up to see the menacing silhouette step out of the doorway.

It was clad in a heavy butcher's apron suitable for the work of slaughter. The face was covered in an old hockey mask, discolored from years of use. Then the momentary silence was shattered by the angry mechanical revving on a chainsaw, followed by three terrified screams. Heather's skepticism shattered as the killer stood before her, brandishing his weapon over his head and uttering a deep, guttural war cry.

They dashed off into the woods in terror, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Not once did they stop to think about where they were going, panic had completely taken over and propelled them deep into the wilderness.

By the time they were out of breath they'd crossed almost halfway over the island. Indistinct, murky black woods surrounded them, without a hint of where they came from, or how they could get back. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Exhaustion brought them to a stop in a small clearing, where they struggled to remain standing as they panted and heaved.

"Holy shit….holy shit…" Heather sputtered. "This is real…no way….no way…"

"What are we gonna do?" Lindsay cried.

It took Heather a minute to compose herself enough to say anything coherent. "Get the hell out of here is what!" She said. "We lost that creep, let's go while we still-"

She had spoken too soon. Out of the bushes the killer dashed like a charging bull, his chainsaw screaming for blood as he barreled towards the girls.

Then Heather did the unthinkable. She grabbed Lindsay by the arm and flung her towards the oncoming murderer. Beth was already starting to run when it happened, the heinous act was a blur in her peripheral until she heard that blood curdling scream.

Beth looked over her shoulder just in time to see Lindsay stumble into the path of the psycho killer. "Lindsay!" She cried, but her legs carried her forwards even as she reached back for her friend in a futile gesture. Her desire to survive overwhelmed any sense of obligation to help her friend, and Beth disappeared into the bushes.

She didn't notice when exactly, the screams stopped. All she knew for sure was that the next time she stopped, Lindsay's cries no longer echoed through the forest. The gravity of what transpired was slow to sink in. It crept into her mind slowly, then hit like a ton of bricks once it finally came to the forefront. Her head spun and she had to lean against a tree just to stay upright. Her stomach turned into knots and she felt like she was going to throw up, but all she could manage was a few dry heaves before the feeling came and went.

Lindsay was dead. All because she couldn't say no to Heather.

"I think we lost him…"

That voice was the first indication she got, that she still wasn't alone. She adjusted her glasses and spotted Heather nearby. The sight was enough to make her blood boil. Sickness turned to rage, and fear turned to into fury.

"What the fuck, Heather?!" She screamed. "Lindsay's dead, and you don't even care!"

"It was me or her." Heather said tersely. "We can't care when it's survival."

"That's your problem! You don't give a rat's ass about anyone but yourself! You got Lindsay killed! You treated me like shit! And you stand here acting like you did nothing wrong!" Beth's face was a scalding hot red, her voice hoarse from screaming on top of all the running for her life she'd just done. But she would be heard, if she had to blow out her lungs to do it.

"Be quiet. You're gonna give us away." Heather hissed. "Unless you wanna join Lindsay up there, shut up!"

"No! I am never shutting up for you again. I'd rather be there with her than stuck down here with you, you, you-"

Then Beth went off like an atomic bomb. Every insult, curse, and slur in her vocabulary was hurled with malicious intent against her tormentor. She screamed out scathing indictments against every fiber of Heather's existence. From the trivial and banal like her taste in clothes, makeup, hair style, and other such superficial appearances, to the most deeply personal of issues. Many of the things she had said would have obliterated her reputation and damned her to the darkest depths of cancellation if she were to utter them in public today, but that night Beth did not care and was not holding back.

At the end of it, she only stopped because her voice failed her. Her throat burned, but the pain was not agonizing. It was satisfying. There was no waiting audience there to cheer and clap for Beth as she finally said her piece. Maybe she never could have done it with them around anyways. This was entirely for her.

"Are you finished?" Heather asked.

It was a solid minute, maybe many more, before Beth could respond. She wasn't exactly counting. "Yeah." She huffed. "I'm done with you."

She turned around and started walking away from Heather.

"Great plan, idiot. Just walk off into the woods by yourself."

"It's safer than going along with you." Beth snapped bitterly. She didn't look back, she couldn't. Whatever lay ahead for her now, whether it be death or survival, she knew she had to do it on her own.

The chorus of distant screams was not missed back at the campgrounds. Gwen felt her chest tighten a little knowing that Beth was out there somewhere, but she had her own flock to attend to. Courtney seemed to have a level head on her shoulders, but Geoff needed all the help he could get. A goofy blonde jock with no survival instincts, he was fodder for the first thirty minutes of any campy slasher flick. Noah might survive longer, but his laziness would be the death of him if not looked after.

To help illustrate the points she was about to make, she'd found her easel and set up her sketchbook on it, turning to a blank page and hashing out crude renditions of her castmates on the page. Beth, Ezekiel, Geoff, Noah, Heather, Lindsay, herself, and Courtney were drawn in that order, starting at the top left and moving right. She drew devil horns and a tail on Heather to make it a more honest depiction. She happily crossed her off with a large red X in marker, then Lindsay, and finally Beth was the last to be marked as gone. That one brought her no joy.

"To survive a horror movie, you must understand how you die in a horror movie." Gwen said. "It's always the same plot. A bunch of friends go to some remote location where a killer or a monster picks them off one by one, until there's only one left standing, who either defeats the killer or escapes. Well I say screw that! Why can't more than one person survive a horror movie, huh?"

"I like the sound of that." Geoff nodded. "Kinda hard to have a party when all your bros are dead."

"Right!" Gwen said. "And the crazy part is that it's all so pointless. Like, half the deaths could be avoided if they just had a little common sense. Most of the people in these movies could go home at the end of the day if they had a plan and stuck to it."

"Which should be up to me." Courtney said. "I have more experience planning than anyone else here. I was a CIT you know."

"I had no idea." Noah said.

"That's great Courtney, but I'm the horror expert here." Gwen said. "And the biggest killer in horror movies is definitely wandering off alone."

"So we just like, all stay here together and nobody messes with us?" Geoff asked.

"Great idea. We just sit here all night waiting to see if this maniac comes and slashes us to pieces." Noah said.

"Someone should go get help." Courtney said. "Maybe we can find a radio, or a phone that works. Someone has to alert the authorities."

"No way." Gwen shook her head. "Everyone knows that the goody two shoes who runs to get help is one of the first to meet her grisly demise."

"Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?" Courtney put her hands on her hips.

"You're a rules person Courtney, this isn't exactly news." Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Because rules keep you safe when you follow them like you're supposed to."

"That's not the attitude I heard after the last marshmallow ceremony."

Noah looked up from his book, now keenly interested in the conversation. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Shut it, egghead." Courtney said.

Realizing that the conversation had careened into a pointless tangent, Gwen stepped back and spent a minute thinking of a better way to approach this.

"How about this? You go with Geoff to check for a working phone. That way you're not wandering off alone." Gwen said. "I'll stay and babysit the bookworm, in case we need him to fix the phones or something."

"Oh come on, I'm not an electrician." Noah said.

"Then what are you good for?" Courtney asked.

"Dunno." Noah shrugged. "Only person who could answer that just left the island."

Turning back to Gwen, Courtney gave a nod of approval. "Your terms are acceptable. We won't be gone long. If there are any working phones they'll be over by Chris's trailer."

It was a solid guess, one Gwen couldn't argue with. It was pretty close too, so by horror movie standards it was a reasonably survivable journey. She still wasn't completely convinced any of this was real, but it was best to maintain the assumption until proven otherwise. She hadn't sat through hundreds of hours of slasher films to waste this opportunity.

"Okay. Just be quick. And always have someone on lookout, alright?"

"Right." Courtney nodded. "Come on Geoff, let's go."

They went off into the night, leaving Gwen and Noah to tolerate each other's presence for survival's sake. With any luck, this would all be over soon.

Never before had the island of Wawanakwa seemed so endless and vast. Beth had always took it for granted that she usually navigated the island in daylight, usually with her team or alliance, who had a map to guide them. Now she'd been stumbling through the dark for an hour with no sign of getting any closer to camp.

Her head was pounding, thoughts and feelings ripping through her mind, producing a chaotic symphony too loud to even think over. How had Lindsay died? Was it fast and painless? Drawn out and agonizing? Could she have done anything if she turned around and faced the killer? Would she be the next victim?

All the screaming inside her brain made her fail to notice the drop until it was too late. She took a dive head-first off a small ridge and into a muddy gully below. Her arm instinctively reached up to cover her face, saving her glasses from a hard crunch against the solid ground below. The rest of her landed in a dull thud.

It wasn't a very long fall, luckily. She sputtered and spat out a mouthful of nasty, rotten leaves as she picked herself back up and staggered onwards, the filth dripping off her as she blindly meandered through the woods.

A fancy island resort vacation had sounded like the perfect summer. She could make new friends that didn't know about her past embarrassments, she could learn the ways of popularity under the wing of the cool rich kids that she was so sure filled places like this. Or rather, places like what she was told this would be. Not how it actually ended up. Becoming popular had turned out to be a total sham, and now fear gripped her from every side and threatened to crush her soul.

An overwhelming sense of wanting to be back home slammed her. Her legs wobbling, she sat down on the grass and buried her head in her knees. She wanted to crawl into her own bed, pull the covers over her head and shut her eyes and be out of this place. After tucking Bertha into the bed next to hers of course. She'd probably be ecstatic to see Beth again after being gone all summer. If she ever saw her again.

Her room never smelled nice. Having a pig meant messes, and no matter who much she cleaned up some of the scent never really went away. So she tried to cover it with perfume and fresheners, which themselves worked into the fabric over the years and themselves became a distinct part of the permanent odor of the place. Right now, she could use a bit of that smell. It was an odd and pungent thing, but to her it had become synonymous with home and comfort. It was there for her when she cried into her pillow after a bad run in with bullies. Or a crush rejecting her. Or her parents fighting. Her room was her safe haven from the struggles of the world. Beth tried to take a deep breath in and imagine she was back there, taking in the nostalgic ambience once more.

For a moment it almost worked. She could detect just the faintest hint of swine and lysol, before it caved in and was replaced by the scent of rotting leaves. Going home wasn't an option now. She was stuck on the island, and now part of her just wanted to lie down and fall into a deep, comatose slumber where she could dream of home until her fate befell her. Already, she was nodding off.

Consciousness rushed back to her head just seconds before she tumbled over onto the ground. She vaulted upright and pushed herself up off the ground, breathing in ragged gasps as she came back to the waking world. She couldn't give up like this, she had to stay alive. Gwen and Ezekiel were still at camp, she had to get back and warn them.

With newfound vigor she put one foot in front of the other. She got about ten feet or so, before realizing that though she now had a reason to keep going, she didn't have any clue where she was going. She had to do something about it.

Huh, that was odd, she thought. She was able to process that whole thought without a million things at once cluttering her head and blocking it out. Maybe it was the newfound purpose or maybe it was just nearly falling asleep never to wake up again, but something had cleared her mind and quieted the panic.

The first thing she did with her newfound lucidity was try to think of a way to get her bearings. She could just walk in any direction. It was an island, she would hit shore eventually. But that would waste time, and she had people she needed to save. She failed Lindsay, she couldn't fail anyone else.

Resting against a tree for a moment proved to be exactly the inspiration she needed. Trees! They were tall and one could see quite far from the top of a tree. She could climb up, spot the lights back at camp, climb down on the side of the tree facing the lights, and know exactly which way she needed to go to get back.

First was the matter of finding a suitable tree. She settled on one that had a very wide trunk, too large for her arms to wrap around the whole thing. That meant it was probably very tall, which she would need to see over the rest of the forest. Now she just had to get up.

She felt around the trunk for a branch to grab on, and found purchase on a branch well above her head. Being four feet, ten inches had a lot of ups and downs in life, but they were mostly downs. Climbing trees had never been easy for her, and all her hopes of it getting easier had been dashed when she finished puberty still under five foot. Still, she would make it work. One branch at a time she pulled herself up, carefully feeling each one to gauge thickness and stability so that she could be confident it would hold her when she climbed onto it. This careful process repeated at least a dozen times before she emerged at the top of the canopy. Her patience and ingenuity was rewarded with a fantastic vista.

Over her head, clouds passed, denying her starlight to see by. The moon occasionally peeked out, revealing its near full luminescence in brief intervals. Below, the whole island was cast in shadow, making the distant amber glow of firelight that much more distinct. Her eyes widened and she peered in that direction. That was coming from the bonfire, near the campgrounds. Someone was still down there!

She scooted around the trunk to orient her back towards the fire, then when she touched down she could simply make a straight line ahead. It didn't look far, maybe a mile or so. If she ran real hard, maybe she could make it in less than ten minutes. She'd never managed it in gym class, but nothing like a life or death situation to test one's abilities, right?

The trip down was simpler than the one up. She already knew about what to expect from the branches at each level, and could carefully lower herself onto each with more confidence. Beth was on the second to last branch before she could touch the ground. If she were about a foot or so taller she could probably just get down right here.

Something suddenly told her to stop. It was that voice again, that self-preservation instinct that just seemed to know something before she did. It was exactly the same feeling she got right before Heather opened the door to the washrooms. She froze up, balancing on the branch and waiting a minute. Listening, trying to figure out what it was that was triggering that response.

The first hint was a muffled, distant thumping sound. She couldn't quite put her finger on it at first, but as it drew closer the steady cadence gave away what it was. They were footsteps, and they were growing louder. They got louder and louder, until she was sure that someone was walking right beneath the tree she was in.

Then she glanced down and saw it. The shadowy human figure standing right below her. She couldn't have been more than an arm's length above his head. The shape was much like the one of the monster that had taken Lindsay, and probably Heather too now. There was something off about it this time however. There was no smell of gasoline accompanying his presence. Had he lost the chainsaw?

Beth stayed where she was, motionless as a statue. Inside she was a panicking mess. Sweat dripped down her face in beads, and she bit down so hard on her lip to stop from screaming that blood joined the sweat dribbling off her chin. All he had to do was look up and realize she was there. He was so big he could probably reach up and grab her right out of the branch.

The killer's steady breathing was barely audible over her own heartbeat hammering away at her eardrums. Was this how she met her end?

Apparently, it wasn't. Just as wordlessly as he arrived, the killer departed. The footsteps grew quieter now until the sound vanished entirely, and Beth was left only with the noise inside her head, and the gentle rustling of branches in the wind. For a couple minutes she remained unmoving, waiting until she was sure that he was gone.

Upon touching ground, Beth took a minute to compose herself. Her hands were shaking violently and her knees felt like jelly. She remained standing. She clenched her hands into fists until the trembling stopped. Slowly her breathing and heartbeat came back down to normal.

Then she took off like a bat out of hell. She was going to make it back to camp alive, or die trying.

Courtney and Geoff's venture to Chris's trailer proved far less eventful. They made the entire ten minute trip without a single psychotic man killer spotted. The whole production area looked hastily abandoned, many lights were still on when they arrived. Doors to vehicles and trailers alike were left hanging open, and some creaked eerily as they rocked back and forth in the breeze.

Finding which trailer belonged to Chris wasn't too difficult. The fact it had two floors and a satellite dish on top was a dead giveaway even from a distance. If there was any ambiguity left when they arrived at the door, the big gold star with his name etched into dispelled any doubts.

"This is it." Courtney said, pushing the door the rest of the way open.

Inside it looked like eerily like life had been put on pause. The TV was on and the remote sat on the arm of the couch. An audience of nobody watched a bizarre talking cat movie. It must have been near the climax, because someone, the lead character she guessed, was in a car chase with a bunch of scientist goons in a van, who had a talking cat locked in a cage.

The scene transitioned back to the protagonist and Courtney did a double take. Was that Chris? The man on the screen sure had the same facial features, with maybe a decade shaved off in age. What the hell kind of movie was this?

"Yo man, is that the Chris meister?" Geoff asked as he noticed it too.

"He watches his own movies?" Courtney glanced and noticed the box of tissues on the couch. Geoff saw it too.

"Ugh I always knew he was a crybaby." She said.

"Oh!" Geoff laughed awkwardly. "Crying. Yeah. That's probably what he was doing. Mhm."

The bizarre interlude had nearly made Courtney forget what she even came there to do. The luxury was simply distracting. Wood panels were trimmed with real brass, the floor covered in marble tiles. It was like a miniature mansion in construction.

The couch was huge, covered in smooth velvet, tempting them to come sit and take a load off. In the other direction, there were stairs to the second level bedroom, and a fully furnished spa right below it. A steaming hot tub with fresh towels awaited, and Courtney's aching joints begged her to try it.

"Man this place is nice." Geoff said. "I could kick back here for an hour or two."

Somehow that snapped Courtney back to their present goal. "No we can't! We came here to get help, remember? Quick, find a phone."

Remembering that they were still in a potentially dangerous situation helped to ward off the temptation to indulge. Luckily there was a phone built into the end table by the couch. Next to it was a sticky note with numbers for a pizza place, Chris's agent, and the producers. Courtney picked it up off the hook and held it to her ear, waiting for a dial tone.

She was met with nothing but silence. She hung it up, then picked it up and tried again. Still nothing.

"It's dead." She said. "Look around for a satellite phone. Maybe that dish up top is connected to one."

They rummaged through the trailer some more. They found cabinets full of DVD and VHS tapes, magazines full of questionable content, and a couple bottles of rum, but no satellite phones. Courtney clutched one of the bottles and eyed it curiously. She was really wound up, her hands were shaking, and this stuff had a good reputation for mellowing oneself out fast.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Geoff wasn't watching. Or anyone else. He was too busy opening cabinets to notice anything. She popped the lid off and took a quick sip.

The first sensation was burning. The second was immediate regret. The bottle clattered to the ground and spilled all over, and she coughed and gagged loudly. That of course, got the attention of Geoff.

"Yo Courtney, what's wrong?" He asked, noticing the spilled bottle, and the growing scent of rum filling the room. "Wait, were you seriously trying to drink that neat?" He asked in utter disbelief.

"I-I thought it was supposed to take the edge off when you were stressed." She sputtered.

"Duuuuude, you don't start by just chugging it out of the bottle." Geoff laughed hysterically. "Aw man, have you ever even drank before?"

"Of course I have. I went to Church and I always accept the cocktails at my parents social functions."

"Dude, that so doesn't count."

"Whatever. Let's go outside and check the landlines." Courtney said. "Maybe they're just not plugged in right."

They left the trailer, stepping back into the cool night air. It took a second for their eyes to adjust back to the darkness, a fact not helped by the open trailer doors acting like street lights. They made it out back to the utility box that Chris's trailer was hooked into. All the landlines ran through it, and when Courtney opened it to see if the cable to Chris's trailer was plugged in she got a rather immediate answer as to why there was no tone.

The lines inside the box had all been hacked to pieces. Not cleanly snipped by wire cutters, but chopped by some large, crude instrument. Maybe a big knife, machete or an ax. Courtney felt her skin prickle and hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Suddenly she was much more aware of her surroundings, and from that she picked up on the large, booted footprints that led up to where she was standing right now. Someone had done this.

"Geoff, we gotta go." She tugged him by the arm. "Either Chris is pulling out all the stops for this prank or this is for real."

He didn't quite grasp the significance of the find, but he did understand the urgency in Courtney's voice, and had come to trust that whatever it was upsetting her, it must have been important. The two ran back to camp to bring their discovery back to the others.

They weren't the only ones nearing the camp. Beth had miscalculated her route a little and ended up on the beach a little ways down from the camp. But it was a minor mistake considering all she was going through right now, and one easily corrected by a few minute walk down the beach towards the dock. She'd almost made it.

Then something caught her eye. A small boat, its dark hull standing out against the pale sand of the beach even in the dark. She had no reason to go investigate. She was almost back safely with the others, no need to take chances. But, what could it hurt? It was along the route, it wouldn't be much of a detour. And it was an odd thing too. She'd been past this spot on the bike race and never remembered seeing a boat in the way. When had it gotten there?

As she got closer a few more details became apparent. It was about twelve feet long, with two bench seats in the middle. Enough for four people, yet the tracks leading away from the boat and towards the woods looked like just one person. And they were huge tracks. One of Beth's shoes could fit twice inside the prints she found here.

Then she got a little closer and the stench hit her like a brick wall. It was a rotten, nasty smell, unlike anything that Beth had ever encountered. It emanated from a lumpy burlap sack in the back of the boat, nauseating her every second she spent inhaling it.

It occurred to her as she backed away that it wasn't entirely unfamiliar after all. She'd been to a slaughterhouse a few times with her Dad. Where their farm animals went to live their last hours before becoming steaks and bacon. That was where she recognized it from, but somehow here it was much, much worse.

There was that feeling, again. The urge to get the hell out of here, that sense of impending doom if she didn't do something right now. She gladly obeyed it, leaving the creepy old boat behind and making a break for camp as fast as she could go. Hopefully, they would still be there when she arrived.

Indeed, for the first time in a while all four known survivors congregated around the bonfire, as Courtney told of her discovery back at the trailer. Gwen was incredulous, and even the unflappable Noah looked more than a little disturbed by the news.

"No way." He shook his head. "That's crazy. Why would Chris jack up his own phone lines just to mess with us."

"Maybe this really is for real." Gwen muttered.

"We need tighter rules to keep everyone safe." Courtney said. "I say we instate fifteen minute curfews. No leaving the bonfire for longer than that."

"That's harsh." Geoff winced. "Shit must be gettin serious yo."

"The shit has gotten very serious Geoff." Courtney said.

"What a coincidence, I have to seriously shit." Noah said. "Hey party boy, mind watching the door so I don't get hacked to pieces before I have a chance to put a bookmark on my toilet reading?"

"Sure thing bro." Geoff gave him a thumbs up.

"Just remember the curfew." Courtney said. "And if you're in doubt, just go back. There's some bushes over there-"

"Stop, please." Noah shook his head. "At least let me die with dignity on my porcelain throne, not like some hobo squatting in a bush."

"Just be careful." Courtney said, though by the way her eyes were looking it seemed more directed at Geoff, not Noah.

In spite of the lurking danger, Noah decided to take the extra three minute walk to the communal washrooms. Dying in the confessional was only slightly less embarrassing than dying squatting in the bush. It did have the extra perk of allowing him to record all of his last words to Katie in a tragic final message, but the idea that her last memory of him would be while he took a dump, made him actually want to die.

Thus it was that they arrived at the washrooms. Still gross, but passable enough that he could get his business done. Noah went inside, while Geoff stayed out and watched the door. He wanted to be a good friend, even Noah wasn't really in his friend group at all, or any friend groups adjacent to his friend group that he'd invite to parties. Still, Geoff had no ill-will against the guy, and guarding Owen's friend was the least he could do to apologize to the guy after what he did to him.

Forces outside of his control conspired against him however. Geoff had fallen for some pretty obvious pranks in his life, and he was only barely lucid about the peril they were facing. So when ice cream truck music started dancing through the air and into his ears from some unseen place in the woods, he perked right up.

"Ice cream?" He said, knocking on the door to the washrooms. "Hey Noah, dude, you want anything from the ice cream truck?"

Unable to hear the music, Noah could only assume this was Geoff's idea of humor to lighten the situation. He responded in kind. "Yeah, get me two ice cream bars, a double fudge chocolate sundae, and a banana split."

"Sure thing dude." Geoff gave him a thumbs up from across the door, then went off into the woods to find the ice cream truck.

Several minutes later he was deep in the woods and no closer to finding any ice cream truck. The sound was elusive, always seeming to shift away from him just before he found it. Had he been a more technical, production minded kind of guy he might have pinpointed the network of remote speakers that were leading him on this wild goose chase, but alas he remained ignorant.

He also wasn't alone in his search for ethereal confectionaries. Someone had slipped in behind him, but Geoff remained completely oblivious. If anything, the smell of gasoline and the puttering of an idle motor convinced him that the truck must have been nearby, and that he was on the verge of finally getting his deserts.

When he finally did glance back and notice the guy following him, he didn't think much of it. "Hey man, you seen the ice cream truck?"

The hockey-masked face shook its head at him, but otherwise gave no response.

"Bummer." Geoff said, continuing on his search undeterred.

Then something clicked for him. The pieces of the puzzle came together, and the peril he was in finally jumped forth in startling clarity. He gasped in terror, and spun around towards the stranger following him, eyes wide with fear.

"Dammit!" He said. "I forgot to ask Courtney for her order! She's gonna be so mad. Hey, you got a phone I can call her with?"

Fed up with Geoff's total lack of self-preservation or proper horror movie victim reactions, the killer revved up his chainsaw and charged with a loud snarl. Too late, Geoff realized the danger facing him. He screamed, uncharacteristically high pitched and girly for such a big guy, and ran for his life, but the killer was already on him.

He didn't make it more than thirty seconds before his fate was sealed. The woods echoed with his terror for some time, until it cut off and all was quiet again.

Just about then Noah had finished in the bathroom. He emerged to find Geoff nowhere to be seen, absconded for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom. The few minutes back to camp felt like a thousand miles now.

"I am so boned." He sighed.

Despite the overwhelming pessimism that loomed over him, he still proceeded forwards hoping to get back. Some of Katie's pluck had rubbed off, it seemed. Perhaps a bit of Owen's outdoorsmanship too.

He hadn't made it far before the sound of heavy breathing gave away the nearby presence of a killer. Noah's brisk jog turned to an outright dash. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see a hulking brute break out of the bushes and take off in pursuit of him. His noodle legs couldn't outrun him all the way back to the bonfire, the killer was gaining.

The chase wended its way past the cabins, and Noah had an idea. He dashed into the first cabin door he could get too, then with adrenaline fueled strength uncharacteristic of his frail body, shoved all the beds in front of the door. The killer banged against the door, but it failed to yield against even his great strength.

Now Noah crept quietly to the window, unlatching it gingerly so that it didn't even make a click. He slowly slid the window open. The banging on the door grew louder, more rapid, the beds rattled as the door frame tried to push them aside and allow the murderer entry. Then suddenly, halfway through opening the window, it stopped.

Based on his video game instincts, Noah knew he was looking for another way inside now. He got the window open just far enough to squeeze through and hurried out the back of the cabin. He was just about to round the corner and make his run for it, when the killer leaped out and blocked his path.

He barely had time to cry for help, before he too met his doom.

Over by the fire, Courtney grew restless as more screams echoed from the woods. Her self-preservation grappled with her team mom tendencies, and the latter grew stronger with each passing moment. She wrung her hands and paced back and forth in front of the fire.

Some arrogant little part of her brain told her to let them be. That they should suffer the full consequences of their folly, and that she should revel in being right. Her desire to stay alive found this proposition most agreeable, and together they formed a concordance whose objective was to stay put and do nothing.

Arguing against that however, was a coalition of two thoughts. One, that no matter how much she disliked Noah, or how much Geoff could be an idiot who go himself into trouble, she still had a responsibility as a leader to help them. Second, she had made a promise to Bridgette to keep Geoff safe, and she kept her promises.

"I can't just leave them to die." She shook her head, "We gotta go help."

"Courtney wait!" Gwen grabbed her by the arm. "They're already gone!"

"No! I can still save them!" She wrenched herself free of Gwen's grip and dashed into the woods before she could utter another word. The bonfire crackled eerily, Gwen and her shadow were all that now stood in its warming glow.

She buried her face in her hands. She'd just watched everyone on the island either run to a gruesome demise, or fail one of the simplest and easiest challenges in the entire game. Either way, she was alone now. Which, if she really thought about it, was a pretty good indicator for her survival odds. The "Final Girl" was such a universal trope for a reason, and maybe she was it. Maybe the tropes had won after all.

She contemplated what to do next. Running was an option, if this turned out to be the real thing. Maybe there was a boat left somewhere on the island she could take and get the hell out of here.

If it was just a challenge though, they'd probably eliminate her as a quitter. Gwen was many things. A loner, a social reject, someone that society just didn't understand and couldn't accept, all these were things that she and many others had affirmed about herself over the years. But Gwen knew she wasn't a quitter. Heather couldn't get her to quit, not at the peak of her tyrannical excesses did she buckle and run for home.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a rustling of bushes nearby. She tensed up and started to back away.

"Courtney? Is that you?" She called nervously, putting the fire between herself and the sound.

More rustling, and no answer.

She grabbed the fire poker and held it at the ready over the open flames.

Then something tumbled out of the bushes beside her. She jumped to face it, startled. It was small and round, not big and threatening. Realizing who it was, Gwen dropped the weapon and let out a gasp of relief.

"Beth!" She said, rushing to her side. "You're alive!"

Beth staggered to her feet, her eyes lighting up with hope. Gwen was the first human being she'd seen in what felt like an eternity, or, as it were, the first that wasn't trying to kill her.

"Gwen!" She perked up, "Oh my gosh, you wouldn't believe what just happened!"

She staggered into the firelight, and Gwen winced as she got a good look at her. Beth was drenched in sweat from head to toe, mud stains soaked into her clothes and all over her arms and legs. She looked exhausted, even in the concealing dim firelight her skin looked seriously discolored.

"Sit down and tell me all about it." Gwen said. "You seriously need a break."

Thus it was that Beth regaled Gwen over the fire with that night's horrible ordeal. She covered everything, from the moment they left the campgrounds, to opening the door, all the way until Heather had thrown Lindsay at the killer to save her own skin.

While listening, Gwen noticed the detail about the chainsaw, noting in the back of her head that this was probably a challenge after all. She had an extensive knowledge of serial killers, and none actually ever used chainsaws as their preferred killing implement. It was, in reality, a rather impractical thing to run around murdering with for a variety of reasons. None of which she explained to Beth, who recalled the tale with complete conviction that it was a real killer she saw.

When the topic shifted to Beth's rant towards Heather, she became surprisingly coy about it. Never having spared any details up to this point, Beth now refused to elaborate on exactly what she said, despite an excited Gwen prying every which way. Watching the show afterwards wouldn't illuminate things any further either, as the whole rant was blocked out in one long censor bleep masking the totality of its contents.

"Oh come on. At least tell me some of the words you used."

"Ah, well, I really, really shouldn't say any of that again." Beth fidgeted nervously.

"Why not? Trust me, there's nothing too harsh for Heather. Whatever you said, she totally deserved it."

"Uh…hm, I guess…well I did use the F-word."

"You mean fu-"

"Yes that one." Beth squeaked sheepishly.

"Nice." Gwen offered her a high-five. "Way to go!"

Beth gingerly accepted, more out of not wanting to leave Gwen hanging than any sense of accomplishment.

"So after you told off Heather, then what? How'd you get back here?"

The story continued and Beth covered her trek back to camp. Here she was a bit more detailed, talking about how she fell into the creekbed, and her second close encounter with the psycho killer. Gwen listened all the way to the end with rapt attention. To think that the seemingly demure, sycophantic Beth had it in her all along.

It was odd, Gwen realized. Just talking to Beth, and her alone. Not talking to Heather's posse, but to an individual with hopes, fears and dreams all of her own. Someone distinct from the blob of popular kids Heather sought to absorb everyone she saw fit into, and to chew up and spit out those she didn't. It was nice. Beneath all that desperation and insecurity, Beth had decent heart.

As she reached the end, her tone took a melancholic turn.

"And you know what's the craziest thing? All the running, escaping psycho killers, and fighting for my life? That isn't what bothers me most." Beth said. "I believed Heather for so long, and then after I stopped believing her I didn't do anything about it."

"You didn't vote for Trent that one time." Gwen pointed out.

"I should have done more." Beth sighed. "Like DJ would have. I should have been more like him…maybe if I was, Lindsay would still be here…"

Gwen wasn't so sure that Lindsay had left the land of the living, but she held her tongue. Beth's very real fear of the killer had got her this far. If she could just get her to apply that energy, they'd be unstoppable. It was only a question of how, and Gwen had an idea for that.

"Maybe this is your chance." Gwen said. "To be like DJ, I mean. Strong, brave. Willing to save people."

"I…I can?" Beth asked.

"We can." Gwen corrected. "With the two of us, we can stand up to the killer."

"You wanna go fight him?" Beth said. "I barely got away with my life last time! No way am I going back."

"Is that what someone like DJ would say?" Gwen asked.

Beth looked away guiltily. "...but how could I? Even if I wanted to be brave, he's huge, and strong, and has that scary chainsaw."

"That's why we need a plan." Gwen said. "Come on. We'll go down to the boathouse and I'll explain."

She stood up, and offered her hand out to Beth as a proposition. Should she choose to take it, she would step onto the war path. Gwen was committed to facing the monster and taking it down once and for all, and Beth knew she'd need to be with her the whole way to make that happen. He was too fast, too strong for any one of them to fight alone. They needed every advantage they could get, just to have a hope that the encounter could be survived, let alone won.

There was another layer to it, as well. Gwen represented everything Beth had feared before coming here. The lonely kid at the back of class that nobody liked, and nobody wanted to be around. The rejects. The bottom rung of the social order. Everything she'd labored for under Heather would be forfeit.

Such things could no longer hold her back. She reminded herself that they were dead, they could not hurt her. This was her only way forward. She stood up, and took Gwen's hand with a firm shake.

"Okay." She said. "I'm in."

To face a killer, one had to be either exceptionally strong and trained in hand to hand combat, or armed. As neither Gwen nor Beth were any of the former, they headed to the boathouse to take up the latter means of leveling the playing field against the killer.

Located at the base of the dock, it was a ratty old shack that looked plenty appropriate as a setting for the final act of a horror movie. Inside the walls were adorned with big, gnarly gutting hooks, and the gleaming curved blades of filet knives. The floorboards groaned distressingly with every step they took inside. Gwen eventually found a lightswitch, and a single faint, orange glowing bulb buzzed to life.

A plan started to form in Gwen's head when she found a large burlap sack.

"Hey, check it out." She pointed it out to Beth. "We could blind him with this."

"And get sliced in half by that chainsaw? No way!" Beth shook her head.

"Maybe we take out the chainsaw first. If we could jam up the blade, it's almost harmless." Gwen said, citing one of the reasons nobody ever actually used chainsaws for murder. "But what to use?"

While rummaging through an old rusty toolbox, Gwen found the answer to that question. Buried underneath a heap of tools far less useful for this situation, was a crowbar. A wonderfully solid, three pound piece of steel bar stock, with a hooked end for prying, lifting, and whacking unruly aliens. It could easily stop a chainsaw blade dead in its tracks, and come away with barely a scratch on it.

"Perfect." Gwen said, holding up the instrument for Beth to see as she gave it a few swings to test the balance and weight of it in her hand. "We jam this against that sawblade and he's left carrying a useless hunk of crap, not a deadly weapon."

"Wow, that is so smart. You know a lot about fighting psycho killers."

Gwen couldn't help but feel a swell of pride from that. Her slasher film survivor mentors would be so proud of her if they were real and could see her now. "Thanks. So, here's how it's going to go down." She set the crowbar and sack down on a table used for cutting up fish. "You'll wait on the rooftop with the sack. I'll stand on the dock and lure him in, then when he tries to cut me in half with the chainsaw, bam! Crowbar jam!"

"Then I jump down and cover his face so he can't see, right?" Beth asked.

"Yep." Gwen then plucked a filet knife from the wall and twirled it between her fingers. "Then I'll go for the final blow."

Despite trying to sound serious as she could be, Gwen doubted it would have to go that far. But Beth looked absolutely certain of it. She looked petrified at the thought of having to kill another person, or even partake in it as an assistant, but she raised no qualms about the act. Not after seeing her friend killed. It was them, or the killer who would get to walk away from this.

"Let's do this." Beth nodded.

With Gwen's help she climbed on top of the boathouse, and then lay there motionless waiting for the rest of the plan to fall into place. It was up to Gwen to be good, convincing bait.

"Beth? Where are you? Beth!" Gwen called at the top of her voice, "Courtney? Are you there? Hello? Anyone?"

She strained to sound scared and desperate, calling out the names of their lost comrades into the bleak darkness. After a few minutes she was seriously starting to get hoarse, and wondered if the killer was even close enough to hear them. He had to be right?

A blur her peripheral. Gwen turned just in time to see the chainsaw rev to life and swipe at her head. She ducked under it and stumbled back, pressing herself against the wall of the boathouse as she screamed in terror.

"Please! Don't hurt me!" She begged.

The killer came closer, looming over her head. A hulking behemoth, he could easily cut off her escape with one step in any direction, as he came into the reach of his chainsaw. Exactly where they wanted him. Her hand slowly reached for the cold steel resting up against the shed.

"I-I'll do anything you want, just let me go please! I won't tell the cops!" She sobbed, keeping up the act until the last second when he raised his chainsaw. Just when she thought he was gonna let her have it, she swung the crowbar upwards dramatically. The two weapons clattered together loudly, and the crowbar's ruggedness ground the chainsaw to a halt. The motor died with a cough, and the killer was left standing over her without a weapon.

"Beth, now!" Gwen said.

The psycho barely had time to look up before Beth sprung from the roof onto his shoulders. A curtain of darkness enveloped him as she pulled the sack down over his head. He dropped the weapon, staggering back as he struggled to throw Beth off his shoulders. She flashed back to the moose ride, and she latched on for dear life and would not let go.

"Gwen, the knife!" She screamed. "Cut his throat out and kill him dammit! Killhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhim!"

Before Gwen could strike the blow however, the killer fell back, bodyslamming Beth to the ground. She fell off, the wind knocked out of her. The killer tore the sack away and made a dash for his chainsaw. He picked it back up, frantically yanking at the ripcord to make it start again. Gwen rushed at him with the crowbar, uttering a war cry as she drew it back with a strike. The killer responded with a swift kick, sending Gwen crumpling to the ground, her weapon clattering as it fell with her.

"No! Gwen!" Beth screamed, pushing herself up forcibly.

Just then the psycho's chainsaw revved to life again. Beth's heart plummeted. She couldn't see another friend die tonight.

No.

She wouldn't see another friend die tonight.

She sprinted past him and dove for the crowbar, snatching it up and bringing it to bear against the oncoming monster. Once again steel met steel with a loud bang, and the chainsaw grinded to a screeching halt in the face of the the stalwart tool.

"Get!" Beth swung the crowbar, smashing it against the chainsaw again.

"Away!" She struck again

"From!" Again.

"Her!" Again.

The flurry of rapid, adrenaline fueled blows put the killer on the backfoot. With one last decisive strike, Beth smashed the whole chainsaw blade to pieces. It fell to the ground in a heap of metal shards and plastic, leaving him finally, truly unarmed. Beth raised her weapon and lunged forward, intent on now breaking every bone in his body.

"Woah, Beth, easy! You got me."

She skidded to a halt right before she tried to smash his kneecaps in. That was Chef's voice. She looked up, and sure enough the mask lifted to reveal the gruff face of Chris's lead handyman behind it. She was speechless.

"Wha?" Beth sputtered. "But you were…and Lindsay was…and Heather she…then I…and…Oh my god…"

"Wow." Gwen said, brushing herself off as she stood up. "Those were some moves back there. Where'd you learn to do that?"

Beth shrugged. "Guess it just kinda…came to me? I didn't want to see you die like Lindsay."

"Uh, kid, hate to break it you." Chef said. "But blondie's still breathing."

For the third time that night Beth's entire world flipped upside down. She ran up to Chef and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling herself up to look him in the eyes despite their height difference.

"Lindsay's alive?!" She said.

"Settle down." Chef gently pulled her off and set her back on the ground. "Come on, I'll show ya."

He led the two back into the woods. Beth's head was spinning, again. Had everything she thought she lived through that night been a lie? Was she never really in any danger? Somehow it was almost disappointing. She thought she was tough enough to survive being stranded on an island with a real killer, but all she'd really done was win another one of Chris's stupid challenges. It seemed such a ridiculous thing to be upset about, that she wasn't in a life or death situation, but even realizing how strange the feeling was did little to temper it.

Gwen noticed the disappointed frown that had crept onto her face. "What's the matter?"

"It was all phony." Beth sighed. "There was no killer, I was just being a scaredy baby."

"Beth, don't be ridiculous." Gwen said. "You thought the killer was real and fought him anyways. That's really badass. Don't sell yourself short."

"I guess." Beth smiled thinly. "At least standing up to Heather was real."

"And now you'll get to see the look on her face when she hears what you did." Gwen said.

They arrived a small tent in the woods just outside the camp. As Chef peeled the flap back and Beth followed him inside, a rousing applause greeted her. There waiting for her was every other camper that Chef had gotten at some point, and with the exception of Heather they all looked thrilled to see her.

Behind them was a cluster of TV monitors with Chris overseeing them. One was tuned to the camera feed overlooking the scene of their battle with Chef, and from that Beth could guess what all the excitement for her was about.

"That was amazing!" Geoff clapped. "You went totally crazy and showed that sicko who was boss!"

"Impressive." Courtney nodded. "Most impressive."

"Wow, you're almost as good at beating people to death as you are sucking up to the popular kids." Noah said, trying not to sound as resentful as he did about her stealing the spotlight like that.

But there was nobody more thrilled to see Beth than one blonde haired beauty, who stepped out of the crowd and threw her arms around her. "Lindsay!" Beth cried happily. She broke down into sobs as she clung to her friend tightly, as if letting her go might cause her to crumble into dust. "I thought you were dead!"

"I thought I was dead too!" Lindsay started bawling with her bestie.

There were no more words needed. The two cried their eyes out with tears of joy, while Heather watched from the corner bitterly.

"How touching." She muttered. The only response Heather got was Beth extending her middle finger right at her while she kept Lindsay in her embrace.

The two only stopped once their eyes were dry and their throats sore. "Beth, it was so crazy. After Chef got me, he took me back here with Chip and we watched you."

"Wait, you saw everything?" Beth asked.

"Totally."

"So…what I said to Heather…"

"Was totally awesome!" Lindsay clapped, and Beth realized that she did have an audience for her breakdown the whole time. She turned red with embarrassment knowing that Lindsay heard her talk like that, but she couldn't stay that way for long. Not with that infectious, approving smile beaming at her.

"Congratulations Beth and Gwen." Chris said. "You survived tonight's horror challenge. Not only did you manage to avoid being tagged by Chef, you actually took him down. That wasn't how the rules were set up exactly but, for giving us such wicked TV, I will let it pass."

"Hey, where's Ezekiel?" Beth asked, looking around and finding the whole tent devoid of her favorite homeschooled farm boy.

"Last saw the guy in the main lodge." Chris said with an apathetic. "Figured he was dead meat so I just tuned the channels to more interesting campers."

He walked over to the TVs and started flipping through the camera feed, until the one in the main lodge kitchen picked up some movement. Sure enough, there he was. Though the low-fi TV monitor Beth peered closely, able to make out the shape of something round as he pulled it out of the oven. Was he…baking pie?

"No way." Chris laughed. "He's still there? Chef, dude, how'd you miss that?"

"I was gonna wait for him to finish." Chef said. "Then I could get some of that delicious pie."

Relief washed over Beth. Everyone she cared about, and some people she didn't, were still alive. The terror was over, and soon she could go back to bed, after the elimination ceremony of course.

She opened her mouth to ask Chris about that exact subject, but something on one of the monitors stopped her, and called for her attention. The TV was low and in the middle, overlooking the campgrounds from the front porch of the main lodge. And there, walking towards the screen, was the shape of a man. Built like Chef, and nearly as tall. He was dressed in a heavy butcher's apron, and wore a hockey mask, a machete at his side instead of a chainsaw.

"Hey Chris." Beth gulped. "Did you have an intern playing a second killer?"

The host hesitated with his answer. "No, why?"

Beth tapped the monitor, her finger on the approaching man. Chris's face went a ghastly shade of pale, and he shot out of his chair so fast it fell to the floor behind him. Before anyone else had realized what was happening, Beth spun on her heel and ran out of the tent. The second encounter, the boat, the footprints. It all clicked together into a horrifying picture in her head.

Behind her Chris and the others followed as fast as they could. He was rambling, something about this being great for ratings but bad for lawsuits. The hell? Zeke's life was in danger and all he could think about was whether they could sue afterwards? Beth surged ahead, her aching muscles fueled by pure adrenaline. She gripped her crowbar tight, praying that she would make it on time.

Inside the lodge, Ezekiel beheld the product of several hours of good hard work. A steaming hot, fresh apple pie. He'd rolled the dough starting with raw flour, cut the apples and made the filling. Just like Grandma always taught him. All accomplished without being interrupted once.

Now it was time to enjoy the fruits of his labor. He set the pie down on a trivet, and carved out a hearty slice to put upon his plate. A tall glass of milk complimented the sweet dessert with something cool and refreshing, and he headed into the main lodge to find a table and sit down. Behind him, he heard the door open in the back of the lodge. Someone else was in the kitchen.

"Hey uh, Chef sir, is that you?" He called back.

No response.

"Hope you don't mind I used your oven. Uh, there's pie on the counter. You're welcome to have some if you want, but please try to leave some for everyone. I promised Beth she could have a piece after the movie."

The kitchen remained silent, save for the creaking of a cabinet door and the clinking of plates. Speaking of the movie, he reckoned it would be over soon and the others would be turning in for the night soon. His estimate was only off by a meager few hours. Summer camp slashers tended to run a lot shorter than the biblical and historical epics of the sixties that were his bread and butter at home. Maybe one day, some brave auteur director would make a four hour long low budget campy horror movie to remedy this divide.

A few minutes later, he heard those footsteps again. Far too heavy to be anyone but Chef, a fact seemingly confirmed when he glanced over his shoulder and saw a big man in a heavy apron. The figure crept up behind him until it was uncomfortably close.

"Mind giving me some personal space eh?"

The figure didn't respond. Just as Ezekiel was fixing to get up and find somewhere more private, the door was suddenly kicked open. There stood Beth, panting and frantic.

"Zeke! Get down!"

He turned just in time to see the blade coming towards his neck. He instinctively ducked, and it took the top half of his toque off as it barely missed. There he was, right there in the lodge. The real psycho killer, not some fraud sent by Chris. But a man who had taken lives, and was here to take more before the night was over. He let out an animalistic snarl as he tried to stab the machete at Zeke, who rolled under the table to get out of the way.

In a fraction of a second Beth charged from the entrance across the lodge floor, crowbar at the ready. He brought up his machete to strike her, but she batted it away and then slammed the steel bar against his skull with lethal intent. There was a loud crack, and the killer staggered back.

He was only out for a second before he came back at her in a rage. She had saved Ezekiel, and in doing so put herself in mortal danger. She brought the crowbar up with both hands, deflecting another strike from his machete as he focused all his murderous intent on her. He grabbed the crowbar and tried to yank it from her hands, and when she wouldn't relinquish the weapon, used it as a handle to pick up and toss her across the lodge.

Beth hit the windowsill with a loud thump, crumpling into a heap on the floor. The killer lunged forth, ready to finish her off.

Then, the cavalry arrived. Chef came running through the door, and tackled the murderer to the ground. He tried to swipe at Chef with his machete, but the battle-hardened soldier was far quicker than the man who had only drawn blood from innocents. He grabbed the killer's hand and wrenched the blade out of it by crushing his fingers until they broke. The killer let out an agonized howl, the weapon clattering to the ground as his arm was forcefully pinned behind his back.

"Find something to tie this guy up." Chef ordered.

"Yes sir!" Courtney ran back to the kitchen, while Chef held the struggling killer to the floor.

The psycho managed to get his other arm free and elbowed Chef in the gut. It loosened his grip just enough for him to worm free, going for Beth with a vengeance. Still recovering from being thrown against the wall, she cried in terror as she saw him coming towards her.

Sudden a large glass cup shattered against the back of his head, and he doubled over in pain. Everyone turned to see where it had come from, and Ezekiel stood there on the table, arm still extended from the throw. Chef took the opportunity to pin him down again, and this time snapped both his arms out of their sockets for good measure. His further cries of pain were met with no sympathy, and Beth silently hoped Chef would break a few more bones for good measure. Bastard.

"Shoulda stayed still." Chef grumbled.

Courtney returned from the kitchen with some duct tape, and with it they were finally able to get the killer securely bound from head to toe. Only then could there be a sense of relief. A pair of interns arrived to help Chef haul him out of the mess hall to a more secure lockup. Later a police helicopter would be dispatched to come pick him up.

"Well, didn't see that one coming." Chris said, clearing his throat as he tried to resume a sense of control over his show. "But now that we're all safe and alive we can get back to tonight's challenge."

The idea of getting back to their game show seemed incredulous. After a shocking life or death encounter, the host expected them to just go back to the charade of reality television like it wasn't farcical and petty, compared to what they just witness?

Yet most did find it agreeable. They nodded affirmatively to the hosts directives, wanting nothing more than the return of normal. To escape the terror they had been subject to and crawl back into the comfort of their roles as participants in this elaborate game they played.

"Tonight, I think the winner is pretty obvious." Chris said. "Beth, you faced down a real psycho killer, and showed us all that size doesn't always matter."

The applause this time was much more subdued. Most of the campers couldn't even believe what they'd seen with their own eyes. Their stunned silence was mute testimony to the feats they had witnessed that night.

"That was so brave!" Lindsay clapped.

"Just when I thought you couldn't get more awesome." Gwen said.

"Heh. Yeah." Beth said. "I was pretty great, huh?"

"Indeed you were." Chris agreed. "Which means it's up to you to decide who was the least awesome. In your opinion, who failed hardest at surviving this real life scary movie."

Beth glanced back at Heather, skulking at the back of the crowd. Tempting as it was to pick her, she'd already put her in her place tonight. She would be the bigger girl, and not start up the fight again. She was better than that. She wasn't like Heather anymore.

"Gosh, I really don't know." She shrugged, glancing at her best friend fondly. "Maybe it's Lindsay. She was the first one the killer got, right? That is pretty lame."

"Haha it was so lame." Lindsay agreed. "Like, if Chef the fake psycho was that real psycho you just fought, I'd be like, dead. Isn't that crazy?"

"Totally." Beth agreed.

"Interesting that you think so." Chris's expression was suddenly colored with hostly malice. "Lindsay. Pack your bags."

Their smiles were ripped from their faces, replaced with confusion and dismay. "Wait, what?" Beth said. "Why? What's going on?"

"Yeah, this isn't funny Chip." Lindsay crossed her arms.

"No, it's not funny. It's your elimination." Chris said. "Beth was the winner of the challenge, which means she decides who goes home tonight. Bet you didn't see that one coming, right?"

A powerful anger gripped her, and her face turned red as tears welled up in her eyes. "You can't eliminate Lindsay! I didn't want her to go! Send Heather! I pick Heather!"

"No take backs." Chris waggled his finger. "It's more fun for me that way."

Her knuckles turned white around her crowbar, she wished so badly that Chris was a problem she could just fight. But she was no fool, and resigned herself to her fate lest she act out in some way she might regret. She turned back to Lindsay, her anger melting into an apologetic frown.

"I'm sorry." She sniffled.

"Don't be sad Beth." Lindsay consoled her, pulling her into a hug again. "You're really ugly when you cry and like, I want you to be pretty. You totally deserve it." Her compliments always were strange things.

They spent the rest of the night, and into the wee morning hours helping the interns pack Lindsay's vast amounts of luggage. Trying to pack it all up in the time available was an exercise in futility. Instead Lindsay simply passed anything she didn't feel like taking with her on to Beth, and by the time her bags were ready to go out the door she'd amassed a small fortune in cosmetics, accessories and celebrity gossip magazines.

While they worked the two kept the atmosphere light with conversation. Beth was too tired to cry anymore, so she mostly recalled fond memories of their time at camp. She remembered the baby beavers and how it was so sad they couldn't take them home. Lindsay fondly recalled building her bike last challenge, and Beth thanked her profusely for having created the ride that saw her safely across the finish line so that she could be here tonight.

By the time she was ready to leave, predawn light illuminated the campgrounds. They had left that inky black pit of hell, and the promise of a new day awaited them as they stepped outside. Everyone had lined up on the dock to see Lindsay go. Most of them came voluntarily, but Chris was pretty convinced that she would be a major hit character and had all the cast show up for her elimination. He wanted her to look as loved by the other campers as she would be by the audience.

"Bye Carol, goodbye Jeff." Lindsay waved to them as she walked down the dock.

Courtney had no strong feelings about it one way or the other, but smiled and waved out of decorum. "We'll miss you," She lied. "Have a safe trip."

"You were pretty cool. Kinda a bummer we didn't hang more" Geoff offered her a fistbump as she walked by. She gladly returned it.

While Courtney and Geoff had a long running but distant relationship to Lindsay, Ezekiel found himself in the opposite boat. What he lacked in time spent he made up for in proximity, as his friendship with Beth had taught him a lot about Lindsay.

"Uh, thanks for giving me a chance." He said. "It was pretty cool that you let me hang out with you guys."

"Awww, thanks homeless guy." Lindsay said, reaching into her pocket and fishing out a ten dollar bill. She placed it into his hand, offering him a warm and maternal smile. "Here, now you can buy a sandwich."

Ezekiel looked up at her, confused. Was this a joke? She was winking at him playfully like it was, but he couldn't tell how it was supposed to be funny. Well at least she was trying to let him in on the joke instead of making him the butt of it. He could live with that.

"It's so sad you're leaving. I wonder what part of you everyone will miss most." Noah said, staring at her chest scrutinizingly. Not his fare, a lot larger than his recently acquired preferences, but a definite crowd pleaser for the tasteless masses. That was nothing however, compared to the really impressive, large, round thing that people would be sad to see go.

"It is definitely your brain." He said.

"Thanks uh…" Lindsay scratched her head for a minute trying to remember the name of the funny guy Katie was dating. "Noah!"

"That's me." He nodded. "Seeya around blondie."

Finally, at the end of the line was Heather. Though Lindsay's departure had spared her elimination, it was still a humiliating, disastrous night for her. She was not happy, no matter how hard she tried to hammer a smile into her expression to save face.

"Goodbye, or whatever." She said. "Sorry for pushing you."

"Oh Heather, don't be." Lindsay said. "It was so my fault, for believing any of your bullshit."

That completely swiped any retort off Heather's lips. She opened them to say something, then realized that she could only dig her own grave deeper here.

"Beth was right. You're a…" She thought about repeating the rant verbatim. But that was Beth's triumph, not hers. "You really are all that, Heather."

She left it at that, and went to the end of the dock to get on the boat. Lindsay shared one last silent embrace with Beth before going. They didn't need to say anything, they'd had plenty of time get it all off their chests.

The boat pulled away from the dock just as the first rays of sunrise lit the lake surface. They smiled upon Lindsay, warming the backs of those that watched her go.

Some didn't even wait for the boat to disappear before hurrying back to their beds, desperate for some shut-eye after the long and difficult night. Those of a particularly sentimental disposition like Geoff stayed, as did Courtney in the hopes of looking more sympathetic by association. They too retired to their quarters once the boat was no more, even the camera crews clocked out.

At the end of it, only Gwen and Beth remained on the dock. Beth should have been passed out by now, but her body hadn't quite switched off survival mode. She didn't feel tired in a sleepy way, she felt drained, exhausted, and yet still alert, attentive and energized. It was strange.

"You know, it's not your fault." Gwen broke the silence.

"What isn't?" Beth asked.

"This whole…thing. Lindsay getting killed." She said with air quotes, "Then eliminated. All the stuff before that. Trust me, I know guilt when I see it and you have it written all over."

"But I spent so much time helping Heather do those awful things." Beth sighed. "I helped her vote off Trent the first time, then there was the thing with Cody and….oh god, I didn't tell you about Sadie did I?"

Gwen raised a brow, struggling to remember what Beth was talking about. She'd never really been close to either of the BFFFLs and barely remembered how Sadie had gone home.

"You'll have to fill me in." She said.

"Later." Beth shook her head. "Listen, you may have done some bad stuff before but, you can put that behind you now. You're no longer just Heather's slave. Don't go back to her."

"I won't." Beth said, glancing at Gwen. "So like, are we gonna be a new alliance now?"

"No more alliances." Gwen shook her head. "Let's just be friends. We'll help each other out, watch each other's back. I could…really use a friend right now."

Beth smiled wearily and leaned over, pulling Gwen into a gentle hug. The usually prickly goth tensed up at first, but relaxed and let it happen.

"Me too." Beth muttered.

The sunrise was now in full bloom behind them, dispelling the last remnants of that dark interval and casting forth with it the hope of a new day. They couldn't know what challenges still lay ahead. What Beth and Gwen now knew, was that they wouldn't be facing them alone.