Beginning of the End

Nancy

She had scrapes on her forearms and shins from dragging herself over the slippery rocks of the shallows. Narrow paths of pilling skin rolled away as she brushed the tender spots. Her knees were sunk in a mix of fine gravel and mud on the bank of the river as she coughed wetly into the crook of her elbow and scanned the shore. How far had she traveled downriver? She'd misjudged the strength and speed of the water—that much was clear. It had swept her away in an instant and by the time she'd balanced fighting the current and catching her breath, the sheer ledge to her left had been replaced with the same flat bank as the other side of the river.

At least that meant she was on the same side as Jonathan.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, she screamed out, "Jonathan!"

The cry agitated the moisture in her lungs and she doubled over, coughing violently. Her breath came in raspy wheezes, but she dragged her feet from the foamy edge of the river and pointed herself back upstream. "Jonathan!" she cried again.

The tops of the trees glowed warmly in the setting sun and the sky, still smoky with rainclouds, began shifting to richer, evening colors. The ground—loose gravel held in place with ragged weeds and tufts of field grass—sloped upward. Nancy marched forward, determined to find Jonathan, but certain she'd collapse before nightfall. The gravel, loose from the day's rain, slipped beneath her feet, but she moved steadily, her pace solid and stable. Gradually, as the river's bank eased away, the gravel changed to hard packed mud and ragweed. The bank gave way to a short ledge as the earth raised above the river's water. Trees mixed in with the field grass and leaves carpeted the ground. Nancy's strength built with each step, the moisture wicking from her body and clearing from her even breath. She felt rejuvenated through the movement and her pace quickened.

"Jonathan!" she cried out again.

She battled fear and fury as she ran the scenario over in her mind again and again.

I'll find you. Those were his last words. She wanted to believe it. That he was out there, looking for her, calling out her name the way she'd been crying out for him. But in the back of her mind was the memory of his ragged breathing as he stumbled while they ran, unable to keep up with her. He was slow, tired and alone. Behind the fear and fury, she felt keenly the agony of his loss.

"Jonathan!" she screamed.

Her feet were moving faster, running through the woods as the light faded. She held her hands ahead, swiping at branches and tangles of choke weed as she cut through the forest, panic building. Unconsciously, she probed her surroundings, searching for the presence. She concentrated on her scar like a divining rod, willing it to locate the Demogorgon and, in doing so, reveal Jonathan's location. But the ephemeral sensation had passed. Her scar barely registered the brush of cotton as her blouse twisted with her movement. She tried to reach out mentally and touch the existence of the creature, but her mind found static. There was nothing.

"Jonathan!" she cried. Her toes dug into the earth, pushing her forward in swift lunges as her run turned into a sprint. Tears cut across her cheek, whipped into her hair by the wind as she tore ahead. All exhaustion had fled. Her pain was gone. She burst from the tree line to the very same weeping willow she'd admired an hour before. There was the ledge, the river and the last place she'd seen Jonathan. Her sneakers, still wet, stood in the very spot he'd been when he pushed her.

I'll find you.

"Jonathan!" Her voice broke pitifully and the echo of her cry was painfully hollow in the vast forest beyond.

Following his path was simple, but troubling, as each imprint his sneakers had left in the rain-softened earth was muddled by a deep impression of the Demogorgon's clawed print. Nancy felt a wave of rage at the thought of the creature tracking Jonathan and she bristled aggressively, redoubling her efforts as she scaled a rocky incline and crested the hill to find herself in an oddly secluded field.

"Jonathan!" Her voice echoed in the valley's natural amphitheater.

Halfway across the field, a sodden strip of gauze was trampled into the mud beneath her feet. She pulled it up, plucking at the beige square of medical tape on one end. A few feet ahead, beneath the vivid red berries of a staghorn sumac, rested another wad of gauze, still wound in a bunched loop as it had been on Jonathan's palm. Nancy picked it up and, in the fading plum light of the dusky sky, she saw the brown stains of dried blood.

So that had been his plan. She should have known; it had worked before. She closed her eyes and thought back to that night in his home. It was both terrifying and thrilling. The determination—they were willing to risk everything! Had they been naïve or brave? Maybe both. The corners of her lips curled up and another tear squeezed out as she thought of them cutting their hands and taking turns bandaging each other. Whatever Jonathan had been to her before that moment, their relationship had changed that evening. They'd forged a bond and that link had only grown stronger.

"Jonathan!" she yelled, her eyes snapping open again. She wasn't about to let that link break now.

The path led her right. She cut through the field and back into the forest. Jonathan's footprints slowly became closer together until they almost dragged. He'd walked. He'd stopped. And then he'd started again—faster. Nancy ran, keeping the trail to her left, watching his prints and the Demogorgon's. They veered north, further away from the campsite. Jonathan's prints were clumsy and branches were broken, whether from Jonathan's exhaustion or the monster's fury, Nancy didn't know, but she picked up speed.

When she reached the last climb—one more rocky uphill—she heard a sound behind her. Voices, a whole collection, yelling. It reminded her of the roaring cheers of the crowd at her school's football games. She took a couple steps up the hill, trying to place the sound. Tossed to the side of the path was a cotton t-shirt, balled up into a crumpled heap. Nancy drew it instinctively to her face and inhaled deeply. She shook it out and held it in front of her. Spots of blood stained the fabric and there were a few holes along the bottom.

Behind her the voices rose again. Then it dawned on her: the camp. That was the only explanation. The camp was to the south, where the voices were coming from. But were they having a party? No, that didn't make sense. Nancy had taken a few more steps before she realized what she was hearing. She looked at the sky. Twilight had fallen and between the few remaining stubborn storm clouds, stars were twinkling to life. The voices she heard were coming from a search party. They were looking for Nancy and Jonathan.

Adding her voice to the echoing beyond, she cried, "Jonathan!" and pulled herself over the top of the hill. There was the end of the chase. A rocky ledge and the plummeting ravine. She walked heavily to the edge with her hand to her mouth, taking deep, steadying breaths. The footprints ended—both sets. There were a few deep striations in the earth, mud furrowed up around the gouges and, on the flat, dull plane of a large rock, set solidly in the ground, a splash of black liquid. Mud, Nancy told herself. But her nostrils flared at the unmistakable scent of blood, nauseatingly sweet and rusty.

Nancy rubbed her fist aggressively into her forehead, shaking off the idea that she could somehow smell blood three feet away. She closed her eyes and bit back the panic and excruciating agony that was building inside of her. Crouching down, she pressed her head into her hands. "Okay, okay, okay…" she told herself, breathing slowly and rhythmically. She took a small lap around the site and couldn't find any more footprints. In the distance, the voices still called out.

She stopped at the brink of the precipice, her toes over the edge. The drop wasn't sheer. It was an incredibly steep descent, but, given the right motivation, anyone could make the climb and survive. There were bushes and scraggly trees clinging to the side of the cliff. Jonathan could have climbed down. A moment later, Nancy was convinced that he'd done exactly that and was already lowering herself to the first shoddy foothold.

Twice her handholds dislodged and she slid to the next rooted rock or stalwart tree willing to hold her weight. Stubborn knots of brown grass and ancient roots from far off trees stuck out from the earth, offering her handles and steps as she lowered down the hundred-foot drop. A little more than halfway, darkness had truly fallen. Crickets sang sleepily in the night and the wall of dirt Nancy faced faded to a colorless mass like the rest of the world.

As she neared the bottom, the voices amplified. She could almost distinguish her name in the echoing rabble. Her feet touched solid ground when the screams started—piercing the night and chilling her to the bone. She froze in the din of a distant terror. They climbed and fell, shrieking so far away. Then more joined, and more, until the entire camp rang with horror and Nancy stood helplessly in the tunneling black of night, miles away.

Her heart raced. What should she do? She was so close to finding Jonathan and he needed her. He couldn't fight the monster alone and he couldn't run anymore. But what about her mom? Holly and Mike? And Steve?

She gasped audibly, suddenly out of breath as the screams continued, frantic and frightened. She clamped her jaw and turned. She'd come this far. She had to get Jonathan; then they'd go back to the camp together. Spinning on her heels, she scanned the ground, looking for his shoeprints, trying to pick up the trail again.

"Jonathan!" she screamed. Her eyes darted left and right frantically. The sky was a discord of agonized wails and the death screams of her friends and family. Her nerve endings tingled and her limbs trembled with anxiety. "Jonathan!" she screamed again. There were no prints. No sneaker prints, no clawed prints. No broken branches or shifted rocks. Her entire body shook and her vision blurred behind a veil of tears. The screams became the night. They enveloped her and pierced her core, turning her cold and frigid, like the dead. Like the screams that stopped. Gone, gone, gone.

A gunshot cut through the woods and Nancy turned south.

Of course. Jonathan must have heard the screams. He'd begun heading back to the campsite already. She'd catch up. She'd meet him there.

I'll find you.