A/N: Thank you, thank you for the faves, follows and feedback! That is such an uplifting response to my updates and continued motivation for me to keep writing diligently! This chapter is a long one, but is also the first part of the end of this story! Hope you enjoy it!
The End Part 1
Nancy
Two more gunshots. A few minutes of screams. The squeal of tires and blaring horns. Then silence. Nothing but silence. Even the crickets had stopped humming and toads had stopped chirping. The only sound was the impact of Nancy's shoes striking the ground as she ran.
She followed the ravine, hugging the cliff as she hurried along, thankful for the wedge of moonlight that cast its cool glow across the forest. She kept her eyes trained ahead, watching for any movement, any indication she'd caught up with Jonathan. But the forest was as motionless as it was silent. The minutes ticked away until Nancy finally noticed the subtle shift of the moon. The ravine had changed direction. She stopped and looked around before cursing angrily. It had curved north. She was running in the wrong direction.
Turning, Nancy sprang forward, never tired, despite her nonstop sprint. But she felt chills in the disorienting quiet. As gruesome as it seemed, she preferred the screams. At least they were a beacon for her to follow. At least they were a sign of life.
From deep in her core, she felt the beginnings of a nimble static flow gliding the length of her scar. She suppressed the sensation, hoping subconsciously that it only meant she was closing in on Jonathan, but knowing the truth. Something was waiting for her at the campsite. And it wasn't Jonathan.
She passed the spot where she'd climbed down the ravine. Still she watched for Jonathan, running ahead. She watched for footprints and broken branches. She watched the ground for a body. Her vision tunneled with pooling tears and then cleared as they ran down her cheeks. But she uttered no sound. She just kept running ahead—running through unbroken branches and untouched earth. Running without sign of Jonathan or his attacker.
Because they're gone, a voice whispered inside her head. And you can never run fast enough to change that.
She picked up momentum, driven mad by the silence outside and the mocking inside. And when her path took her too far east, Nancy faced the cliff again and scaled it. She poured her frustration and anguish into her movement, digging her feet into the hard earth and launching herself up to grab roots with the tips of her fingers, then dragging herself up. Sweat built at the base of her neck, running rivulets down her spine and streamed from her temples to form little puddles in the cavities of her collarbone. It took over a half hour for her to reach the top and when she flung herself over the lip, exhaustion finally set in.
On her hands and knees, Nancy gave herself as much time to catch her breath as she dared. Her elbows shook uncontrollably and sweat dripped steadily from the tip of her nose as Nancy stared at the ground and worked to even her breathing.
When she stopped gasping, it was time to move again. She pointed herself south and started off at a sprint, thankful that she was heading downhill. Her gate was loping—long strides taking advantage of the sloping terrain. She gained momentum again, traveling forward heavily, ears still pricked for the hint of a sound. But the forest maintained its resolute silence and the subtle static in her scar had begun to tingle more aggressively, rippling up and down as she closed the distance between her and the camp.
The weeping willow passed in a blur to her right. Then back into the woods she ran. Miles passed and time passed and the moon shifted ever slowly across the sky. Had midnight come yet? How soon was sunrise? She looked east for the hint of light, but found none. The river's shore passed on her right and she veered left, angling herself toward Jonathan's dad's old cabin.
Using her forearms as a shield, she broke through thickets of thorns and woven pine branches. She leapt over fallen trees and veered around the stumps. Her breath came easy and her feet were swift and weightless. But the electricity that flowed in her scar intensified with every step.
The cabin loomed suddenly out of the darkness—a blacker shadow amongst shadows—and she knew she was only a few miles away. She swept easily past the front door, only barely registering that it was still ajar from their hasty escape earlier. The ferns that clustered around the cabin brushed moistly and gently against her shins before bouncing back with a rustling shudder.
The dirt walkway met her feet suddenly with a solid beat. There were fewer leaves to soften her tread, replaced with a spray of uniform gravel that had once been distributed when the path was used more often. Nancy suspected it had been forgotten years ago and only the occasional traveler's footsteps served to wear it down any more. But after hours zigzagging through unmarked terrain, the path was a perfect guide to Nancy's destination.
With miles to go, she focused again, concentrating on the same sensation she'd felt earlier. She willed herself to locate the presence of another Demogorgon. But she came up empty. There was no presence nearby. Yet the tingling in her scar persisted. She knew there was a connection. She'd realized it hours before, outside of the old cabin with Jonathan, when the Demogorgon's presence had drawn her like a magnet. She'd known when Jonathan was gasping for air and crippled with fatigue after racing through the woods and she stood by, unaffected. She knew by the whisper in her scar—the tingling trace of the Demogorgon's touch that alerted her to their movement, their presence and their excitement. She knew it now, as she ran for perhaps the third hour unending, still breathing steadily through her nose and breaking every record she'd ever set in her P.E. class. There was something more in that scratch than a simple cut. Something she inherited and something she was never meant to survive. But Jonathan had interfered. And she'd lived.
The path curved quickly and Nancy passed the water station. She was nearing the dirt road that connected to the campsite. She scrunched her brow trying to think of Will. Why had she not paid more attention to her brother's friends? She rolled her eyes. Stupid question.
Still, had Will been affected the same as her? He was never supposed to survive either. He'd been stolen from the Demogorgon's lair. What prescient abilities had he inherited? Had he been scratched too? Did he have tingling scars? Nancy clenched her jaws, vowing to sit Jonathan's brother down and talk to him—survivor to survivor. Her eyes darted up the path to the very end where she could just make out the main dirt road. If Will was still a survivor.
The cars were gone. It was the first thing she noticed. Then the tracks in the dirt—ruts and tears where tires ripped through the earth. They'd left. They'd escaped. Nancy looked up and down the road. No, that wasn't entirely true; they weren't all gone. Some cars were still parked along the edge of the road. She counted them as she walked, hesitantly, toward the campsite. There was this green Volkswagen and a beige Volvo. She was close to the entrance when she spotted Jonathan's car. The Ford sat in the same place Steve had parked it, but the cars on either end had vanished.
Her steps slowed as she approached the opening of the road. The entryway was rutted and torn apart by tires ripping through the turf. Beyond, the grass was a heavy green as the first subtle light of sunrise caught the dewy blades in its light. Nancy walked through the wooded archway into the disturbingly empty circle of cabins. In the center, the pond threw off a heavy wave of mist, cloaking the valley in a foggy silence.
Nancy continued forward, slowly. Her scar burned, but she could pinpoint no immediate threat. Her foot crunched down on a half globe of glass. She pulled her sneaker back, looking curiously at the oil lamp she'd crushed. Around the glass, the lawn was burnt black as if the lamp had been shattered here hours before.
She took another step forward before the nauseating odor of blood staggered her. It filled her and blinded her, coppery and salty. Bile roiled in the back of her throat. Then she saw the surface of the pond—a momentary glimpse between the shifting mist. She saw fabric, wet and mixed with the green algae and, beneath, the form of a body floating. Gagging, Nancy fell to her knees. She covered her mouth with one hand and swallowed heavily, trying to block out the scent.
"Hello?" she cried out, her voice strangled and scratchy.
There was no sound.
Then, the unmistakable mechanical cocking of a gun.
Nancy's heart skipped a beat. "Who's alive?" she cried. She meant to ask "Who's there," but the words left her mouth jumbled.
For another minute there was no sound. Nancy searched the ground frantically. The cabins were all ghostly in the pale mist and there was no movement but the subtle bob of the forms in the pond. Finally, a familiar voice, tired and alone asked, "Nancy? Is that you?"
Nancy brushed away the nausea and the bobbing bodies and the missing cars. She stood up and started toward the cabin where Steve's voice had emanated. "Steve?" she asked the swirling fog. Her feet moved faster and faster until she broke into a run and threw open the door of the cabin, sobbing.
She was on her knees, the door having fallen open easier than she'd expected, and looked up to find Steve draped over the open window, holding a handgun. They stared at each other in complete shock and silence for almost a minute.
Then they both broke the silence simultaneously.
"What happened?" Nancy asked as Steve said, "Where were you?"
Nancy's mouth hung open, but she didn't respond. So Steve finally said, "We were attacked."
Breath coming in shallow, quiet gasps, Nancy replied, "Us too." She swallowed heavily. "I tried so hard…"
Steve rested the gun in his lap and bowed his head. "Where's Jonathan?" he asked.
Nancy felt a twinge of guilt and pain. She pinched her lips together and looked to the side as a few tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him that Jonathan was lost, probably on his way here. Then she turned to look at Steve. Their eyes met and she closed her mouth again and shook her head.
Steve swallowed heavily and nodded. His pupils were wide and his face was flushed.
Nancy asked cautiously, "Where is everyone?" She was still on her knees, unable to stand and face the truth.
Steve licked his lips. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Some got away. Some…" He looked up at Nancy. "There were at least fifteen of those monsters. They were all over. They showed up at once, like it was planned. Like an ambush." He met her eyes again and leaned forward. "They were organized, Nancy."
"Where's my mom?" Nancy asked, suddenly suspicious that Steve was hiding something from her.
He bit down immediately, swallowing again with difficulty.
"Steve?" she asked. She got to her feet and realized then that he was sitting in a wooden chair. She looked down at him. "Where is she?"
He looked out at the pond, where death floated in its surface. A tear trickled down his cheek, but he didn't blink and didn't bother to wipe it away. "I tried to help," he said. "She was protecting Holly and Mike, but then Mike was…" his voice caught and he continued to stare wordlessly at the pond.
"Mike was what, Steve?" she rushed over to him and grabbed his shoulders. "Mike was what?"
Steve turned away from the pond. "They took Mike," he admitted. "They took Mike and your mom tried to stop them. So now she's…" he motioned vaguely to the pond.
Nancy let go of his shoulders. His skin felt hot and clammy beneath her touch. She wondered what he'd done to stay alive. "Where's Mike?" she demanded.
"I don't know, Nancy," he whispered. "They disappeared the same way they came. Just, poof!" He held up his empty hands to the cool light of pre-dawn. "They took a lot of people."
"Who else?" Nancy mumbled. Her words were muffled, spoken behind her hands that she'd cupped to her mouth. They trembled softly and the bile in the back of her throat began to rise again.
Steve looked at her desperately, reliving the night. "I don't know," he cried. "The chief got away with a family—Mike's friend, I think. Jonathan's mom left with his brother and some other woman. I don't know." He dropped his head in his hands and shook with sobs. "I don't know," he cried.
Nancy turned her head reluctantly and gazed out the open window to the pond. The fog was clearing as the sun came close to breaking the horizon and in the early morning glow, she saw the ghostly apparition of a hand, floating near the surface. Nancy flew out the door and grasped the corner of the cabin as she heaved into the dewy grass.
Her heart hammered. The acidic smell of her own sickness made her stomach churn. She stumbled back inside, gasping. The air in the cabin had a thick, sweet odor. It was somehow both familiar and unpleasant. She licked her lips and asked shakily, "Is anyone else still alive here?"
Steve stared at her and his expression finally softened. He glanced briefly over his shoulder and, behind him, a slight shadow moved in the corner. Nancy stepped forward, squinting disbelievingly. Her mouth hung open in shock. Falling back to her knees, Nancy held out her arms. "Holly?" she asked.
With skewed blonde pigtails and a dirty pink t-shirt, Holly hesitantly walked forward, scuffing her feet on the floorboards. She was holding a Barbie doll with both hands, but as she got closer, Nancy saw that one of the doll's arms was missing. Holly took the last few feet at a skip, dropped her doll on the floor and hugged Nancy. She squeezed and dug her fingers into Nancy's ribs and buried her face in Nancy's neck. In turn, Nancy held her sister close, wrapping her arms firmly around her tiny frame.
Beside them, Steve was looking at the gun in his lap. "She's all I could save," he agonized.
Nancy broke away from Holly and gave her sister a reassuring smile before turning and throwing her arms around Steve. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. Again she registered how hot he felt and pulled away immediately. She stood up and straightened her shirt, brushing down the front, trying to organize her thoughts and reach a rational plane of thought. "We have to get out of here," she stated.
"I don't know if there are any cars left," Steve said, leaning out the window again. His face was still flushed and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
Nancy nodded. "Jonathan's car is here. We'll take it," she replied. "We just need to get out of here now. Before they come back."
Holly looked nervously at Nancy. The doll was back in her hands and her little fingers were tugging at Barbie's hair.
Steve swallowed with difficulty. "Go," he agreed. He held up the gun. "I'm staying here, in case they show up again." His breathing was coming in quick puffs.
"Don't be ridiculous," Nancy retorted. "Get up. We're leaving." She turned toward the door, but stopped when Steve didn't follow.
He gave her a wan smile and looked at his legs. She followed his gaze to the shadows beneath his chair where his left pant leg had been torn away and the dark streaks beneath led to a bloody stain on the wood floor below. Nancy's heart stopped. She finally placed the sweet smell in the air, the familiar sticky scent of infection. Her lip trembled as she tried to find something to say.
Steve wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I told you I tried to help, but," he turned his head thoughtfully, "they're fast." He touched the skin above the wound and winced. "Funny thing is," he continued, "after that thing slashed me like this, it just walked away." He looked at Nancy, shaking his head confusedly. "Like it was just leaving me for later. Like I was just going to sit there and wait for it to come back."
Nancy felt another tremor up her scar and was reminded of the wildlife books she'd used to figure out the Demogorgon's hunting pattern. She thought back to the spread describing the Komodo dragon. Its bites left victims with bacteria infested wounds, so the Komodo dragons didn't have to chase their prey; they just followed the trail until they found their victims, succumbed to sepsis.
"You are just sitting here," Nancy said darkly.
Steve gave her a searching look.
"They're coming back," she announced. Holly let out a tiny gasp and clasped her doll tightly. "We're leaving." Nancy looked pointedly at Steve. "And you're coming with us."
