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SARA: There was something—there was a hand, and I thought it was Anthony’s, but it wasn’t. It tried to lead me off the road. But I got away. I got back to Anthony. We both made it through.

Nick and Vanessa step out of the darkness. Nick lets out a groan of relief.

SARA: There you are. Everyone made it, then. We’re all fine.

JEREMY: Hold on. We need to talk about this. You two let go. The rules said not to do that.

SARA: Maybe—maybe something was going to happen, but it didn’t because I got away.

JEREMY: Or we’re all going to get hook-massacredbecause you couldn’t follow a simple rule.

ANTHONY: Lay off. We’re safe. That’s what matters.

The camera has been focused tightly on the three of them. Now it swings around to capture the rest of the group. Mel has gotten to her feet, though she still looks queasy. Miranda has moved farther out ahead of the group, looking down the dark road ahead. Nick and Vanessa stand with their heads together, hands linked. Vanessa is whispering something, and Nick nods.

KYLE: You guys okay?

Nick takes a breath, looking indecisive.

VANESSA: Hm? Yeah. We’re fine. That was terrifying, though. I tripped and almost let go. And I lost my stupid glasses.

She squeezes Nick’s hand, smiles at him. He gives her a shallow nod.

TRINA: Are you going to be all right without them?

VANESSA: I’m not totally blind without them. I can tell where everything is, it’s just super blurry. I mean, don’t ask me to read anything, but I’m not going to walk into a tree.

KYLE: Oh, shit. Look.

The camera focuses on the landscape behind Nick and Vanessa. The phone’s flashlight barely pierces the darkness, but beyond it they can see the formless black is gone, and the teens stand just on the other side of the iron gate, at a distance of perhaps a dozen steps. No more.

Trina laughs, a high, nervous sound.

TRINA: Are we sure it’s too late to go back?

Behind them, farther down the road, someone screams.

8

THE SCREAM COMESagain. We bunch up. I look for Mel first, instinctively checking that she’s okay, and catch her eye for an instant before I notice the others’ reactions—who stands in front of whom, who hangs back, who lurches forward to investigate or help or stand guard. Jeremy out front, stepping twice toward the sound before halting. Vanessa fading back. Anthony moving in front of the others like a shield. Trina putting herself in front of Kyle, Mel a few feet apart, the most alone of any of us except for Miranda—Miranda, who stands farther out than even Jeremy, but makes no move toward the sound or away from it, listening, her hands lax at her sides.

“What do we do?” Trina asks.

“It sounds like a girl,” Anthony says.

“Is she saying something?” Jeremy asks. His hearing isn’t good at a distance.

“I don’t think so,” Anthony says.

“We can’t just stand here,” I say. “If someone’s in danger, we have to help.”

“It isn’t Becca,” Anthony says.

“I know.” I know her voice. It wasn’t her. “We still have to help.”

“I’ll go,” Jeremy says immediately.

“We all go,” I say, firm. “We’re not splitting up.”