Page 144 of One Killer Night

“What are we supposed to do?” Chase breathes out too quickly.

I’m trying to think, but we’re in the middle of the woods with a guy hell-bent on killing us.

Goldie touches my shoulder. “Everyone here has their phones, so I’m positive the police have been called. We just need to hide long enough for them to get here.”

Chase turns in his seat. “You guys have been here for days—what are some places he wouldn’t find us?”

“He knows this camp like the back of his hand,” I level, feeling the stinging in my arm again.

Evie’s mumbling to herself, rocking in her seat, fear taking over. “We’re gonna die. Golds, we’re gonna die.”

Goldie’s looking down as she thinks before her face snaps up. “There’s a boathouse. I know he knows it ... But I heard the setup crew talking about wanting to take the boat out. They just couldn’t find the keys.”

“We’re gonna die,” Evie continues to mumble, crying a little more.

“Hey,” Chase barks as he looks in the rearview mirror. “You’re not fucking dying tonight, you hear me? Stop crying and get mean because the only thing that’s gonna fucking kill you is my charm.”

She swallows and nods, then wipes her tears as they hold eyes for another long second.

I let out a breath. “Well, if that’s gonna be true, then we need to get the fuck out of here because we’re sitting ducks. Anyone know how to hot-wire a boat? Let’s make the motherfucker have to swim to us if he wants us dead.”

Chase chuckles, raising his hand. “It’s literally in the rich kid handbook: ‘How to steal your dad’s boat to get girls.’”

Goldie grabs Evie’s hand before I open my door quietly and look around. I go to the side of the van and open it for the girls, who pile out quickly. I take Goldie’s hand, and Chase grabs Evie’s.

I motion my head toward the camp, where the main path forks—one leads to the boathouse, and the other leads to the entrance. We run quietly, not trying to make any noise as we stick to all the shadows.

The grounds that were filled with people a half hour earlier are now desolate. Every light is off in every cabin. People are hiding. I press my back to one of the cabins, and everyone else does the same before I hesitantly poke my head out to the open area and peer up and down.

“It’s clear,” I whisper.

But I can hear whoever’s inside the cabin crying, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if they would let us in. Maybe we should just hide.

Except I know better. They won’t, because I wouldn’t either.

Our steps start off slow as we stay in single file, until we’re too exposed out in the middle, so I pick up the pace to run past a large tree stump and lead us to the boathouse, but Goldie screams.

We all skid to a stop at the edge of the forked paths. In the distance, about thirty yards away, blocking our salvation, is Billy.

He’s standing and waiting, this time wearing a fucking hockey mask. The glint of the knife by his side gives it away.

“Go ...” I say over stuttered breaths as I guide Goldie sideways. “Go to the cabin.”

My head’s the last to turn, but as it does, I see Goldie’s hands shoot over her mouth, capturing her gasp. “He’s there too.”

Billy’s standing by the girls’ cabin. Same fucking mask, same knife.

“Oh my god. Someone’s working with him,” Goldie rushes out.

“Or he’s a fucking gremlin, and someone threw water on him,” Chase throws out. He turns around and adds, “What about the offi—”

But he doesn’t finish what he’s saying because he lifts a hand, pointing in the direction he’s looking, as his chest rises and falls too quickly.

Our collective heads whip right and ...Billy.

Panic is taking over. We’re all shifting around between the three paths, fear compounding because we’re surrounded. He’s everywhere.

“Noah . . . how . . .” Goldie whispers.