Loser II || WlW

Thirty-Five

     "You shouldn't fight this."

Roger's still shouting but he hasn't gotten much closer to the cabin so I use the time to think of a plan. I haven't taken Boss' course on defending myself from someone with a firearm yet. That's supposed to happen when I get back from vacation. If I get back from vacation.

Despite wanting nothing more than to curl in a ball and hope Roger loses interest in me, I force a glance out the window. Chills run up my neck as he pivots toward me. He's facing the cabin, the rifle held loosely in one hand as he blocks the only exit.

"You know," he calls out. "I've never been given the opportunity to hunt a human before." He chuckles. "It's one of those unique things that Zach has given me. Along with insight into life that I never had before." He pauses, clears his throat. "He's different from most people, you know."

I crawl toward the nightstand, grab the lamp and rip the cord from the wall, letting him rant for as long as possible. If he's going to storm in, I want to have at least some kind of weapon even if it's a flower-patterned lamp.

"Alright, Jordan," he shouts. "Come on out. Let's do this the easy way."

I press myself against the wall closest to the door and grip the lamp against my chest.

"I don't want to hurt you," he continues.

I adjust my grip a million times, wipe the sweat from my palms, reposition the lamp again before Roger's boots start crunching across the snow toward the cabin.

I check one last time for another way out, but there's only one door and he's closing in on it.

"Hey, Jordan," Roger calls. "What's the difference between hunting rabbits and hunting you?"

I want to respond, snap back. Is this supposed to be a joke? But that's what he wants. He's trying to get a reaction out of me. If I say anything, he'll know my location so I stay silent and wait for the door to creak open.

The muzzle of his weapon pokes into the room first and I wait until I can see Roger's elbow to slam the door closed but I've underestimated the width of his body and instead of closing the door behind him, it slams into his shoulder and gives him just enough leverage to throw the door back in my face.

I hit the ground hard, the spot on my cheek where the door made contact burns.

He stands over me, points the gun in my face. No time to think, I throw my shin into his groin as hard as I can and reach for the lamp that flew from my hands when I fell but as soon as my hands are around the clay base, Roger's pulling me to my feet by my hair.

"Stop fighting it, kid!"

I struggle against him, feel the fire burn through my scalp as he pulls hard on my hair but it's obvious he's never had any formal self-defense training. I throw my elbow into his ribs and he stumbles back. He points the gun at me and as I slam the lamp into his head he pulls the trigger.

I stumble back, cupping my hands over my ears.

Roger's cradling his head as he mumbles something but I can't hear what he's saying over the ringing in my ears. I dash out the door before he can restrain me. I can't fight him head-on. He has too much weight on me. He's always one step ahead without even trying. But I can't fight him from a distance either. Not when he's armed and I'm not. Even if I managed to find a gun, how much of fake Ron's shooting lesson would stick right now?

I only stop for a second to glance at the main house on the left. Donna. We shouldn't split up, but if I run into that house right now, Roger will trap me again and I'll be no help so instead I dash into the heavily wooded area behind Zachary's cabin and hope he follows me instead of searching the house.

The shot that claps behind me makes my heart jump as I try to weave in and out of the trees while maintaining my footing on the snow, but it also calms any fear I had about Roger finding Donna. If she's smart she'll stay hidden until we can get help. It's too late to outnumber them, we have to outsmart them.

"Stop running from fate," Roger shouts.

The tree bark of a tall pine explodes inches from my ear, but I don't let it slow my progress. Did he miss that shot on purpose? He was only inches from blasting the top of my skull off. I duck behind the tree and keep running, hoping he'll have to reposition to get another shot.

It doesn't occur to me where I'm going until I'm on the far end of the frozen lake, only a few feet from the shed where they keep the Zamboni; where I pushed that kid over the railing.

My hands are shaking and I can't tell if it's from running for my life or the dread of going inside that building but I know I can't avoid it. I've hit the end of the property. Everything after this is trees and I'm not equipped to hike through the woods right now so I swing the large barn door open and slam it behind me. Something shuffles toward the back but my eyes haven't adjusted to the darkness so I press myself against the door and hope Roger isn't closing in on me yet.

The ice-resurfacer is surrounded by duffel bags. I don't remember them being here before. Did I just walk right into their trap? I take slow steps toward the source of the sound, ready to defend myself if someone jumps out from the shadows, but as I round the corner my heart sinks.

Brittany's tied up on the ground; Grace is next to her and it's obvious they've both taken a beating.