The Last of Us

Four

I'm late.

Running up the steps, I slam through the double doors with exhilarating energy.

"Harlow?"

Liza is a blur of motion as I run past reception. She's paused her conversation with the lady at the desk, watching me with a concerned frown. It's clear she's taking in my half-brushed hair and un-washed clothes.

I hadn't slept very well this past week. A lot of my life had taken a back seat. I didn't have time for washing clothes right now. Someone was out there. Someone dangerous.

"Sorry I'm late," I say in a rush. "Are the girls waiting?"

"In the usual room," she says with a stern nod. She is a sweet lady, but I also know how she feels about punctuality. I was likely to get my first warning.

Once I turn the corner, my footsteps soften. I begin to walk slower.

I let my breathing decrease from short spurts before my lungs are open enough for big gulps of air.

What am I supposed to say to a room of girls who know one of them has been murdered?

A part of me wanted to avoid the conversation altogether, but the tenth empty chair would be staring me right in the face, mocking me.

This was a final girl's support group, though. Death was surrounding all of them.

Slick with sweat, my palms slide against the doors as I push them open. One by one, all nine heads swivel to watch me enter the room.

I stop short at the door for a moment watching their expressions. My heart feels heavy in my chest, like it's being crushed by a fist.

Not one person looks to be in mourning.

They hadn't known Talia all that long, but it's more than that. It's just another reminder of the hardened shells they've had to bear since their own attacks.

"Morning," I say breathless. "Sorry for being late."

The group remain silent as my feet patter across the room. I take a seat at my usual spot, opening my handbag to pull out the array of documents I keep with me.

A newspaper clipping of Talia's death flutters to the ground and somehow, the room grows even quieter.

I'd forgotten I'd kept that from last week. My mother still keenly read the newspaper. She inherited that trait from her grandfather, a keen reader.

Before he died, he told me to never read anything that can be found in a newspaper online. It worried about many things, including the extinction of papers.

I snatch the clipping from the ground, placing it back in my folder.

I'm not sure what possessed me to cut it out, but over the past week, I've begun cutting out every article I could possibly find. And—sorry, grandfather—printing anything off the internet to add to my collection.

"Someone must know about our group."

I look up from my folder, trying to source the girl who has spoken.

"You think they're coming after us specifically?"

I have to look down at my list to remember all their names. I'm terrible at this. It shouldn't be taking me so long to recognise ten people. Nine people.

"It was probably just a freak coincidence," Claudine shudders, pulling at her blonde hair. "Surely it's not—"

"Are you really going to take that chance?" Danni cuts in. "Everyone sitting in this room should be on high alert right now."