Prey [Ambassador's Pick ONC23]

14. Darkness

My heart hammers against my chest as I cling to the wall by the door.

I have no way of telling the time, but I assume it's been several hours since Boyd left me here to drown in my misery. I know it's been at least forty minutes since I managed to pull myself upright and get into my current position, I counted every passing second as I waited for him. I'm not sure when he'll be coming back for me, but I want to be ready at any moment.

The cramp in my left hand tells me it's time to switch again and I pass the knife over to my right, gripping it so tightly in my sweaty palms that my fingers hurt. I don't care. The pain serves as yet another reminder of the hell I've been through tonight.

And how the people behind it need to die.

My patience pays off as I hear the jingle of keys on the other side of the door. I adjust my stance, pressing myself closer to the wall as though I can dissolve into the cement. My breaths come out in heavy gasps and I try to calm them, to force the fear to propel me forward instead of holding me back.

The lock clicks. The door swings open. My anxiety reaches a crescendo.

"Sadie." His sing song voice reminds me of a hyena cackling; creepy and unpleasant. "Time to come out."

He takes a step inside the room, his eyes focused on the floor where I should be. I take my chance and leap towards him, letting my thirst for vengeance drive me forward. The knife slams into his neck with as much force as I can muster. The blade embeds itself in his skin, halfway buried into his flesh as the crimson begins to spill out of the wound.

Stabbing someone is nothing like I imagined it would be. Despite the sharp edge of the knife and the vigor with which I slammed it, the resistance it meets throws me off balance and I lose my grip on the handle. Boyd stumbles forward, a guttural moan falling from his lips as he drops his rifle and his hands desperately try to grab hold of the hilt that protrudes from the side his neck.

"Bitch," he spits out as he falls to his knees on the floor.

I press my back against the wall again, watching in horrified fascination as the blood pours down his back, coating his shirt within seconds. One stab wasn't enough to take him down for good and I need to get the knife out before he does, but I'm locked in place watching the scene unfold. He drops to his hands, panting heavily on all fours as the crimson continues to splatter on the floor, reminding me of the way this room looked when we first arrived.

Something about the memory snaps me into action and my feet finally decide to move forward toward the bleeding man. I lean over him, ignoring his grunts of pain, and wrap both hands around the hilt of the knife, yanking as hard as I can. It slides out with a horrific squelch, the wound beginning to bleed faster now that the obstruction is gone.

Boyd's falls to the floor, landing on his back as one hand clamps onto the hole in his neck. "Bitch," he repeats, his eyes wild and terrified.

"You made me do it," I choke out. "You killed the people I loved."

He doesn't answer, instead assessing me coldly, but I don't have time for a conversation anyway. I have no idea where Tanner is, but I assume he will be here soon looking for Boyd and wondering what's taking so long. I need to get out of here, now.

That leaves me facing a conundrum. I've heard Julian speak about horror movies for years and I know that you should never, ever leave your villain capable of coming after you. Do I lock Boyd in here? Finish him off? Am I capable of actually killing him?

Aqua blue eyes flash vividly through my mind. You don't have a choice, baby.

Yes. Yes I am.

The knife arcs through the air, plunging deep into Boyd's chest. Once. Twice. Three times. Each stab feels easier than the last, and I can't be sure whether it's the anger that's fuelling my strength, or whether I'm getting more used to the resistance it meets.

Boyd's eyes bulge, a thick gurgle emanating from his lips each time the blade meets his skin. He feebly tries to fight me off, his arms smacking uselessly against me. Blood coats my hands, making me lose my grip on the knife which clatters to the floor in the fast growing puddle of crimson. Sobs fill the room and it takes a moment to realize they are coming from me.

My vision is tainted red as I stagger to my feet, my arms and hands slick with sticky scarlet. I try to wipe the tears from my cheeks, probably smudging it all over my face as well. But I'm well past caring. My stomach swirls and I know that if I had anything left in it, it would be splattered on the floor, mingling with the blood still pumping from Boyd's chest.

His eyes meet mine, a kaleidoscope of emotions flitting through them; fear, pain, respect. He blinks several times, as though he can't quite believe that I managed to best him. My heart thuds against my chest as I look at the damage I've done.

Julian's face twisted in pain. Jeremy's lifeless eyes. Celia's bright pink and aqua trainers. Seth's auburn hair and black eye.

"Now you'll never be able to hurt anyone again," I say to the twitching body at my feet. I hate that I've been reduced to their level. That I've ended someone's life. No matter how evil that person was.

He doesn't respond, though I don't think he's capable of speech anymore anyway. I reach down and pick up the rifle, the weapon feeling foreign in my hands. Testing the weight of it, I lift it up to my shoulder and try to take aim, unsure of where to place it. I know nothing about guns, except for watching the way Boyd and Tanner used them tonight. I just have to hope that it's as easy as it looks.

I start towards the door, stopping once there and going back for the knife. It's surprising how comfortable it now feels in my hand, as though the crime we committed together has made us the best of friends. For the first time in hours and with a weapon in each hand, I feel like I may actually have a chance of surviving.

Taking one last look at Boyd on the floor, I step out of the store room from hell, nudging the door closed with my foot. For a moment, I wonder if I should lock it, just in case Boyd somehow survived his injuries and comes after me. But the chances are slim and I don't want to risk putting down either of my weapons.

The walk through the kitchen is slow and torturous, my ankles still sore from the ropes and my legs still slightly wobbly from the hours of being tied up. I pause after each footstep, listening for any sign of movement in the rest of the lodge.

The silence that greets me is eerie and disconcerting. Where are Tanner and Hope? Did they send her off to run away like they did with us? Is Tanner chasing her? Is she dead? Why isn't Tanner concerned about Boyd's whereabouts?

Too many questions that don't have answers. Too many possibilities. What do I do now? Make a run for it, or find Tanner and finish this once and for all? And what about Hope? Should I try and save her?

No.

The voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Seth's. I know he'd want me to try and get out of here, to save myself first, especially considering the way she betrayed us tonight. And maybe that's exactly what I should do. She's probably already dead anyway, and even if she isn't, she is responsible for my husband's death.

But something makes me hesitate and I glance back at the door where Boyd's body lies. Do I really want another death on my conscience? If I have the chance to save her, shouldn't I at least try?

Before I can make a decision either way, a low rumble warns me of an approaching car. Tanner must have been out and is now returning. I move as quickly as I can through to the living area, seeing the approaching headlights sweep across the shattered grass.

I have moments to decide what to do, and seconds to actually do it. Deciding that the bar is the best option, I dive behind it, placing my back against the mahogany just as the engine shuts off. A car door slams as my heart thuds erratically in my chest. My eyes squeeze shut and I picture Boyd, his body probably empty of blood by now as he lies in the darkness.

One down. One to go. 

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Word Count ~ 1545/26826