“Marlowe—Marlowe—we have to go!”
But my body’s gone slack. My legs won’t work. My mind is still stuck on the sound, the wet sound, and the way Clay breathes through his teeth like this isfun.
Neve shakes me hard, nearly toppling me.
“Come on,” she sobs, “you need to move—you need to move now!”
But I’m still watching the way Clay grins as he lifts the crowbar one more time.
Still watching him fall into a frenzy, splattering what’s left of Vick across the wood.
Neve yanks me back, dragging me by the elbow until my knees unlock and start to move. I stumble, choking on sobs I didn’t know I was making, and then I see them—Cody, upright but swaying, his jaw tight and eyes wild with fury. Bridger’s slumped against him, barely standing, his arm thrown over Cody’s shoulders like dead weight.
But they’re alive.
They’re moving.
Then I hear it.
Clay’s laugh.
Low. Wet. Unhinged.
The crowbarclanksto the floor behind us.
And then his hands—bloody and hot—are on me.
First my shoulders.
Then my neck.
I shriek and thrash, stabbing the knife blindly into his arm, slicing it across slick skin. The blade skips, bites. Blood sprays.
Hegrunts, more annoyed than wounded.
Neve’s screaming now, behind me, beside me, clawing at him, slamming her fists into his ribs. “Let her go! Let her go!”
His hand wraps tightly around my throat.
I can’t breathe.
He shoves Neve hard and she goes down with a cry. I hear her hit the ground but I can’t turn my head to look. My knife falls, my vision blackening at the edges.
Cody’s coming.
Staggering forward.
Bridger too, limping, his face pale and smeared with blood.
But it’s too late.
Clay’s hand crushes tighter. My fingers claw at his wrist, useless. My legs dangle, slipping. Air burns in my lungs, my brain fraying.
And then?—
Bang.
The sound cracks the world open.
