Inside the school’s kitchen—a direct offshoot from the cafeteria, Britta and I were seated on a steel countertop, a flashlight and an emptied tin of chocolate pudding between us. Britta was humming with her eyes closed, while I stared off across the dark room, listening to the rapid drumming of raindrops hitting the roof and the violent whip of wind whistling all around us. A crack of thunder erupted from above, lighting up the sky with bright white light.
“It’s a whopper alright,” Britta absentmindedly replied, soon humming again.
“What song is that?” I asked.
Cracking an eye open, Britta sang the first few lines.
I shook my head. “Never heard of it.”
“Wait, what? Sugar, are you tryin’ to tell me you ain’t never heard of Rick Astley?” Britta’s eyes were wide and glowing white in the otherwise dark. “You ain’t never been Rickrolled back when the internet was still a thing?”
“Rickrolled?”
“Christ, Willow, I don’t know if we can be friends now.”
“All over some Rick guy—who’s probably dead?”
“You don’t know Rick. He don’t give up, ya know? He never lets anyone down. And he don’t run around an’ desert you—”
“Okay, okay.” I laughed, hands up. “I get it. I’ll have to brush up on my Rick Astley.”
“Damn straight, you will.” Chuckling, Britta’s hand went to her stomach, her smile soon fading into a grimace. “Dang, I think this puddin’s goin’ right through me… Oh, yeah, I need to go… right fuckin’ now.”
Sliding off the counter, Britta ran across the kitchen, noisily dislodging the chairs we’d stacked in front of the door. The door slammed open and Britta’s heavy steps pounded the cafeteria floor, echoing throughout the large space.
Smiling, I leaned my head back against the wall, wondering what Logan was doing right now, my smile quickly fading into a scowl. Was he freaking out? Was he cursing my very existence? I’d never told him about our shopping excursion; I hadn’t even thought about telling him because I hadn’t planned on being gone long enough for him to need to know.
He would know by now, of course. And in typical Logan fashion, he’d be livid.
I eyed the small pile of food we’d collected. My hope was that if I returned to Silver Lake with enough goods, Logan’s anger might be somewhat mollified. Even better, maybe he would finally see me as a capable person—an equal even. At the very least, someone he didn’t need to constantly fret over as if I were a child.
Across the room, the door creaked loudly; glancing over my shoulder, I called out, “That was quick—did you even make it to the bathroom?”
Silence followed my words, permeating the surrounding darkness. Gripping the flashlight, I swung the beam toward the door. “Britta?” I whispered, suddenly abundantly aware that when she’d run from the room, she’d removed the barrier of chairs.
Cursing myself for not securing the door after her departure, I slipped quietly off the counter, fumbling for the bat at my feet. Flashlight in one hand, bat in the other, I started slowly across the room, careful not to step on any of the broken dishes and dented cans that cluttered the floor.
Approaching the door, I pressed my ear to the metal, listening for the telltale shuffle of a Creeper. Hearing nothing, I gripped the handle and was slowly pulling it open when it was suddenly ripped from my grip and it smashed into my face. Crying out, I stumbled backward, my hands flying to my nose, the flashlight and bat clattering to the floor.
“We’ve got a live one here,” a nasally, unfamiliar voice rang out. Shrieking, I scrambled backward, tripping in my haste to get away. I was reaching for my boot—for the blade I had tucked inside—when a beam of light blinded me, freezing me in place on the floor; heavy footsteps echoed all around.
“Hey there, pretty little thing.” A second unknown voice—deep and grating—punctured the silence. “My, my, what a fuckin’ treat you are.”
More lights joined the fray, bouncing wildly across the dark room. Looming shadows surrounded me; one shadow drawing close and leaning down. The man was soaked through, rainwater dripping from his crudely cut hair and short, scruffy beard and on to me, while he stared down at me with a slow-growing smile, as if I were a prize he couldn’t quite believe he’d won.
“Room’s clear,” the nasally voice announced. “Just her.”
“You’ll have to forgive us,” the scruffy man rumbled, roughly taking my face in his hand. “It’s been so goddamn long since we’ve seen a woman worth lookin’ at.” His hand slid into my hair, gripping a handful of it and using it to painfully force me to my feet. My back hit a wall, an involuntary whimper escaping me as the man pinned me in place with his body. The bitter stink of him engulfed me, making me gag.
“I call shotgun.” The deep voice laughed, the sound like gravel thrown against glass.
“The fuck you do,” the man grinding against me growled. “You’ll be waitin’ your turn with this one.”
My shirt tore beneath his greedy grip, cool air and clammy hands colliding with my bare breasts. I tried to shrink away from his touch, only there was nowhere to go. My pants were yanked open and his hand shoved crudely inside. As his fingers fumbled for purchase, my heart kicked into overdrive, echoing loudly in my ears, beating in tandem with the rain coming down on the roof. This was happening, I realized with darkening dread. This was happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“No,” I gasped, turning my face from his eager mouth. “Please, no.”
Laughter rang out all around me. “I sure do love it when they beg,” the nasally voice proclaimed. “Hell, I’m already hard thinkin’—”
