“—split up,” she finished.
So much for Freddy sticking to her like white on rice. Carrie turned back to where she and Freddy had seen the figure. No one stood there now. Had they imagined it? Or maybe Freddy’s vape fumes had gone to her head.
She clutched the bread knife a little tighter, her teeth gritting from all the tension in her body.
A twig snapped behind her like a gunshot and she jumped, heart leaping to her mouth.
“Freddy?” she whispered. “Michael?”
14
Freddy
There were those who assumed that thinking wasn’t Freddy’s strong suit. They’d be wrong. Drugs opened your mind! He had a multiverse in his head, and it was all the possibilities dancing in front of him at once that had sent him crashing into the trees when the shadowy figure had appeared. In a heartbeat, he’d seen the myriad ways the figure could attack. In slow motion and from different angles, like a John Woo or Zack Snyder film. Freddy saw all the damage Ranger Russ could do with the knife that had been taken from the kitchen. Throats slit, hearts stabbed, bellies disemboweled, even (gulp) eyeballs gouged. Brutally, with no finesse—or with the grace of a dancer.
And so Freddy did what any sensible person would do.
He bolted.
Freddy crashed through the trees, not caring if saplings whipped his arms and smacked the flashlight out of his hand. At one pointa branch dragged off his hat, and another caused him to stumble so badly the cigarette lighter and baggie of weed slipped out of his hoodie pocket.
That was fine. His life was worth more than those material things. He welcomed the cooling air on his sweating scalp as his arms and legs pumped, searching for a place where dark figures didn’t suddenly pop out of nowhere. The appearance of mysterious strangers belonged only on the pages of his screenplay.
Eventually a cramp squeezed his side and his lungs begged for mercy. Unable to run anymore, he bent over with hands on his knees, gulping great mouthfuls of cedar-scented air.
“I think we lost him,” Freddy said, panting, each breath a stab to his chest.
Carrie didn’t answer.
Shit. Freddy straightened. He could’ve sworn Carrie was right behind him.
She wasn’t.
Shit.Shit.
He slouched against a tree as his knees turned to jelly, putting one hand on his chest to quell his racing heartbeat. What if that shadowy stranger had gotten Carrie while he was running away?
A needle prick of guilt pierced Freddy’s conscience. He ignored it. What could he have done? Only someone with a death wish would’ve stuck around. Heroism was all well and good in movies. In real life, however, he could leave it to guys like Jason and Patrick who were used to being the heroes of their own lives. Mikey, the second banana who desperately wanted to be a leading man, was also welcome to step up.
None of them had the imagination to see beyond their own tropes. Jen was a rebellious goth, always thumbing her nose at the establishment. It made her predictably unpredictable, not that he’d ever tell her. Tiffany was the girlfriend who stood by her man—once he’d won her over. And Carrie was a Final Girl through and through. A survivor. Someone who overcame struggles with gritand determination. Look at her coming back to Cedar Lake even though she’d slunk away in shame. That took moxie!
At least Freddy was self-aware enough to not fall into that trap. Main character energy was for suckers. Main characters got thrown into the path of conflict. Conflict made you unhappy! Killed your buzz. Harshed your vibe. Freddy did just fine for himself, lurking in the wings and taking notes. Often literally, at the Rialto Theatre.
So what if he’d acted the coward. Who wouldn’t? Until someone was in this exact situation—hiding out from an angry knife-wielding ranger—they couldn’t judge.
Anyway, Carrie had the bread knife. She’d be fine! She was the Final Girl. She might not be tough like Jen, but Final Girls never were at first. She’d figure it out.
Freddy took out his vape, needing mellow vibes more than ever. The cannabis calmed him down, and he was able to think without collapsing into a ball of hysteria.
He wobbled in a circle, surveying his surroundings. Trees, trees, and more trees. These woods were perfect for losing oneself in nature. He’d always meant to camp out one weekend with shrooms. It would be great for expanding his mind. Not so much for running from crazed stalkers. Where the fuck was he? Carrie had the compass. Though as long as he’d lost that shadowy stranger, his location didn’t matter.
So what was he going to do now?
He knew what the janitor in his screenplay would do. What Jason Statham and Liam Neeson would do. But what would Frederick Min do if he were alone in the woods? Time to draw on his creative thinking skills.
He caught a glimmer in the distance. A knife? No, it was sparkling too much. The lake! He could see the lake from here. If he could get to the lake, he could find the cabin. Knowing Russ was in the woods, probably searching for the others—thank you, main characters—Freddy could hide out in the cabin until daylight.
He doubted anyone else would make it back at the appointed time. If they did, then what? Go back out into the woods, where Russ was waiting? No fucking way. Freddy would lock himself in the cellar or a closet, and even if Russ came back, he wouldn’t know Freddy was there.
