“Shit,” Jason muttered.
Michael whipped his attention forward. “What is it?”
“It’s unlocked.” Jason opened the gaping door wider, wincing as the rusty old padlock creaked. He took a small flashlight out of his jeans pocket and shone it around the inside of the shed. Michael took note of the meager contents. A lawn mower and a bin of road salt. Nothing else. The pegboard on one wall was empty.
“Where’s the axe?” Jason said.
Michael sucked in a breath. “I knew the axe I found in the woods looked familiar.”
“I swear I put it back. I locked the door and gave the keys back to Patrick.” Jason shone the flashlight around again, and then turned it off. He bowed his head, and Michael was both alarmed and thrilled by the defeat on his cousin’s face.
“Shit. Tiff asked about the axe. She was suspicious and I didn’t take her seriously.” Jason’s voice broke, for once utterly helpless and vulnerable. “I don’t know what to do, Mikey. I don’t know. I’m trying so hard. But Tiff’s dead, and God only knows if the others are, too.”
Michael seized the opportunity to take charge. “Let’s go in the cabin. They could be hiding in there. And there must be something in the kitchen we can use to fight that fucker.”
“We already picked it over, after you went for help. All the knives are gone.”
“There’s gotta be some pots and pans.” Michael doubted a frying pan would be much protection against an axe. But he needed to give Jason some hope. Keep the golden boy going. There was plenty of time for him to fall apart afterward.
The clouds had shifted in front of the full moon, and they climbed up the path to the back patio in shadow. Michael took the lead. The rain had washed away the scent of hamburgers, and all he could smell was his own acrid sweat and something coppery that he feared was Tiffany’s blood. Keep it together, he told himself. He could do this. For Carrie. She was going to be so grateful to him for keeping an eye on Jason.
Michael opened the screen door. Jason stepped over the thresholdfirst, motioning for Michael to stay behind him. The cabin was still and deserted, heavily silent once Michael shut the door, muffling the sounds of the night. No masked killer. Yet. Michael’s pulse jittered with dread. If any of their friends had returned, they were doing a good job of staying hidden.
Michael crossed the kitchen floor and something tender gave way under his boot. For a horrifying moment he was afraid he’d stepped on human remains. He was relieved when he pried a round of salami off his heel—and also confused.
“What the fuck happened here?” he demanded as his eyes adjusted to the darkened interior.
The kitchen had been ransacked. Someone had pulled down everything in the cupboards, as well as in the fridge. Dishes and silverware littered the floor, along with scattered cold cuts and what looked like broken crackers and squished cubes of cheese.
“After you ran off and Russ disappeared, we looked for things to defend ourselves with,” Jason said. “But I swear we didn’t leave the kitchen like this. This looks like a—like a crime scene. I don’t think we’re going to find anything to help us here.”
Jason drooped, his gaze skimming the floor. Michael had to keep his cousin’s spirits up. Jason was no use to him if he rolled over and surrendered to despair. “We can check the front room. There’s probably still all that stuff we grabbed when Russ showed up.”
Jason perked up. “Good thinking.”
Jason led him out of the kitchen. Michael followed closely behind, glad he’d gotten Jason moving. Although he was still unsettled. A few disparate facts had been churning in his mind since they’d left the toolshed, and now they began to rattle like dice.
“Who’s got keys to the shed?” he asked Jason.
“Patrick. He would’ve gotten them from the rental office.”
“You don’t think—”
“Patrick’s running around with an axe?” Jason said in amusement.
The last die stopped spinning in his head. Would Jason believehim? “He’s the one who organized this weekend.” When Jason made a noise of protest, Michael put up his hands. “No, listen. Think about it. Patrick’s sister died a horrible death, and horror movies became his happy place. He might have finally cracked. He was really adamant about holding the reunion here, remember?”
Jason shook his head. “You’re as high as Freddy.” He strode down the hallway to the front room.
Michael grabbed his arm to pull him back. Something was off. A fly landed on the back of Michael’s neck and he twitched, waving it away as he tried to catalogue what was wrong. The pine air freshener wasn’t doing its job, and there was a stench like old pennies and sandalwood and shit all mixed together. And pot. It was reminiscent of the inside of Freddy’s van—
“Jason—” Michael croaked, glancing up, his fingers tightening around his cousin’s arm.
Jason followed his gaze, and then wrenched himself out of Michael’s grip as he doubled over and retched in a corner. Michael’s guts also threatened to empty themselves. Now it smelled like bile, too.
And Freddy’s blood.
“Oh Jesus,” Jason said, his face pasty in the dim light.
