Her expression was almost beatific. Maybe it wasn’t too late to appeal to the sweet, shy girl who’d had a crush on him. But he’d be doing her a disservice. Maybe he’d never seen her at all, the way people had never seen beyond his image as a star athlete. Maybethiswas who she’d always been. A vitriol-spouting, self-righteous Fury. An avenging angel, forged in the fires of her mother’s God-fearing moralizing and tempered by their classmates’ hostility. He would admire her, if not for the fact that she’d cold-bloodedly murdered all their friends.
Jason dove behind the sofa with the snow globe as she advanced, heartbeat counting down the last seconds of his life. He grunted as his injured shoulder hit the floor, the impact sending fireworks exploding behind his eyelids. His breath came fast and shallow, adrenaline squeezing out every last drop of fight in him. He couldn’t last much longer.
Hope ignited in his chest as he came face-to-face with the fire extinguishers he and Mikey had abandoned. He peered upward, expecting Carrie to be looming over him. The Slasher peered back. Not Carrie in costume, but another cardboard standee. Watching impassively in front of a side window, machete drawn.
Jason carefully rolled the snow globe toward the standee. The cardboard Slasher stirred. So did Carrie. The axe bisected the cardboard through the midsection with a rip that Jason felt in his own abs.
While she was distracted, he grabbed the fire extinguishers and started hurling them at her. The first one flew too high, glancing off the charred support beam. The antler chandelier rocked precariously. The second hit her square in the chest and she stumbled backward beneath the antlers. For one promising second the axe handle slipped in her grip, but then her long, gloved fingers wrapped securely around it again.
She regained her balance, shaking her head. “I’m not dropping the axe, Jason. It’s the only thing in this world that hasn’t let me down.”
He sprung to his feet. There was only one object left within reach. The rotary phone was heavier than he’d expected, especially in his weakened state. It would have to do. He had nothing else, except desperation.
He hurled the phone upward. Carrie’s face lit up with triumph as it sailed over her head—then crumpled in a frown as Jason’s hopeful expression never wavered. She glanced up, following his gaze.
He hadn’t been aiming for her.
The phone collided with the chandelier, the receiver’s spiral cord flying over the crooked antlers like a grappling hook. As he’d hoped, gravity did its job. The extra weight yanked the chandelier’s electrical wire out of the blackened support beam.
The ring of antlers plunged. Straight down onto Carrie, like a merciless coronation. She didn’t even have time to make a sound. One sharp prong stabbed through an eye socket; another gored the spot below her collarbone. She dropped the axe at last and crumpled to her knees, chin sagging, a scarlet blossom spreading across her tank top while a jellylike ichor slid down the yellowing bone from the ruin of her left eye.
The body of the falling phone thumped the crown of her head, driving her face further into the antlers. The discordant jangle ofchimes was the sweetest sound Jason had ever heard. A prong pierced Carrie’s cheek, screeching like nails on a chalkboard as it grated against her back molars. Her limbs twitched like she’d received an electric shock and her lips parted, blood drooling over her chin.
She slumped and was still. Ash fluttered and settled around her body. It was over. Jason folded in half, panting like he’d just run a hundred-meter sprint.
There was no time to rest, however. He had to check on Patrick, then get help. He dragged himself upright, wondering if he had enough strength to make it to the main road. Or at least try to fire the flare gun with his left hand to signal the summer camp. Did Patrick pack extra cartridges? The cardboard box sat in a corner, so far away from his jellying legs.
At least the sun was rising. A fragile light seeped through the windows, bathing Carrie’s antler-ringed body with a rosy glow. Saint Carrie martyred by her crown of thorns. Her suffering was finally over, and Jason’s was just beginning. The adrenaline was ebbing away and soon he’d have to pay the physical and emotional toll. Grief flared across his skin, but it was muffled, far away, as gentle as a warm bath. He was so damned tired.
He took a step toward the box and fell to his knees.
Maybe he could lie down for a bit. Catch his breath. Only for a minute. Then he’d figure out what to do.
He collapsed face-first to the floor, his eyelids fluttering closed.
Only for them to snap open again when a shriek pierced his eardrums. He jolted upright, every nerve aflame with terror. Carrie bore down on him with the axe, her antler crown caging her head and shoulders, blood welling from every hole it had torn open in her body. Not a martyr anymore, but a pagan goddess of vengeance.
“I’mthe Final Girl!” she screamed. “Not you!”
The axe tilted back as she prepared to swing. Jason tried to get off his knees, but his legs refused to move. He threw up his good arm to shield his face, eyes clenching shut, anticipating the kiss ofthe axe blade through bone and flesh. The blood in his ears gave a final roar.
There was a loud, wet squelch.
Yet Jason’s arm was still joined at the elbow, and his skull uncracked. He pried open one eyelid, confused.
Carrie still loomed over him, but the axe had dropped by her side. She stared down at the blade that had sprouted from beneath her breastbone, blood gushing over her chin from her open mouth.
Jason suddenly realized the roaring in his ears had been someone’s voice, not the thunder of his pulse.
Carrie tipped to the side, her mouth in a perfect bloody O, revealing Patrick standing behind her.
“I’mthe Final Girl, bitch,” Patrick said, his chest heaving.
Patrick. One side of his face was swollen and his hair a sweaty halo, but he was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever seen.
Patrick smiled sheepishly at Jason. “I found the real machete, finally.” Then his smile crumpled as he registered Jason’s state. He crouched beside Jason and put his arms around him. Tears sprung to Jason’s eyes. Patrick was so warm, and Jason was so cold. He wanted to stay in Patrick’s arms until the end of his days. Which might be sooner than later.
“Patrick,” he rasped. “Thank fuck. You’re alive.”
