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So maybe, instead of being outraged by what’s happening, I should have spent my “head start” getting to that log and taken shelter?

Little late for that.

I shift in that direction, but the wet undergrowth is magically no longer wet. It’s tinder-dry leaves and twigs, and even the careful movement of my leg rustles like I’m a kid jumping on a leaf pile.

I hold my breath and listen. This time, it’s the crackle of a dead leaf that tells me someone’s there. I pull up my hood and give thanks that I wore a dark hoodie. Then, tugging it over my forehead, I lift my eyes to look in the direction of that crackle.

A figure moves between the trees. I inhale as quietly as I can. It’s preternaturally silent out here, without even the whisper of the wind. Raymond continues moving, hunched as if listening for me to make another sound. His gaze is fixed forward, and he’s scanning the trees, never glancing my way. Has he seen the clearing and decided that’s not where I am?

Because lying in a clearing is a very dumb idea.

Maybe, in being exposed, I’m actually safe.

And what does “safe” mean? That he’ll keep looking until one of the others makes a noise and move on to them?

Part of me wishes I could want that. That I’d take the win however it comes. But my parents didn’t raise me to be that person, and despite everything that’s happened in my life, the number of times I’ve been forgotten and ignored, it’s ironic that this is the one thing I can’t do—forget about others, ignore others.

What is the alternative?

Kill Raymond.

Kill him before he kills any of us.

But would that actually help us? Does it matter whether he murders us? Could it actually be a mercy?

I don’t care.

I legitimately don’t care.

And I’m not even sure the bartender was right when he said we wouldn’t take the easy way out because we can’t help hoping for an actual way out. That’s part of it, I suppose. The bartender can tell us we’re trapped in a pocket universe, doomed to die, either quickly or terribly, and we cannot help looking for loopholes.

I think of a young coworker at lunch last month, when we were talking slasher movies and she said if she knew she couldn’t be the final girl, she’d want to die first. Get it over with. Like those apocalypse movies, when you know everyone is going to die. Why keep fighting? Why torment yourself?

Because this is how we live our lives from the moment we are old enough to understand that we will die someday. We live knowing we will die, and maybe we all hope for a loophole. Or, at least, we hope to wring as much time from this life as we can.

I don’t know what Henry and Noemi will decide, but I’m not sending Raymond their way. Someone needs to take him down, and if I’m the one he targets first, then I guess it’s up to me.

Twenty-five years ago, Dr. Dabrowski risked her life to save a stranger.

It’s my turn to repay that.

I wait until Raymond has passed by enough for me to risk moving. Then I start to wriggle. I’m still going to try getting to that log, not to hide, but as a way station into the forest. As I move, leaves whisper, but it’s faint enough that Raymond doesn’t seem to hear it over the soft clomp of his shoes.

I keep going and mercifully make it to the log. Then I catch my breath before looking around.

What can I use to kill him?

I eye several sharp branches, but that seems to require more skill than I have. My gaze settles on a rock. I pick it up, wrap my fingers around it, and smile. The size is perfect—small enough for me to grasp but not too small to do damage.

I adjust my grip on the rock. Then I map out the most leaf-free path to a tree I can hide behind. A deep breath before I move fast. I get to the tree and peer out. I can’t see much, but I can make out movement ahead as Raymond slides between trees.

There’s about fifty feet between us, and panic surges, telling me I’ll never get to him without him hearing me.

But does that matter? If he hears me, he’ll come for me, and he needs to actually catch me. That’s what I need, too. Close proximity to swing this rock at his skull.

Ideally, I’d sneak up and do it, but I have a contingency plan. If he hears me, I’ll flee and let him catch me and then I’ll beg for mercy … before I clock him in the temple with all my might, like Henry did with Caleb.

I continue on, moving from tree to tree. He’s still hunched over, as if that will keep him from being spotted.