Endurance

He clamped his teeth down, hard, and then quickly dropped his wrist.

SNAP!

A sob escaped him, and his whole body shook. But his index finger did seem to be better. Even semi-functional.

Three more to go.

He switched hands, raising the left one to his face, when he noticed a firefly in the bushes, glinting yellow. The firefly also had a mate, a few inches away.

Then the fireflies blinked, and Felix realized he wasn’t staring at fireflies.

He was looking into the eyes of the mountain lion.

# # #

Deb didn’t hesitate. With her folding knife in a death grip, she hacked away at the throat of the nearest Siamese twin, cutting and slashing until she hit bone and they crawled off of her, spraying geysers of blood.

When they got to the bed, the twins sat up. The duo shared the same two legs, but at the chest they forked into two halves. A single, underdeveloped arm jutted out of their sternum just below the split. The head on the left-hand side was limp, nodding forward, eyes rolled up. The left arm was similarly slack.

“Andrew?” the other head said, staring at his dead twin. “What’s wrong, Andrew?”

He slapped the slack head, repeatedly. Deb gawked, the horrible image too much for her to handle. She scooted away from them, snagging the bag with her prosthetic legs from the closet.

“You killed Andrew!” the other twin cried. He attempted to lunge at Deb, but only half of his body worked. As he pathetically tried to drag himself forward, Deb crawled to the nearest wall and pulled herself up.

The blood soaking her sweater was warm, and the stench was making her sick. She stripped it off, down to her tee shirt and shorts, and headed into the hallway. More than anything else, she wanted to run outside, get as far away from this awful house as possible. But she wasn’t going to leave Mal behind. Somehow, she knew he’d give her the same consideration if the roles were reversed.

The next room over had Abraham Lincoln stencilled on the door. Brandishing the knife, Deb went in quick, feeling along the wall for the light switch. When she flipped it on, all she saw was lots of creepy Lincoln decor. But it was empty of people.

Next came Calvin Coolidge. Like every door so far, it was unlocked, making Deb wonder if any of the locks actually worked. Testing her theory, she turned the lock on the knob and then twisted it.

It doesn’t lock at all.

Again she stepped into a dark room, reaching for the light switch next to the doorway—

—touching the man who was standing there.

Deb recoiled, pulling away, backpedalling into the hall. Her ass hit the banister, and for a crazy moment she thought she was going to flip over it and tumble down to the first floor. She lowered her center of gravity by doing the splits, her Cheetah prosthetics splaying out as she sat on her ass.

Whomever she accidentally touched walked out of the dark room, into the light of the hallway. He had a large brow ridge, bisected with a single bushy eyebrow, on a head that was big and flatish on top. His arms were longer than they should have been, and his fingers were fused together in a triangle shape, like the flippers of a walrus. His other hand had a bloody bandage wrapped around it.

But the most repulsive thing of all was his torso. He had no shirt, and his pale, hairless chest was pocked with dozens of—

Nipples. He’s covered with nipples.

The freak opened his mouth and made a noise that was a lot like the honking of a Canadian goose. Then he lunged.

Deb thrust her blade at him, but he batted it aside with his bandaged hand, sending it skittering across the floor. She tried to scurry after the knife, but the curved fiberglass of her Cheetahs slipped across the wood floor. The only traction on her prosthetics were the rubber treads, but in a sitting position the bottoms were bent upward like the ends of a W.

Calvin honked again, getting his arms around her, nipples poking at her face and eyes. Deb tried to turn, to get onto her hands and knees, but his grip was too strong.

Behind her, the banister creaked, then shifted.

Calvin backed up, apparently afraid of breaking it and falling over. Deb took the opportunity to lunge for the knife, tapping it with her fingertips, sending it spinning toward the railing.

Don’t fall! Don’t fall!

The knife handle teeter-tottered over the ledge then righted itself. Deb stretched farther, trying to snag it, and then her head was yanked back by her hair. But it felt more than just pulling. It also felt wet.

She turned her head, trying to see what was happening peripherally.

He’s biting my hair.

Deb tried to push against the floor, but her prosthetics couldn’t get a purchase. Then her eyes flitted to her bag, the strap still around her shoulder. She reached for it.

Calvin’s hands moved down, encircling her neck, and Deb thought he was going to strangle her. But the pervert lowered his hands, reaching for her breasts instead.

Bad move.

Deb tugged down the zipper on her suitcase and freed one of her prosthetic mountain climbing legs—the one with the spikes on the toe.

Calvin got the spiked end in the eye.

He honked again, rolling off of her, slapping both hands to his face.

Deb grabbed the knife and pulled herself upright, ready to fight back. But the strange, heaving sounds Calvin made had a familiar, rhythmic pattern that made her pause.

He’s crying. Like a little kid.

While Deb was deciding what to do next, Calvin let out a mighty roar and tackled her, both of them flying over the railing, crashing to the floor twelve feet below.

# # #

Florence spent a lifetime studying the martial arts to become more in touch with her body, her surroundings, and her spirituality. But along the path to enlightenment, she also learned how to fight.

The two shots to the head didn’t even slow down the monstrous Warren, with his massive skull and elephantine legs. But Florence also had a knife. She moved easily and fluidly toward the stampeding giant, dropped her left shoulder, and rolled up to him, thrusting the Sheriff’s blade deep into his inner thigh. Florence twisted the knife, intending to sever the body’s largest artery, the femoral. Battlefield triage in Vietnam had shown her how quickly an injury like that proved fatal.

Incredibly, Warren swatted her aside, like she was a pesky fly. Florence moved with the blow, deflecting most of its force, and faced him on all fours, still clutching the knife. She waited for him to drop.

He didn’t. His leg was bleeding, but not gushing like she’d expected.

His thigh is so thick I missed the artery.

“You stabbed Warren,” Warren said.

“And I’ll do it again unless Warren leaves me alone.”

Florence eyed the door. She probably had a chance to get away. But Warren would no doubt follow, and alert others to what was going on.

It’s self-defense, Florence told herself. I’m not actively trying to kill a man.

But Florence knew Warren had to die if she was going to find Letti and Kelly.

Strangely, she was okay with that.

“How many brothers do you have, Warren?”

Warren plodded over to the dresser, picking up a packet. He tore it open and slapped white powder onto his thigh and forehead. The bleeding stopped almost immediately.

The styptic the Sheriff mentioned.

“Warren has lots of brothers.”

“How many is lots?”

He turned to face her. “Lots.”

“Your brothers have my daughter and granddaughter. I want to know where they are.”

Warren took a step toward her, spreading out his arms. “In the slave cellar. Where y’all ‘r gonna be.”

“Warren, if you go back to bed, and promise not to tell anyone, I won’t kill you.”

Warren made a low, throaty sound, that Florence figured out was laughter.

“Warren is big ‘n strong. You ain’t gonna kill Warren.”

He reached out his hands. They were so swollen and distorted they looked less like hands, and more like balloons with sausages sticking out of them. Florence gracefully sidestepped his attempted grab, clutched one of his fingers, and drew the blade across the underside of his wrist, cutting as deep as she could.

The blood came out like a lawn sprinkler turned on. Warren howled, turning to reach for the styptic. Florence changed her grip on the knife and stabbed him through his grossly deformed big toe, pinning his foot to the floor. Then she backed out of his range.

Warren tried to reach for the knife handle, but his stomach was so distended he couldn’t bend down low enough. It took him less than a minute to bleed to death, and Florence was surprised by how detached she felt watching him.

Then she stumbled into the bathroom and puked her guts out into the sink.

Good. For a second I thought I’d stopped being human.

Still queasy, Florence retrieved the knife and crept out of the room and into the hallway, almost bumping into a man with no arms. Her mind flashed back to Eleanor’s words.

“Legend says one slave, after his fifth drop, lost both of his arms when they ripped from his sockets. He’s said to roam the hallways at night, looking for his missing limbs.”

But this was no ghost of a slave. This was another of Eleanor’s perverted brood. And while he didn’t have arms, he did have hands. Underdeveloped baby hands, sticking directly out of his shoulders.

He lumbered toward Florence with a bowlegged gait, and his mouth seemed too small for his overabundance of teeth, which jutted crookedly from his lips in all directions.

“Don’t come any closer,” Florence said.

Like Warren, this one didn’t heed her warning. He came up fast, kicking at her chest, knocking Florence onto her back. One of his filthy feet pinned her wrist to the floor, and he actually gripped the knife with his toes, trying to wrestle it away from Florence.

She made a fist and punched upward, connecting between his legs. He groaned, doubling over, giving Florence easy access to his neck. She raised the knife.

The red sluiced down like hot, sticky rain.

Getting out from under him, Florence heard a thump. She crawled to the railing and looked down.

Deb, and a man, were sprawled out on the first floor. There was a growing pool of blood, and neither one was moving.

Then Florence heard a door open. Followed by a few others.

She did a slow turn, taking everything in, and saw she was surrounded by freaks.

# # #

When JD took off through the open door, Kelly followed. The smell hit her first. A rotten, putrid smell. It reminded her of the time she was taking out the garbage and one of the bags broke open, spilling out the remains of a chicken dinner from a week ago.

There’s something dead in this room.

But Kelly couldn’t see what it was. Unlike the other rooms in these underground tunnels, this one had no overhead light bulbs.

Then the door behind her slammed shut, cutting of the little light that had been filtering in.

“JD?”

The dog didn’t come. Kelly took a few steps forward, hands out in front of her so she didn’t run into anything in the darkness.

Her fingers brushed something.

Something moist.

She recoiled, and strong arms grabbed her from behind. Before she had a chance to scream, the man clutching her said, “Kelly?”

“Cam?”

Kelly was still afraid, but he kept his hands on her shoulders, and that felt kind of nice. She felt her face get warm.

He’s way too old for me. He’s got to be at least nineteen or twenty.

Still, he is cute. And I am almost a teenager.

“I can’t find JD,” Kelly said, trying to keep her voice strong.

“Hold on. I have a lighter in my pocket.”

A flame appeared in front of Kelly, illuminating Cam’s outstretched arm, along with—

“Oh, wow…”

The room was filled with suitcases. A maze of suitcases, stacked floor to ceiling. Some of them looked really old, and were moldering in the dampness. Others looked so new they could have been purchased yesterday.

“How many do you think there are?” Kelly asked.

“I dunno. Hundreds.”

“Do you think…?” Kelly let the sentence trail off, not wanting to speak her thoughts out loud.

“Yeah. I think each one came from a person these psychos murdered.”

Kelly shivered. “I don’t like this place. We need to find my dog. He ran in here.”

“I know. I saw you and followed…”

The flame went off. Kelly pressed herself tighter against Cam.

“Sorry,” he said, flicking the lighter back on. “Thumb slipped. Let’s see what’s around that stack.”

Cam walked around Kelly, taking the lead, and she was sort of sorry he wasn’t holding her anymore. She followed close, a single step behind him. The lighter flame cast wild, flickering shadows, making the heaps of luggage seem like they were swaying.

They rounded the corner, and the smell got worse. Kelly put her hand over her mouth and nose.

“What’s that awful—”

The light went out again.

“Kelly,” Cam said. “I want you to do me a favor, okay?”

Kelly didn’t like his tone. He sounded scared. “What?”

“Take my hand, and close your eyes.”

“Why, Cam? What’s—”

“Trust me. You don’t want to see this. Just keep them closed until I say it’s okay.”

“Cam, you’re freaking me out.”

“Just do it. Please.”

Kelly believed after everything she’d already been through today, there was nothing else that could scare her. But when Cam said please, she gave in.

Besides, I get to hold his hand.

“Okay.”

Kelly closed her eyes, and Cam’s gloved hand encircled hers. They walked slowly, the smell getting almost unbearable. Cam made a gagging sound, and Kelly had to press her shirt against her face.

What could possibly smell this bad?

“We should go back for my mom,” Kelly said. She instantly regretted speaking, because the rotten stench got on her tongue.

“We will. But I feel a draft up ahead. I think it’s a way out. Unh!”

Cam’s hand pulled from hers, and she was left standing there alone. Her eyes sprung open.

“Cam?”

“I tripped, Kelly. Keep your eyes closed.”

But she didn’t. And when the light went on, she saw what Cam had tripped over.

A dead body.

The whole room was filled with dead people.

# # #

“Kelly!” Letti called out.

Three doors. Which one did she go through?

Letti hurried to the first door, knocking over a soggy cardboard box, spilling pills onto the dirt floor. She tugged open the door and gasped.

There were a bunch of people standing in the room.

But her brain told her something was amiss, that these weren’t people. She stared a moment longer, and saw that they were all elaborately dressed, some in period clothing. And none of them were moving.

Even stranger, most of them were recognizable.

“Wax figures,” Mal said. “I guess there’s no room for them in the house.”

Naturally, each wax figure depicted a U.S. President. They looked old, and far from pristine. Most were covered in dust and cobwebs. Some had broken limbs and cracked faces. The Richard Nixon closest to Letti was missing his nose.

“Kelly!” Letti yelled again. She took a step forward, toward a particularly ugly statue of George Washington in colonial dress, but someone held her back.

“Hold on,” Maria said, easing in front of her. She held up a scalpel she’d taken from the operating room, and whispered in Letti’s ear, “I’ve seen this trick before.”

Moving quickly, Maria stuck the scalpel into Washington’s belly.

The statue—which wasn’t a statue at all—howled and lashed out at her.

Four other statues followed suit, coming to life and closing in. Maria backed up, bumping into Letti, and they both high-tailed it out the door they’d come in, slamming it behind them. Letti braced her shoulder against the wood.

“Check the other doors! We have to get out of here!”

Mal opened the one on the right. “It’s dark. I can’t see anything.”

The door shuddered. Letti removed the cannula—a large, sharp metal tube she’d grabbed from the instrument cart—from her back pocket and speared it into the door jamb like a deadbolt. It wouldn’t hold for long.

Maria checked the far door. “There’s a ladder. Come on!”

The trio ran to the ladder. It was made of metal bars, old and rusty, ascending into darkness. Mal went up first, moving damn quick for a man with only one hand. Maria followed.

The door to the statue room burst open, and a bleeding, pissed-off George Washington stumbled through. He was followed by a large, stout woman wearing a pillbox hat.

“You can’t get away, Loretta,” Eleanor said. “No guests ever leave.”

Letti considered running at the woman, perhaps taking her as some kind of hostage. But four of her large brood filed out of the room behind her, so Letti turned and climbed up the ladder. At each rung, she expected someone to grab her ankles, pull her back down. But it didn’t happen. No one even seemed to be chasing her.

When she reached the top, she understood why. The ladder led to another doorway, which opened up into the main floor of the Rushmore Inn, where there were more than a dozen freaks waiting for her.

# # #

Felix didn’t move. He didn’t dare breathe. The mountain lion was less than a foot away, its golden eyes staring Felix right in the face. The cat’s ears flattened against its head and the beast roared in unmistakeable wildcat style, baring its sharp, thick fangs.

I’m about to die, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.

But Ronald wasn’t ready to kill Felix. Not yet.

Ronald wanted to play with his food first.

A paw shot out, clipping Felix in the head, the blow dizzying. Felix rolled, crying out, not caring anymore if he was heard or not. He had no idea how much punishment a man could take and still survive, but he knew he was near his limit.

The cougar pounced, landing next to Felix, and gave him another swat. It tore Felix’s shirt, and the skin underneath.

Felix tried to feebly scramble away, and Ronald’s claw hooked into his leg, pulling him back. He tried once more, and the cat did the same thing.

Enough. I’m done. It’s finished.

Felix rolled onto his back, staring up at the full moon peeking through the trees. He realized it would be the last thing he ever saw.

Such a shame. He wanted his last sight to be the woman he’d fought so desperately to save.

I love you, Maria.

And then Ronald’s warm mouth closed around Felix’s neck.

# # #

The first thing Deb saw when she opened her eyes was a swirling, spinning jumble of motes. They danced in her vision, making it hard to focus.

She shook her head, trying to get her bearings, and realized four things in rapid succession.

I fell on top of Calvin, and he’s bloody and completely still, and I think he’s dead.

My nose hurts, and I have a headache, but I don’t think I sustained any major damage.

I lost my knife, but I still have my prosthetic leg bag around my shoulder.

I’m surrounded by freaks.

The last thought jolted her back to the here and now. Deb pushed herself up off of Calvin, struggling to get her Cheetahs under her. The bottom skids kept slipping on the widening spread of blood.

Coming at her from the left side were; a man with one long arm and a very short arm, his skull so misshapen and massive he wore a neck brace to support it; a set of parasitic twins, the smaller, deformed brother’s head and hands sticking out of the hip of his host; a morbidly obese man with two extra hands jutting from his chest; and a man without a shirt, exposing lumpy growths all over his body that looked a lot like pink coral.

On her right side, Deb was confronted by; a man with a spine so twisted he walked on all fours; a tall, long-limbed teenager whose eyes were too close together, bloody acne covering his face like a crust, two more men like Grover, with flippers for hands and deformed skulls, and a gigantic, muscular hulk who didn’t appear to have any neck.

Deb grabbed her dropped mountain climbing leg, which was lying next to her. Then she crawled out of the blood pool. Her prosthetics were still too slippery to stand up. She assumed a kneeling position, raising the artificial leg like a weapon, realizing she had no chance at all of getting away.

The pimply teenager reached for her, his hands stained with dried blood—probably from picking at his face. His reach was so long Deb was unable to hit him even as his spidery fingers encircled her throat.

And then the teen’s head jerked to the side. His eyes—mere millimeters apart—crossed. He flopped to the side, his head bouncing off the floor.

Coming in behind him, someone else reached out for Deb.

Florence.

“Give me your hand,” she said.

With the older woman’s help, Deb was able to stand up. Once Deb was vertical, Florence lashed out her foot, catching a freak in the jaw, knocking him away.

Deb followed Florence through the hole she’d made in the wall of attackers, walking carefully because her treads were wet. The tiny burst of optimism spurred by Florence’s rescue attempt faded quickly when Deb realized there was no place to run.

We can’t get away. There are too many of them.

Florence didn’t seem deterred by this. She kicked and punched like Jackie Chan’s grandmother, and for the moment the freaks gave her a wide berth.

“We should try for the front door,” Deb said. They were now standing back to back, both of them swinging at the surrounding horde.

“I’m not leaving without my family.”

Someone crawled up to Deb, someone with stunted legs like Teddy. He grabbed Deb’s Cheetah, pulling her off balance. Deb smacked him in the face with her mountain climbing leg, the spiked end flaying off a few layers of skin.

“Deb!”

She looked up, at a door that opened behind the staircase.

Mal!

He looked like hell, and was missing his left hand, and they were both probably doomed, but damned if he didn’t smile when she met his eyes.

Following him through the door were two women. One looked like a younger version of Florence. The other was thin and dishevelled but brandishing a scalpel like she wanted to cut the whole world’s throat.

Our odds just got a tiny bit better.

Mal pushed his way through Eleanor’s children, reaching Deb, giving her a quick, gentle caress on her cheek before he wielded a scalpel of his own and began slashing at the oncoming wave of freaks.

For a moment they held their own, and Deb thought they might actually have a chance.

But more of the brood came down the stairs, shuffling toward them like zombies. And even more came through the door under the staircase, dressed in antique clothing.

How many of them can there be?

Then Deb saw something that could be the game-changer.

Eleanor is here.

The matriarch stood next to the stairs, arms folded, looking smug.

It’s like chess. If you capture the king, the rest of the pieces stop attacking.

Deb headed for Eleanor, swinging her mountain climbing leg like a club, clearing a path. Eleanor saw Deb approach, and must have sensed her intent, because she hurried up the stairs. Deb wasn’t good on stairs, but she got ready to follow, to hunt down the old woman and an end to this madness.

Apparently, someone else had the same idea. Shoving Deb aside, the thin woman with the scalpel tore upstairs after Eleanor. Deb fell over, and found herself being pawed and groped on all sides by losers in the genetic lottery.

“We have to go back to the basement!” Mal yelled. “We can’t hold them off up here!”

Someone pulled Deb’s arm—Florence again. She dragged Deb across the floor, to the doorway under the staircase. Mal and Florence’s daughter followed. The door led to a small room the size of a closet, an iron ladder descending into the floor. Deb’s hopes sank even lower.

I’m even worse on ladders than I am on stairs.

“You go first,” she told Florence.

Florence hesitated. “Can you manage?”

“If I don’t, gravity will.”

Florence sped down the ladder. Her daughter was next, leaving Deb alone with Mal. The freaks closed in, shuffling en masse like a giant wave about to wash up against them.

“Ladies first,” Mal said.

“You go.”

“No time to argue.”

“I... I can’t.”

Deb knew she would need to scoot down backwards, feel around for the rungs. It was dark, and she had no idea how high the ladder was. Mal could go faster, even with one hand. He should—

And then Mal shoved her. Deb teetered, stepping backward, her leg missing the floor and dropping into the hole.

She fell, crying out, insane with panic, and then something snagged her hand and stopped her.

Mal. Holding onto me from above.

“Catch her!” Mal yelled.

Then he let go of Deb’s hand, and once again the crazy panic feeling took over, staying with her even as four strong arms broke her fall.

Rather than feeling relief at still being alive, Deb stared up at the ladder above her, willing for Mal to come down.

He didn’t.

“Mal!” she yelled. “MAL!”

There was an unbearable silence.

Then Mal began to scream.

# # #

Kelly couldn’t quite comprehend what she was seeing. The dead were stacked around her like cords of firewood, almost as high as the ceiling. Most were dishevelled, their skin shrunken and mummified. Others were practically skeletal. They towered on either side, threatening to topple over and bury Kelly in an avalanche of corpses.

Cam got to his feet and kicked something aside. The object rolled away into the darkness, but not before Deb could make out its long hair and two hollowed-out eye sockets.

He just kicked a human head.

“The flame is blowing toward me,” Cam said. “There’s a way out.”

“We need to get Mom.”

“I think I see your dog.”

Cam hurried ahead. Kelly had to follow, or else be left in total darkness. She reached her arms out in front of her, not wanting to bump into anything while chasing Cam, and then felt a sharp pain in her heel just above her gym shoe, like she’d caught it in something.

She immediately lifted her leg up, reaching for her calf—

—touching something greasy and furry. Something that squirmed when her fingers touched its pointy nose.

Oh my god it’s a rat!

Kelly had held rats before; one of her friends had a rat as a pet. But that one was tame and cute, and this one was biting her ankle.

She stabbed at the creature with her scalpel. It dropped off, squealing, just as Kelly felt another one run up her other leg. She jabbed that one as well, but then there were more of them, running over her feet, bumping into her from all directions. The scalpel wasn’t enough.

“Cam!”

Kelly ran forward, wanting more than anything to get the hell away from there, and then she was pressed up against the pile of corpses, her face mashing into someone long dead. Thick dust—dead flesh?—rained down on Kelly, getting in her eyes and nose.

“Cam!” she said, and then bent over and vomited when a flake of something putrescent landed in her mouth.

More squealing, and then there was light again and Cam appeared, stomping on rats, breaking their backs and kicking them aside. He took Kelly under the arm and said, “Hurry! I found your dog!”

They stumbled through the corpse maze, rats on their heels, and then Kelly felt a fresh, clean breeze on her face. The smell was glorious. She glimpsed the full moon in the distance, through a barred iron gateway which was pushed open. There, next to a tree—

“JD!”

The dog didn’t look at her. He was hunched down, his teeth bared, staring at something in the dark.

Kelly began to run to him, but Cam caught her shirt, holding her back.

“Wait,” Cam whispered.

A moment later, Kelly understood Cam’s caution.

Slinking out of the woods, approaching her dog, was a mountain lion.

# # #

If it’s the last thing I do in my life, I’m going to kill that bitch.

Maria headed for the staircase after Eleanor, but a familiar figure blocked her way.

George.

His powdered wig was on crooked, and the Revolutionary War uniform he wore was stained with blood splotches and gunky styptic.

“I din’t get to stick it to y’all earlier. But you ain’t gettin’ away this time.”

He reached for her, his lips curled in a snarl. Maria let him grab her, pull her close.

How about I stick it to you instead, asshole?

And then she rammed the scalpel so far into his bloodshot eyeball the tip touched the back of his skull.

George crumpled to the floor. Maria pulled out the scalpel, which came free with a sucking/slurping sound, then darted up the stairs. For a fat old lady, Eleanor could move like a gazelle. Though Maria had done her best to maintain an exercise regimen in captivity, she knew she was malnourished, and the transfused blood in her system zapped her energy even further. By the time Maria got to the third floor, she was winded, and Eleanor had disappeared into one of the rooms.

Maria began with the closest one, Zachary Taylor.

Immediately on entering, Maria was gut-punched by emotion.

Cribs. There are half a dozen baby cribs.

And some of the babies are cooing.

Maria’s mind flashed back to when she first realized she was serious about Felix. She hadn’t ever planned a future with a man before, and for the first time she had to share an intimate, personal, and ultimately shameful admission.

“I want to have kids with you. But I can’t. I have this medical condition. I’ll never be able to bear children.”

Felix’s response was one of the best things anyone ever said to her.

“Then after we get married, we’ll adopt, and some lucky kid will get to have the best mother in the world.”

Seeing all of these cradles made Maria’s heart catch in her throat. How many times, lying on the dirt floor of her cell, had she dreamed of one day holding a baby? Of playing peek-a-book? Of changing its little diapers and tickling its little chin?

Slowly, reverently, Maria approached the nearest crib, peeking over the side.

She immediately recoiled. The child had bug eyes and an obscenely large mouth, which was currently wrapped around a piece of raw chicken. It looked up at Maria and hissed, baring pointed teeth.

Unable to stop herself, she checked the next crib. The child had something on its face that looked like a beak, and it was gnawing on its own foot, drawing blood.

The next one was a set of Siamese twins, joined at the face and sharing the same center eye. They saw her and made a sound like a cat being stepped on/

The next one—

Perfect. This baby is absolutely perfect.

Fine, brown hair. Wide, expressive eyes. The cutest little nose. The child saw Maria and cooed, reaching out a chubby hand. She held out her finger, letting the baby grasp it, and for a moment Maria forget where she was, and who she was, and all the horrors of the past year, along with her current situation, vanished from her mind.

You’re so precious.

Then, from behind her, Maria heard the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun racking. Without even thinking, Maria snatched up the baby and spun around.

Eleanor had the gun pointed at her. Maria raised the scalpel.

“Drop it, or I’ll kill the baby,” she lied.

Eleanor smiled. “Go ahead. She ain’t one of mine. Came with a couple who stayed here a few weeks back. Her parents didn’t properly adjust to our accommodations, and they’re no longer with us. But that little girl is the right blood type. Plannin’ on bleedin’ her when she gets a wee bit older. Then let my boys have some fun. But I can live with the loss.”

Someone came in the room behind Eleanor. Harry, whose harelip was so severe it practically reached his eyebrows.

What do I do?

What can I do?

Nothing. I can’t do a damn thing.

“Either kill the child or set ‘er down,” Eleanor said. “Either way, you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Maria took a deep breath, then let it out slow. She went to put the girl back in its crib, but the infant clung to Maria’s shirt collar, refusing to be put down. When Maria disentangled her perfect little fingers and laid her on her back, the baby began to cry.

“Shh,” Maria said, tears welling up. “It’s okay, little one. It’s going to be okay.”

But Maria knew it wouldn’t be.

Then Eleanor stomped over and hit Maria in the stomach with the butt of the shotgun. Maria crumpled to the floor.

“I saw what you did to my transfuser machine,” Eleanor said. “It’ll take me a week to get another one delivered. You’re gonna pay for that, little lady. Pay dearly. I’m gonna punish you the old-fashioned way.”

But Maria wasn’t listening. She was looking up at the crib, realizing that was the last time in her life she’d ever get to hold a baby.

Then Harry grabbed her.

# # #

Letti shoved the woman with the artificial legs aside, reaching out her arms to catch Mal, who was screaming as he fell. He came down face-first, but Letti was ready for it, keeping her back straight, bending her knees, grasping him tight just inches before his head cracked against the ground.

“We have to go,” Florence said. “Now.”

She was right. Eleanor’s brood was coming down the ladder.

The four of them hurried into the next room, shutting the door behind them. Letti, Florence, and the legless woman—Letti remembered that Mal called her Deb—began to stack boxes against the door, moving as fast as they could.

“Where’s Kelly?” Florence asked.

“She disappeared with JD and Cam.”

“They must have gone through here,” Mal said, poking his head into the room with the suitcases. “Maybe they found an exit.”

Letti hefted a particularly heavy box of pills, dropping it on the pile. “Okay, let’s go. Right now. Come on, Florence.”

“No,” Florence said.

Letti stopped and stared at her mother. “What do you mean, no?”

Florence came up to Letti, and did something completely out of character. She held her daughter’s hands.

She hasn’t done that since I was a kid.

“Someone has to stay here and hold them off so you can get away,” Florence said.

Letti shook her head. “No way. We don’t have time for this. You’re coming with us.”

Florence smiled, but it was a sad smile.

Oh, no. This isn’t happening. She isn’t going to do what I think she’s going to do.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Letti. I was stubborn. I thought I knew better. But the fact is, you’re more important to me than anyone else on the planet. I wish I realized that sooner.”

“We can do this later, Florence.”

“There’s not going to be a later, Letti. Not for me.”

Letti took her hands back, folding her arms across her chest. “If you stay here, then I’m staying with you.”

Florence shook her head. “You need to be there for your daughter, Letti. Like I should have been there for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t at your husband’s funeral. It’s my biggest regret.”

A lump grew in Letti’s throat.

I waited so long to hear her say those words. But not here. Not now.

“Florence...”

“Tell Kelly I’m sorry I wasn’t a bigger part of her childhood. And I’m sorry I won’t get to see her grow up into the amazing woman I know she’s going to become, because she has you as a mother.”

Letti’s eyes got glassy. “No. You can tell her that yourself, when we all get out of here.”

The door shook, toppling some of the boxes.

“I’m not going to get out of here, Letti.” Florence said. “But you are. And you’re going to live a long, wonderful life, taking care of my granddaughter.”

She’s not doing this. Don’t let her be doing this.

“Florence... please...”

Florence touched Letti’s cheek, wiped away a tear.

“Of all the things I’ve done, Letti. All the soldiers I helped to heal. All the hungry I helped to feed. The vaccines I gave. The dams I built. The villages I helped to save. Of all the things I’m proud of, the thing I’m proudest of most of all is you. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, Letti.”

The tears came fast now.

“Oh… Mom…”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

They hugged. A final, desperate, loving hug.

“I always wanted to grow up to be just like you,” Letti said, sniffling.

“You grew up to be even better.”

More boxes toppled, and the door opened a crack.

“Let’s go!” Deb implored.

Mal shook his head in agreement. “We really gotta get out of here.”

Letti tried one more time. “Mom... please... don’t do this.”

Florence gently pushed her away. Then she winked.

“It beats dying of cancer. Now go find Kelly, and let your old mother kick some ass.”

The door opened halfway, and the freaks began to slide through. Letti watched Mom turn around and face them, knife in hand, standing tall and proud.

Then Letti followed Mal and Deb through the door, not looking back, not able to see even if she did because her eyes were blurred with tears.

# # #

Kelly had seen big cats before, at the zoo. Lions and tigers and cheetahs. But she’d never seen one in the open, without some sort of barrier to protect her.

JD was a large dog, over a hundred pounds. But he was friendly, and never killed a single thing, not even the rabbits and ducks that hung around their house.

The cougar was almost twice as big as her German Shepherd. Big and muscular and wild. It looked like it could bite JD’s head off.

“We need to run,” Cam said, taking Kelly’s arm.

“Not without my dog. JD!”

Cam put his hand over Kelly’s mouth. He whispered, “Do you want that thing chasing us? Let’s go.”

Cam pulled on Kelly, but she resisted.

I won’t leave JD behind.

The mountain slunk closer to the dog, ears flat against its head. JD growled, then charged, biting the cat on the paw.

The cat rolled, cuffing JD across the muzzle, sending him rolling into the woods. The German Shepherd whimpered, and the cat stared at Kelly, right in the eyes. It made Kelly’s stomach do flip-flops.

Cam’s right. We should run.

She and Cam took off, sprinting away from the creature, heading for a copse of trees. When they reached them, Kelly hid behind a thick one, sneaking a glance behind her.

The mountain lion was bounding toward them.

Kelly gasped, feeling just an instant jolt of terror that she couldn’t move. Then, out of the bushes—

JD!

The dog slammed into the cat’s side, clamping its jaws onto the larger animal’s neck. They rolled in a tangle of limbs, teeth, and claws, JD growling, the cougar roaring.

Then JD yelped, and was still.

JD! Oh, no...

The cat shook its head, then once again looked in Kelly’s direction.

Kelly took Cam’s hand, and they ran like hell.

It was dark, and they couldn’t see where they were going. Kelly’s feet kept slipping, and branches whipped at her face and hands. She stumbled a lot, and fell twice. Her finger still hurt. So did her heel, where the rat bit her. But she ignored the pain. She ignored everything except the overwhelming desire to get as far away as possible.

Kelly wasn’t sure how far or how long they ran, but Cam got winded before she did. Then Kelly took the lead, urging him on. They darted through the trees, plowed through bushes, traversed a deep ditch, and eventually the ground became rockier and they began to run uphill.

“I can’t,” Cam finally said, heaving. “I need to rest.”

“It might still be behind us.”

Kelly knew Cheetah’s could run over sixty miles per hour. She didn’t know the land speed of cougars, but she knew they were faster than humans.

“Just gimme a minute,” Cam said. “My lungs are gonna pop.”

Kelly stared into the forest, listening for movement. She closed her eyes to tune in better. There were normal forest sounds. Crickets. An owl. Some kind of night bird, chirping. And something else.

Running water. A brook, or a maybe a river.

“Do cougars track by scent?” she asked.

“What? I dunno.”

“Come on.”

Taking Cam’s hand, she dragged him toward the sound. It wasn’t easy to pinpoint, and she had to stop often to listen. Eventually, they made it to the bank of a brook. The water was black, maybe fifteen feet wide. She had no idea how deep it was, but it didn’t seem to be moving very fast.

“We need to get across,” Kelly said.

“It’s probably freezing. It’s coming down from the mountains.”

“It will wash off our scent. And I don’t think cougars can swim. Right?”

“I thought they could, but they just don’t like water. But you’re right. We’ll be safer on the other side.”

Pleased that Cam agreed with her, they made their way down the slippery bank. Kelly thought about taking off her gym shoes so they wouldn’t get wet, but there could be sharp rocks at the bottom of the creek. She chose to keep them on and plunged her foot into the dark water.

The temperature made her gasp. The weather was nice, probably around seventy, and Kelly wasn’t chilly even though she only wore jogging pants and an oversized tee shirt. But the stream felt like stepping into a bucket of ice.

“Is it cold?” Cam asked.

“Real cold.”

“Then let’s move fast. The less time in the water, the better.”

Once again Cam grabbed her hand, and he led her into the water. Each step she took, the water climbed a few inches, and each inch made Kelly catch her breath. By the middle of the stream she was waist-deep and starting to shiver.

“Almost there,” Cam said. “You can do it.”

The bottom was muddy, and sucked at her shoes. The current was also much stronger than it looked, and Kelly could feel it beginning to push her away from Cam. She clung tightly to his glove, afraid she was going to lose her grip. If Cam let go, she’d get washed away.

There are waterfalls around. I saw one. I’m a strong swimmer, but how long would I last trying to swim upstream? What if—

Then her footing slipped, and she fell forward in the water, dunking her face, dropping her scalpel, sure she was going to be carried off.

But Cam held on. He pulled her past the deep part, and Kelly managed to stand up again. Cam continued to guide her along until they were climbing up the opposite bank.

They sat down on the dirt. Wet. Shaking. Exhausted.

“Thanks,” she managed.

As pumped up as Kelly was, she still yawned. She had no idea what time it was, but it had to be getting close to dawn.

“We need to keep going,” Cam said.

“I’m freezing.”

“Come on.”

They trudged another hundred yards into the woods, but Kelly was getting colder rather than warmer. Her teeth began to chatter.

“I’ll build a fire,” Cam said.

Kelly shook her head. “Those men might see it. Or the cougar.”

“We need to warm up or we’ll get hypothermia. Come here.”

She went to Cam, and they sat down next to a large boulder. Cam put his arm around her, holding her close.

It warmed Kelly up. But it did more than that. For the first time in hours, she felt safe.

“What about my family?” she asked, her face against Cam’s neck.

“We’ll find them in the morning.”

“And JD?”

“I dunno. Maybe he’s okay. Did you see the cat kill him?”

“No.”

“Then maybe he got away. He saved our lives, Kelly.”

She hoped Cam was right. And then, on a wild impulse, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

The first boy I ever kissed.

“What’s that for?” Cam asked.

“For keeping me safe.”

Then Kelly closed her eyes. She was cold, frightened, hurt, worried out of her mind for those she loved. But resting on Cam’s shoulder, his strong arm around her, Kelly somehow was able to fall asleep.

# # #

Florence Pillsbury had seen death. She’d seen it up close and personal. Messy, terrible death. Quiet, peaceful death. Death by war and disease and famine and disaster.

She didn’t fear death. Death was part of life.

Florence knew she’d had a good life. She’d seen things. Done things. Raised a terrific daughter. Lived to the fullest, and cherished every day.

Now, it had all come down to this. All of her years of work, and wisdom, and experience, were reduced to this one, penultimate moment.

I will not let any of these bastards get my family.

The first freak lurched forward, waving his arms, howling through a deformed mouth.

Florence drove her knife into his throat.

Two more came.

She slashed at their faces, their hands. Kicked one away. Stabbed the other in the heart.

Three more came.

Another jab in the throat. A punch in the face. A kick between the legs. Two more swipes of the blade.

Three more came.

Florence backed up. She bent down, took a handful of dirt, threw it in their faces. Slashed one. Punched one. Kicked one. Stabbed another that had gotten back up.

Four more came.

Florence hacked and poked and pushed, and their precious blood poured from their wounds.

You won’t get my family.

The freaks formed a half-circle around Florence, closing in. Some had weapons. Knives. Sticks. A pitchfork.

Florence advanced, hyper-focused, letting one of them stab her in the arm so she could slash his throat and take his knife. With blades in both hands, she backed them up, cutting off the fingers that reached for her, poking at them superficially, hoping their hemophelia would prove fatal.

And the bodies began to pile up. Five. Seven. Ten.

But more kept coming. A seemingly endless army of mutants. Florence was finding it harder to lift her injured arm. She chanced a look and saw the wound was bad.

Then the pitchfork hit her in the stomach.

Florence dropped both knives, grabbing the handle of the pitchfork, pulling it away from its owner. She spun it around, jabbing everything that moved. The horde backed away, staying out of range. There were still at least a dozen left.

Florence advanced again, but felt something rip in her belly. She knew what it meant.

My injury is fatal.

I’m dead.

I don’t have long left.

The old woman ground her teeth together.

But you still won’t get my family.

More freaks came in. With more weapons.

Florence limped into the fray. She kicked until she had no energy to kick anymore. She jabbed at everything that moved, jabbed as her insides burned and twisted, jabbed until her entire universe was reduced to one overpowering thought:

YOU! WILL! NOT! GET! MY! FAMILY!

And they fell. One by one they fell. Eleanor’s terrible progeny. The killers of countless innocents. Florence stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, and then she upgraded the pitchfork to a machete and chopped at the monsters until there was nothing left but a gigantic pile of lifeless, misshapen flesh.

Then, clutching her stomach, Florence collapsed onto the ground.

She was light-headed. And cold. So cold.

The first symptoms of shock.

But it’s okay. I did it.

They’re safe.

My family is safe.

Goodbye, Letti.

Goodbye, Kelly.

I love you both so very much.

“Well, lookee what we got here.”

Florence glanced up. The man who spoke was massive, wearing some sort of padded body suit. Long gray hair poked through the football helmet on his head.

“Y’all do this by yourself, old lady? Shee-it. Momma gonna be upset. Now she gonna have to start all over again.”

The man reached down and took the machete from Florence. She didn’t have the strength to fight him.

“You must be one tough ole bird. Y’all know what we do to old birds ‘round these parts? We cut off their heads ‘n cook ‘em up in a soup.”

The man cackled, raising the machete.

“What’s your name?” Florence asked. It took practically the last of her energy to speak.

“Millard Fillmore Roosevelt,” he said proudly.

“Well, Millard Fillmore Roosevelt. I have a daughter. Her name is Letti.” Florence smiled at the man. “And my Letti is going to fuck you up so bad your momma won’t recognize your dead body.”

And then Florence laughed. She laughed so deeply and heartily that she didn’t feel a thing when Millard chopped off her head.

# # #

Letti was torn between worrying about her mother, worrying about her daughter, and worrying about herself.

Mal led the way through the luggage maze, using his cell phone’s screen to illuminate the pathway. The smell started off bad, and then got worse. Letti held her nose and stepped carefully; she didn’t have shoes on.

Kelly got away. And any second now, Mom will be coming up behind us.

Irrational as it was, she kept repeating it in her head, over and over.

“Are you okay?” Deb, the one with the artificial legs, whispered to Letti.

“I’ll manage.”

“You’re Letti, right? I’m Deb. Your mother was a very brave woman.”

Letti noted Deb’s use of the past tense, but she didn’t contradict it.

“I have to find my daughter.”

“We’ll find her.”

We’ll find her any second now.

“Oh, shit.” Mal called back to them. “Ladies, we’ve got a lot of dead bodies up here. And some rats.”

Letti looked down at her bare feet.

“How many rats?” Letti asked.

She found out a moment later. They stampeded her way, covering the ground like a moving, squealing blanket. Letti tried to stay calm, but once the first one ran over her naked toes she freaked out and began to run forward. Within seconds, she caught up to Mal, who was so startled by her he dropped his phone.

The room blinked into darkness. A rat hopped onto Letti’s calf, and she flung it off, backing away, stepping on—

“Jesus!”

The pain rocketed up through Letti’s foot, making her fall onto her butt.

The rats swarmed on her.

Little feet and greasy fur and rubbery tails soon covered every inch of her body. They climbed up her shirt. They got in her hair. Letti squeezed her eyes and mouth closed and kept absolutely still, even though her every nerve told her to start screaming and slapping them off.

Don’t attack them, and they won’t bite.

It seemed like an eternity, but the rats eventually climbed off, continuing on their way. Except for the one tangled in her hair. Letti bit her lower lip and grabbed it behind the head. Then she gently pulled it free and tossed it into the darkness.

The cell phone light came back on, and Mal knelt next to her.

“Oh, shit.”

“I’ve got something in my foot,” Letti said.

He shined the phone’s screen at her legs, and Letti saw what she’d stepped on.

A skeletal hand. One of the finger bones is sticking through my arch.

“I got it,” Deb said. Without warning, she yanked the old bone free.

Letti bled like wine being poured.

“Can you make it?” Deb asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Bring the light over here, Mal.”

Mal came over, pointing his phone at the wall of suitcases.

But they weren’t suitcases anymore.

They were corpses. Stacked up everywhere. A wall of decaying human beings.

Letti flexed her toes, and winced. It felt like there was something still stuck in there. The thought that a fingernail, or part of a bone, was still in her foot was worse than being trampled by rats.

How strange the rodents just ran past like that. Almost as if something were chasing them...

Deb found an older body—a man dressed in a moldering suit—and began to untie the laces on his shoes. When she tried to pull off the shoe, the foot came with it.

Letti appreciated her efforts, but, yuck.

Deb managed to empty out the shoe and she threw it, and a holey, smelly sock, at Letti’s feet. Letti tied the sock around her wound. The old leather shoe was big enough to fit over the makeshift bandage, but when she tied it the laces broke off. She managed to make a good knot, and then Deb tossed her its partner.

“Come on,” Deb said.

She and Mal helped Letti up. When she took her first step, she felt like crying. It hurt worse than childbirth. Letti thought about telling them to go on ahead of her, but then remembered Kelly and willingly bore the pain.

“There’s a gate,” Mal said. “Right up ahead.”

Letti limped forward. A gate meant Kelly got out. Maybe she was nearby. Maybe she was—

“Oh, shit.”

That’s apparently Mal’s catch phrase.

“What is—?”

“Shh!” Mal hissed. “We need to go back. Fast.”

Letti shook her head. She wasn’t going back in that house, ever. She was going to find her daughter. Pushing past Mal, she shoved the wrought iron gate, welcoming the cool night air.

That’s when she saw it.

A mountain lion.

It was big, and in the moonlight Deb could see the blood on its face.

That must be what the rats were running from.

Letti backed up, but the lion had already noticed her. It dropped low to the ground, stalking forward, taking its time. Letti tried to close the gate, but it had no latch. The cat was going to get in and slaughter them all.

“Hold this” Mal said, handing Letti the cell and pushing her aside. Then he reached for something on his belt.

The plastic bag with his severed hand in it.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty,” Mal said. “I’ve got a treat for you.”

Then he threw the bag into the woods.

Incredibly, the cat bounded after it, vanishing into the underbrush.

“Well,” Mal said. “I guess that came in handy.”

Then the trio ran like crazy in the opposite direction, blending into the forest, dodging trees and rocks and bushes. Each step was agony for Letti. Pain, compounded by uncertainty for Kelly.

The cougar had blood on its face. Had it gotten my little girl?

They ran until Deb tripped, falling onto her suitcase. Letti helped her up.

“Can you make it?’ Letti asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

They trekked onward. Letti knew that she might be getting close to Kelly, or might be getting farther away from her. She had to know which.

“Hold up,” she told Mal and Deb. “I have to call for my daughter.”

“We’ll help,” Mal said.

Even though Letti was exhausted, frazzled, and in pain, the gesture touched her.

“If you do, it will give away our position.”

“Then we fight,” Deb said. “Your mother gave us a chance. The least we can do is help you.”

Letti nodded her thanks. Then she cupped her hands to the side of her mouth and yelled, “Kelly!”

Mal and Deb joined in. They yelled and yelled and yelled into the woods until their voices were raw.

The woods didn’t answer.

# # #

Maria woke up when her cell door opened. She’d spent the last few hours lying on the dirt floor, drifting in and out of troubled sleep. Because she anticipated what was coming, she’d been weighing the pros and cons of suicide. But even if she had a way to end her own life, Maria ultimately knew she wouldn’t take it.

I’m a fighter. I’m going to fight to the very end.

Maria looked up as Harry and Eleanor entered. Harry had a cattle prod. Eleanor had a shotgun.

“It’s punishment time,” Eleanor said. She was wearing another one of her ridiculous Jackie O style outfits, with a matching pink hat, and appeared positively jubilant. “You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble, little missy. It’s gonna take years for us to recover. But us Roosevelts are survivors. We’ll make do. Unlike this fella.”

Eleanor tossed something at her. Something brown and squarish.

A wallet.

If it were possible for Maria’s heart to sink even lower, it did. She reached for it, hands shaking, and flipped it open, seeing Felix’s driver’s licence picture staring back at her.

“Ronald et’ him up. That was all he left.”

The tears came, fast and hard.

“Millard’s gone out after your brother. Should be bringin’ him back soon. You know those fellas spent a whole year lookin’ for you? Year of their lives, just to find your sorry soul. What a waste.”

Harry bent down to grab her, giggling wetly. Slobber and snot ran out the triangular hole in his face. Maria backed away, and got the cattle prod jammed into her ribs for her resistence. She doubled over, falling to her knees.

“Now y’all are gonna walk nice and quiet like a proper lady, or Harry is gonna break your knees and carry you.”

Do I want to be complicit in this? Maybe I should let him break my knees.

No. What’s coming is horrible enough.

Maria stood up. She walked, stoically, out of her cell, through the hall. The room with the thalidomide boxes was littered with the bodies of Eleanor’s children. It smelled like blood, offal, and shit. Swarms of buzzing flies hung in the air like a black cloud. Maria stared at the faces of the dead, recognizing each of her tormentors, but found no joy or peace in their destruction.

They got what they deserved. But it won’t bring Felix back, and it won’t save me.

At the thought of Felix, she began to cry again.

They led Maria up the ladder, and through the house, where even more of the dead were strewn about. She marched up the stairs slowly, as if she were on her way to the gallows.

But this is even worse than a hangman’s noose.

Maria was frightened. More frightened than she’d been any time in the last year. Of all the horrible things they’d done to her, this would be the worst. But she refused to show Eleanor any fear. She wouldn’t beg. She wouldn’t bargain or plead. When the time came, she’d spit right in that bitch’s face.

Finally, they reached the third floor. Maria saw the long chains, with the cuffs, attached to the metal banister.

Strappado.

They were going to attach the chains to her arms, then drop her twenty feet. It would dislocate her shoulders, arms, and wrists, tearing muscles, ripping tendons. Maria remembered when they did this to poor Larry, Sue’s husband. He screamed for weeks afterward.

“I’m thinking of a number from one to ten,” Eleanor said, her bug eyes glinting. “Guess what it is?”

Maria said nothing, refusing to play Eleanor’s sick game.

“It’s ten,” Eleanor said. “That’s how many times we’re going to drop you. You’re a thin girl, so it shouldn’t be fatal. But I bet dollars to donuts that after the second drop, y’all will wish it was.”

Maria cleared her throat, and hocked a good one right into Eleanor’s eyes.

Eleanor pawed at her face, wiping the spit away. “Let’s make it eleven,” she said. “Harry, put the chains on her.”

The harelip stuck his tongue through his nostril hole and nodded. Maria made a fist and punched Eleanor in the nose, grabbing onto the shotgun’s barrel. Before she could wrestle it away, Harry was behind her, grasping Maria in a suffocating bear hug.

Eleanor touched her nose, saw blood on her fingers. She quickly removed a packet of QuikClot from her pocket and shoved some of the powder up her nostrils. When the bleeding had stopped, she got in Maria’s face.

“For that, your last drop will be from your ankles.”

Then Eleanor reached down for the chains.

# # #

Kelly woke up and saw the sun peeking through the trees. She was cold and damp and in the forest, and her ankle and finger hurt like crazy, but her first thought was a positive one.

I’m still alive.

That brief moment of elation was wiped away by panic when she saw Cam was missing. Kelly looked around the woods, but he wasn’t anywhere around.

“Cam!” she yelled.

She stood up, her vertebra crackling, and did a slow three hundred and sixty degree turn.

Maybe he went to find water. Kelly couldn’t remember ever being so thirsty.

Or maybe...

Maybe they got him.

That thought made her skin crawl. She didn’t want to be out here, all alone.

“Cam! Where are you!”

“Hey, Kelly.”

Startled, Kelly spun around toward the voice. It was Cam. He had a weird look on his face, one that made him seem like a completely different person.

“I was scared,” she said, walking toward him.

“Me, too.”

And then his shoulders drooped and he began to cry. Kelly went to him, giving him a hug, feeling his whole body shake with his sobs.

“We’re going to get out of this,” she said, patting his back. “We’ll find my family, we’ll find your sister, and we’ll get to a road. It’s all going to be okay.”

Cam put his arms around her. “I keep hearing the screaming.”

Kelly wasn’t sure what he meant, but there had been a lot of screaming lately.

“It’s over now.”

Cam shoved her away. “No it’s not! I still hear it!”

Kelly was a bit shocked by how hard he pushed her. He almost knocked her over.

“Take it easy, Cam. There’s no one screaming right now.”

He put his face in his hands. “Yes there is.”

Kelly listened. She heard normal forest sounds, but no screaming.

“Cam, there’s really nobody screaming.”

Cam squatted, hugging his knees. He began to rock back and forth.

“I hear it,” he said. “I know it’s not real, but I hear it anyway. I just want to make it stop.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cam got a far-away look in his eyes.

“We were fourteen,” he said. “Me and my friend. When we went into that abandoned house. The autopsy report stated he was stabbed more than a hundred and thirty times. None of them were fatal. My best friend died of blood loss. I... I can hear his screams sometimes. Not just in my dreams. But when I’m awake. Like now. Sometimes I hear him. Screaming. Begging to be let go.”

He’s losing it. The poor guy is losing it.

She walked up to Cam, softly put her hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. You were locked in the closet.”

His face drained of color. He appeared terrified. “Do you know what it’s like to hear screaming all the time, Kelly?”

“You can’t blame yourself, Cam.” She rubbed his back.

“Sure I can. I could have done something. I could have stopped it.”

Kelly squatted down next to him. “You were just a kid. What were you supposed to do?”

“I can hear the screaming right now.” Cam cast a frantic glance into the woods. “I can hear him, like he’s right next to me. Begging to live. And then, after a while, begging to die.” He put his knuckle in his mouth. “It took him such a long time to die.”

Kelly wasn’t sure what to do. He was supposed to be the adult, not her. Lost in the woods, being chased by freaks and a mountain lion, wasn’t a good time to have a nervous breakdown.

“That’s over, Cam. Now you’re here with me. You need to be strong. And we need to go find help.”

Cam looked at Kelly like he hadn’t realized she’d been there. “There’s no help. Not for him.” A darkness came over his face. “And not for you.”

“Stop it, Cam. You’re scaring me.”

“That’s what my best friend said.” Cam said. “After I tied him up.”

Kelly felt the world start to spin. She thought Cam was just stressed, freaking out because of everything that had happened. Maybe having some kind of flashback.

But now she knew different.

“You killed him,” she whispered.

Cam didn’t say anything.

“Did you kill your friend, Cam?”

“I blamed it on a stranger. Said I was locked in the closet. I think the police suspected me, but no one could prove anything. I wore gloves. Brought along an extra set of clothes.”

“Why?” Kelly asked, backing away. She really didn’t want to know. She just wanted some time to get some distance between them.

“To see if I could get away with it. And I did. But even after he died, I could still hear his screams. They were so loud, I couldn’t sleep. I tried to kill myself, but the screaming still wouldn’t go away. So I did it again, with someone else. In the institution. I thought maybe if I killed another person, my friend would have some company, and finally shut the fuck up. But that didn’t work either. So now I’m thinking something else.”

He’s a psycho. e’sHwI need to run.

But Kelly was too frightened to move.

“What are you thinking, Cam?” Kelly asked, her voice cracking.

Cam pulled a scalpel from his back pocket. “I’m thinking third time is a charm.”

He lunged at her, grabbing Kelly’s arm, poking her in the shoulder with the blade.

Kelly screamed like she’d never screamed before in her life.

“That’s how he screamed,” Cam said.

Then he poked her again.

# # #

Deb, who’d been in a dozen triathlons and three marathons, had never been so tired. They’d spent the entire night calling for Letti’s daughter, and she was practically hoarse. Each step she took was agonizing. Without the gel socks, her prosthetics chafed at her skin. It felt like everything below her pelvis was one giant blister, getting rubbed with sand.

Mal looked equally dishevelled. She knew how traumatic losing a limb was, both physically and emotionally. That he’d managed to keep going, and even retain a sense of humor, showed Deb what a hell of a guy he really was.

He’d noticed her grimacing earlier, and had offered to shoulder her suitcase with her extra legs in it.

“I don’t need you to give me a hand,” Deb had told him.

Mal had laughed at that, and when Deb realized what she said, she was mortified.

“It’s okay. It makes up for my gotten off on the wrong foot comment when we met.”

And he took her bag. Just lost a limb, and he took her bag.

If we get out of this alive, I may have to rethink my no dating rule

Letti was the one who appeared most distraught of all. She continued pushing forward, even with a drastic limp, stopping every minute to shout her daughter’s name.

Deb knew it was counterproductive at this point. Kelly wasn’t answering. And undoubtedly both that cougar, and the remainder of Eleanor’s wacko family, could locate them without much difficulty. But neither she nor Mal told Letti to stop.

If it was my kid, I wouldn’t stop either.

Deb had no idea how far they’d travelled, because the woods all looked the same. It became a little easier as the sun came up, but after so many trees and rocks it all just blended together.

“At least it’s a pretty view,” Mal said, coming up beside Deb. “Check out those mountains.”

Deb rolled her eyes. “If you’ve seen one mountain, you’ve seen... oh my God.”

“What?”

“I have seen this mountain. I’ve seen this mountain, from this very spot.”

Deb stopped, looking around. She knew, as long as she lived, she’d always remember this spot.

This is where the mountain lion attacked me. I crawled through this area, with two broken legs.

“What are you saying, Deb?”

“Up ahead, just around that bend. The cliff.”

“The one you...?”

“Yeah.”

“So there’s a road around here. Right?”

Deb shook her head. “I had a Jeep. I’d taken it down a trail. The trail is two miles away, but the main road is five more miles.”

“Seven miles? That’s a long hike. Do you think you can still find the trail?”

“I don’t have to. After my accident, the county built a lookout platform on top of the mountain I fell from. There might be someone there right now. If not, they for sure have a radio. Direct line to the ranger station.”

Mal was nodding enthusiastically. “We could contact them, they’d pick us up.”

They’d tried using Mal’s phone to call for help, but had led nowhere. Even though they found a cell signal and managed to contact the authorities, no one knew where the Rushmore Inn was. Apparently, triangulating a cell phone signal only worked when there were multiple cell towers. Out here, there was only one, and no way to pinpoint their location.

Mal had argued with various people, and managed to get the forest rangers to agree to send out a helicopter and look for them.

They hadn’t seen any helicopter. And shortly after that conversation, Mal’s battery died.

He attempted it once more, digging the phone out of his pocket. It wouldn’t even power on. Deb tried taking out the battery, rubbing some saliva on the contact points—a trick that often worked on flashlight batteries. It didn’t work on cell phones.

“No problem,” Mal said. “We’ll just get to the lookout tower.”

That’s when they heard the scream.

It was so far away, it echoed. But Deb could tell it was from a girl.

“It’s Kelly,” Letti said, limping up to them. “Kelly! Kelly, it’s Mom!”

If that was Kelly, she didn’t respond.

“KELLY!”

“Letti,” Mal said, touching her arm. “We’re near a ranger lookout station. We can get help.”

If Letti heard him, she didn’t show it. Instead, she went limping off into the woods.

“Letti!” Mal yelled after her. “We can get help!”

The forest swallowed her up.

“Should we go after her?” Mal asked.

Deb shook her head. “We know our location. There’s a ranger station nearby. The best way we can help her is to get to the authorities.”

“How far is this station?”

“Maybe a few hundred yards. But...”

“But what?”

“It’s about seventy feet up the mountain, Mal.”

“It’s a lookout tower, right? Maybe if we get to the base of the mountain, they’ll see us.”

Deb agreed it was their best shot. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Having a plan reenergized Deb, and she was able to ignore the pain in her legs. But when they finally reached the mountain, she was hit by a wave of vertigo and had to sit down.

It was massive. A giant shelf of solid, grayish-tan rock. There were some outcroppings, a few seams, a patch of dirt here and there where some bushes managed to take root. But it was steeper than she remembered, and bigger.

The old memories came stomping back. She could see the sheer place she slipped off of. The spot where she landed. The mountain bent and tilted in her vision like it was falling on top of Deb, about to bury her forever.

“There’s the base,” Mal said, pointing at a tiny cabin perched on a shelf of the mountainside. “Hey! We’re down here!”

He waved his arms, trying to get a response.

No response came.

Mal walked to the mountainside, where the rock met the soil. He placed a foot on the stone, tried for a handhold, and got up about eight inches before slipping back down.

It was impossible to mountain climb in the leather dress shoes he wore. And it was doubly impossible to climb with only one hand.

Mal came back over to her, his expression grim. She knew what he was thinking.

“I know,” Deb said. “But I can’t.”

“You’re superwoman, remember? You’ve even got your mountain climbing legs.”

Mal patted the suitcase. Deb rubbed her face with her hands.

“You don’t understand, Mal.”

“Deb, it’s okay to be scared. But you can do this. I’ve seen how you can handle yourself.”

“Mal...”

“The other time, it was just a fluke. A freak accident. You can make it this time. You can—”

“It wasn’t an accident!” Deb said, harsher than she meant to. “It was my fault!”

Mal waited. Deb took a big breath, and sighed.

Time to tell the truth.

“I was cocky,” she began. “I knew I was a good climber. I knew I could climb this mountain with my eyes closed. So I thought I’d challenge myself. Remember I told you I was hammering in my first pinion when I started to slide?”

Mal nodded.

“Look up there.” She pointed at the mountain. “See that angled shelf? That’s where I fell from. I should have used two or three pinions just to get up to that point. But I was cocky.”

“So when you tried to hammer in your first pinion the rock gave way...”

“Don’t you get it, Mal? I didn’t use any pinions. No ropes. No harnesses. No helmet. I tried to free climb. And I did it without a partner, and without telling anyone where I was. I came here alone, with no gear. It was my own goddamn fault I fell. Not an accident. The rock didn’t give way. I just slipped. It was pure stupidity. I was a fucking fool.”

She waited for Mal’s reaction. His judgement. His disapproval.

He’s got to think I’m as big of an idiot as I think I am.

But Mal’s expression didn’t change. And he didn’t say anything. He simply kneeled down and opened up her suitcase.

Deb shook her head. “I can’t do it, Mal.”

He took out her mountain climbing legs. The ones she’d never used, except to bash Eleanor’s freaks in the face.

“Mal, I fell off with two good legs. I can’t climb that as a cripple.”

“You’re the strongest person I ever met, Deb.”

“I’m an idiot who ruined my life.”

“You’re an amazing woman. And you’re going to climb that mountain, get that radio, and save the day.”

He handed her one of the legs. She threw it back at him.

“Don’t you see I can’t do this!”

“I’m a writer,” Mal said. “You’re an athlete. If I can learn to type one-handed, you can climb this mountain with no legs.”

“And what if I fall off again?”

“Then I’ll catch you.” Mal winked. “This time you didn’t come alone.”

Deb didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or kiss him. She settled for saying, “Gimme the damn legs.”

When she pulled off the Cheetahs they were filled with sweat. Her skin was mottled and blistered and bleeding in some places. But, oddly enough, she didn’t care that Mal saw. After laying her soul bare, him seeing her stumps wasn’t that big a deal.

Besides, he wasn’t looking at her legs. He was looking at her chest again.

“If I make it, you owe me dinner,” she said.

“When you make it, I’ll take you to Rome. I’ll even spring for two rooms so you won’t have to share one with me.”

Deb looked into his eyes, saw trust and acceptance and obvious affection, and decided that he wouldn’t need a separate room.

“Deal,” she said.

Then she put on the mountain climbing legs. Unlike the Cheetah’s, which were curved, these were L shaped, more like a regular leg and foot. But at the toe were rubber balls with tiny metal spikes sticking out of them. Supposedly for good grip and traction. She didn’t know for sure, because the only time she’d ever worn them was during her fitting.

Deb pressed the suction button, sucking out the air from the stump cups so they adhered to her skin. It hurt, but better dealing with pain than dealing with one slipping off.

Mal held out his hand and helped her up. When she found her balance he continued to hold her.

“You can do it,” he said.

She nodded, let out a slow breath, and stared at the mountain.

It seemed to have gotten even bigger.

Deb gently disengaged from Mal, then hobbled over to the mountainside. The legs were crap to walk in, but one she got her first toehold they performed as advertised.

She hugged the mountain closely, embracing it, becoming a part of it. She didn’t look down. Didn’t look up. She looked in the moment, for the next hand grip, the next foot position, the next stable rest point. After a dozen feet up, she found the seam she’d used to get to the shelf, and climbed it just as well as she did when she had legs.

It was all so automatic, all so comfortable, that Deb almost forgot her fear.

Then she reached the angled face. The one she slid off of. And Deb froze.

I remember sliding down this. I remember the terror. I remember the certainty I’d die. I remember hating myself for making such a stupid mistake.

But most of all, I remember the pain when I fell.

“You can do it!” Mal called from below.

Can I? Can I really?

Maybe I can.

Gritting her teeth, Deb hoisted herself onto the sheer face. The angle didn’t seem very steep. That’s why she’d been so cocksure before.

Deb reached up, found a tiny protruding nub, and latched her fingers onto it.

One inch at a time, she pulled herself up that shelf. She always made sure at least two limbs had good grips. It was slow going, but effective. She was getting close to reaching a bunch of bushes jutting from the rockface. Once there, she could rest for a minute. Then it would be a pretty easy climb up to the ranger station.

Two feet away now.

Eighteen inches.

A foot.

Deb reached up, ready to grasp a crooked branch, to test to see if it would hold her weight.

The crooked branch moved.

Deb’s jaw dropped.

That’s not a branch.

I know what that is.

It’s a tail.

A crooked tail.

The tail swished, and then moved away. It was replaced by a triangular head and two golden eyes.

The cougar.

The cougar with the zigzag tail.

The same one that almost killed me when I fell.

She gasped.

Jesus Christ. It’s come back to finish the job.

And then Deb lost her grip and began to slide down the face of the mountain.

# # #

“Hey! Boy! Y’all think you a squirrel, hidin’ up in that tree?”

Felix opened his eyes to a world of pain.

His fingers. His head. His ribs. His hips. His back. Just about every square inch of him hurt. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Even thinking hurt.

Plus, he was in a tree.

He looked around, saw he was wedged in the V of a big oak. It was bright outside, the morning sun blinding, and Felix’s memories of last night were hazy. But he did recall the cougar, tugging him by his shirt collar, pulling until Felix couldn’t breathe anymore.

I must have passed out, and he stashed me in this tree.

Felix knew that other big cats often dragged their prey into trees to keep it from other predators and scavengers. Apparently mountain lions did too.

“I’m talkin’ to ya, boy!”

The tree shook. Felix chanced a look down. Though he’d only seen him before in silhouette, he recognized Ulysses, the tow truck driver. The large man was prettier in the dark. His large, squarish head had a nose that was crooked by about forty-five degrees, making it look like it wasn’t completely screwed on. His eyes were also uneven, one higher than the other. He resembled a Picasso.

Ulysses beat the tree trunk with his crowbar once more.

“I been looking all god dang night for y’all. Getcher ass down here, boy.”

Felix didn’t think that was a good idea. In fact, he was content to stay up here for the rest of his life. Felix was at least ten feet high, and Ulysses was far too big to climb up after him.

“’Kay. You asked for it.”

The big man waddled off. Felix wondered what he was going to do.

Light the tree on fire? Chop it down?

The giant returned with a long length of chain. He wrapped it around the tree trunk and secured it with a heavy padlock.

“Tim-ber, asshole.”

Then Felix watched him walk over to his truck.

Oh, no.

Felix stared down at the ground. A painful drop if he was completely healthy. In his current condition, the fall would be intolerable.

But it beats being dragged behind a tow truck.

Ulysses gunned his engine. Felix realized that the longer he waited, the less courage he would have, so he pressed his mangled hands against the branch, whimpered at the pain in his ribs as he unwedged himself, and then plummeted to earth.

Hitting the ground was like falling into hell. The pain reached such dizzying heights that it was all he could think about, the only sensation he felt.

Then there was a tremendous cracking sound, like the world was breaking in half, and Felix opened his bleary eyes and saw the tree splitting at the base, dropping down on top of him.

His last remnants of survival instinct kicked in, and Felix rolled away before he was crushed, momentum taking him down into a ditch filled with high grass as the tree was tugged past.

Made it. They haven’t killed me yet.

He was dimly aware of the fallen tree slowing down and coming to a stop, and a truck door slamming shut. Ulysses was coming to inspect his work.

Gotta get up. Gotta get away.

Miraculously, Felix made it to his feet. He kept low, stumbling past Ulysses as the large man assessed the damage he’d done.

“Where in the heck are ya, boy?”

You want to know where I am? I’m getting into your truck, asshole.

The door handle gave Felix some trouble. The gearshift was even harder. But he was so used to being in pain at this point that a little more didn’t matter.

He hit the accelerator and slammed the tow truck into reverse, backing over Ulysses before the giant even had a chance to turn around. Felix’s head bounced against the top of the cab as the rear tire rolled over the bastard’s body. Not willing to take any chances, Felix stomped on the clutch, shifted into first gear, and ran Ulysses over again, dragging him a dozen yards. Then he tugged on the emergency brake and got out to see the carnage.

And carnage there was. All that was left of Ulysses was a mashed leg and an impressive length of intestines, stretching out at least twenty feet.

Felix then turned his attention to the Rushmore Inn, crouching like some prehistoric monster in the forest, waiting to pounce. He half-walked/half-stumbled to the front entrance, trying to get the knob to work. The door wouldn’t budge.

But that didn’t deter Felix. He knew how to get inside.

And once inside, he was going to kill every son of a bitch he saw.

# # #

“Kelly!”

Letti’s throat was so raw from yelling that she was perilously close to losing her voice. But beyond that initial scream, she hadn’t heard anything else from her daughter.

Terrible thoughts fuelled Letti forward.

Was Kelly hurt? Dying? Dead?

Had they caught her?

What if I don’t get there in time?

What if I don’t find her at all?

“Kelly!”

Letti limped up a gradual incline. Her foot hadn’t stopped bleeding since she’d stepped on that finger bone, and the ill-fitting dead man’s shoes had scraped her heels raw. She tried to keep an eye on the ground, looking for some sort of footprints or trail, but the woods all looked the same to her. Maybe Kelly had gone this way. Maybe she was in an entirely different direction.

“Kelly!”

“Dang, yer a loud one.”

Letti jerked her head around.

Millard.

He wasn’t wearing the football helmet or padded suit anymore. Now he was dressed pure redneck, in bibs and a plaid flannel shirt. His eyes were fire engine red, and his long gray hair blew crazily around his twisted face.

“Someone wants to say howdy,” Millard said. He raised up a blood-soaked pillow case, and dumped the contents on the ground.

Oh... Jesus... no!

Florence’s head bounced in the dirt.

“Mom...” Letti whispered.

Millard raised a cattle prod. “And that ain’t nuthin’ compared to what I gonna—”

Letti pivoted her hips, whipped her leg around, and kicked the tall man in the chin. Millard staggered back, and Letti followed up with a punt between his legs that must have knocked his balls up into his skull.

She didn’t stop there. The years of martial arts training her mother had subjected her to were unleashed in an explosion of raw fury. She broke the giant’s nose. His cheek bone. His nose again. Ruptured an ear drum. Knocked out two teeth. Knocked out three more teeth. Broke his nose again. Hit his eye so hard it instantly swelled shut.

But the sick son of a bitch didn’t go down.

In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it.

I’m going to beat this man to death. I’m going to keep hitting him until my hands and feet are broken. I’m going to—

Millard trapped her leg between his arm and his side on her last kick, and then pulled Letti onto her back.

She squirmed. She twisted. But this man was too big, too strong. And he was still holding the cattle prod.

He zapped her in the belly, making Letti curl up into a fetal position.

“Ain’t you a wildcat?” Millard said. He smiled, blood leaking through the gaps in his missing teeth. “Old Millard’s good at tamin’ wildcats.”

He raised the cattle prod like a club, aiming for Letti’s head. She got her arm up in time.

At first she thought the snap! she heard was the prod breaking in half.

Then the pain hit, and she realized it wasn’t the prod at all.

Letti clutched her broken arm to her chest, feeling both sick and unable to breathe.

“All this violence done got me excited,” Millard said.

He spit out some blood, tossed the cattle prod aside, and then began unbuttoning his overalls.

# # #

The second time Cam stabbed her with the scalpel, Kelly turned and ran. The terrain was rough and rocky, and the woods were thick. She could hear Cam only a few steps behind her, following the path she made through the underbrush, making a sound that was part giggling, part crying.

The woods are too thick. The ground is too uneven. I can’t get away from him.

She misstepped, tripping over a tree root, and Cam swooped on top of her, poking her a third time, in the thigh. Then he let her up, let her keep running.

Kelly realized he wasn’t trying to kill her. Not right away. He was just going to keep jabbing her with that scalpel.

“The autopsy report stated he was stabbed more than a hundred and thirty times. None of them were fatal. My best friend died of blood loss.”

This scared Kelly even more, made her even more frantic. She tried to watch her footing so she didn’t trip again, but she didn’t move fast enough and Cam came up behind her, poking her in the back.

It hurt. Every stab hurt worse than a bee sting.

I’m not going to get away. He’s going to keep doing this until my whole body is bleeding.

Kelly didn’t know where to focus her attention, on her footing, or on Cam. She stumbled again.

He jabbed her a fifth time.

Kelly didn’t see how she could get away. He was stronger. He had a weapon. It was too hard to run in the forest. Cam would just keep stabbing her and stabbing her until—

“Be aware of everything around you, and not just what’s in front of you.”

It was Grandma’s voice. The thought was so strong that Kelly felt like Grandma was right next to her, reminding her of what she’d said earlier.

“Use your peripheral vision when you’re running over the rocks, so you don’t have to keep your head down. Keep your eyes ahead of you, but not your entire focus.”

Kelly forced herself to take everything in, not just the ground in front of her. She remembered the trick Grandma taught her, how to see using the whole eye.

Incredibly, the running became easier. She found her footing without having to slow down, and each step was solid and sure. Listening behind her, Kelly could tell she was pulling ahead of Cam, gaining distance.

Kelly lengthened her strides, letting her feet find their own way. The incline became steeper, but she didn’t slow down. Along with hearing Cam clomp through the forest, Kelly heard something else in the distance. Something familiar.

A waterfall.

She opened her ears, sensing its location, and headed toward it. Within two dozen steps the woods broke into a clearing, and Kelly stopped abruptly, staring over the edge of a steep cliff. Her eyes dropped, seeing the waterfall in the distance, the double rainbow floating in the mist it created. Then her eyes dropped further, staring at the rocks below, a drop of forty or fifty feet.

Kelly felt like she did while standing on a diving board. Her knees got weak. Her mouth became dry. She hated heights.

But Grandma came to the rescue again.

“What do you think you should trust more, your eyes, or the solid ground?”

The ground. I trust the ground.

Kelly saw a rock ledge, maybe three feet below her. Narrow, but enough to stand on. It looked solid enough to hold her.

She turned when she heard Cam come up behind her.

“You can run pretty fast, Kelly,” he said, out of breath.

Kelly took a small step back, feeling her heels teeter over the edge of the cliff.

“But now you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

You’re wrong. I do have a place to go.

“I think, this time, I can finally make the screaming stop.”

Cam moved forward, slow and easy, swishing the scalpel in the air. Kelly waited until he was within striking distance.

I trust the ground, Grandma.

She looked down, then stepped backwards off the cliff.

# # #

The cuffs were thick leather, brown and stiff with dried blood. Maria fought while Eleanor buckled them on, kicking and punching, enduring jolt after jolt from the cattle prod from Harry as he giggled and drooled. She finally fell to her knees, weak and shaking, unable to resist anymore.

Eleanor opened the latch on the banister, swinging the gate open.

“So feisty,” Eleanor said, her bug eyes glinting. “But I think this first drop will take the fight right out of you.”

Eleanor began to shove her toward the edge. Maria spread out her feet, grasping at Eleanor’s ankles, but the old woman was too powerful and continued to push.

A foot away.

Six inches.

I’m going to drop. I’m going to drop, and the fall will rip my shoulders from my sockets.

Maria closed her eyes and set her jaw, trying to prepare herself for the oncoming agony.

Then there was a crash. A gigantic crash that shook the entire house.

“Go check!” Eleanor ordered Harry.

He loped off, and while Eleanor was distracted, Maria grasped her chains and whipped them straight at the bitch’s head.

Eleanor staggered back, and Maria scrambled away, heading for the shotgun propped up against the wall.

The old woman recovered quickly, grabbing Maria’s chain, yanking her to a stop. The shotgun was almost within reach. Maria strained for it, kicking out her foot, knocking it onto the floor.

But then she was being yanked back to the railing. Eleanor reeled in the chain, hand over hand, like a longshoreman pulling in a net. Maria stood up, pulling back, putting her whole body into it. But there was no way she’d win this tug of war. Eleanor was too strong. Too heavy.

Inch by inch, Maria lost ground. She tried to shake the chains, but it had no effect. She changed positions, draping the chains over her shoulder, leaning in the opposite direction. But inch by terrible inch, Eleanor brought Maria back to the banister.

“I have royal blood!” Eleanor grunted, grabbing Maria by the wrists. “You can’t defy me!”

And then she shoved Maria off the edge

# # #

Kelly dropped down off the ledge of the cliff, landing on the ledge a few feet below.

She didn’t look down. She had no need to.

I trust the ground is solid. I trust my feet. I’m not going to fall.

She hugged the cliff face, knees slightly bent, and waited for Cam.

“Kelly?” she heard him say, giggling. “You did not just jump down there.”

A moment later, she saw Cam’s face peer over the edge.

“Whoa. We’re pretty high.”

Then Kelly started screaming. She screamed loud and long. Over and over.

“Shut up!”

Cam slapped his hands to his ears. Kelly screamed even louder.

“Why did you kill me, Cam! Why didn’t you let me go! I’m your best friend!”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

Cam got on his knees, scalpel in hand, obviously desperate to silence her.

Kelly jumped up, snatching Cam’s hair, holding on while trusting her feet would find the ledge again.

Momentum took him off the edge of the cliff and right over her head. Kelly’s feet landed solidly.

Kelly didn’t bother watching him smash into the rocks below. But she heard it. A long, fading wail, ending in a sound like a belly-flop.

I did it.

I’m alive.

I’m alive!

Then Kelly chinned-up to level ground and then ran into the woods, anxious to find Mom.

# # #

Felix climbed out of the truck. Driving through the front door of the Inn had done quite a bit of damage to both the vehicle, and the building. He also could add whiplash to his shopping list of injuries.

He looked around the room, and felt his heart skip a beat.

This place is a slaughterhouse.

The dead were strewn about everywhere, and a large cloud of flies buzzed about, hopping from one bloody treat to the next.

Is Maria one of them? What happened here?

Most of them looked deformed. Felix wondered if he should start searching corpses. Then he had something more pressing to deal with.

Harry.

The harelipped man jogged down the stairs, running right at him. Felix backpedalled, but Harry was too fast. His huge hands wrapped around Felix’s throat, completely encircling it. Harry giggled, spit and snot dripping through the split in his face, and then began to squeeze.

Felix instantly saw stars. He swatted ineffectively at Harry’s face, then made a half-hearted attempt to scratch at the giant’s eyes. Harry began to shake him, and Felix felt the edges of his vision begin to dim.

Weapon. Need a weapon.

But he had no weapons. The only thing he had on him was his cell phone. The phone he’d carried with him every day since Maria disappeared. The phone with her last text message to him on it, that he’d read over a thousand times.

The phone.

Felix fumbled for his ripped pocket, digging out the phone with his thumb and pinky.

Choke on it, asshole.

Then he shoved it right down the massive hole in Harry’s face. Felix pushed past his squirming tongue, fitting his whole hand inside the split palate, jamming the phone into Harry’s throat.

Harry’s reaction was instant. He dropped Felix and clawed at his own face, digging his fingers into his mouth. But his fingers were too large, and the phone was down too deep.

Felix picked himself up off the floor than stared up at Harry as his face turned red enough to match his eyes.

And then Felix saw something else. Something above Harry. A woman, hanging from the railing up on the third floor, her feet dangling down.

Maria?

Maria!

Felix ran around Harry as the giant keeled over, ignoring all of the pain in his body, bounding up the stairs with energy driven by love, flying up the first flight, the second flight, desperate to reach her before she fell.

Save her. Got to save her. Got to—

“Sorry, lover boy. Y’all don’t get to be the hero.”

Felix stared at Eleanor. Stared at the shotgun in her hands.

The sound was thunderous.

The shot slammed Felix into the wall.

For a moment, he felt a stabbing, white-hot pain.

Then he didn’t feel anything at all.

# # #

Millard dropped his overalls to his ankles, revealing a pair of filthy tighty-whities. His head was leaking blood like a sieve, but it didn’t stop him from smiling. He tugged a packet out of his breast pocket and dusted powder all over his face, making him look like a ghost.

Letti’s broken arm hurt like crazy, but she wasn’t thinking about herself. She was thinking about Kelly. And Mom.

I’ll get him for you, Mom. Maybe not today. Maybe not next month. But I will kill this son of a bitch.

Millard spat out pink clumps of styptic.

“You like eatin’ dirt before, whore? Maybe I give you a bit more to snack on.”

Millard bent down, reaching for the earth, and then he doubled over in a blur of blood and fur.

JD!

The German Shepherd locked his jaws right between Millard’s legs, shaking his muzzle back and forth, trying to rip his manhood free.

Two tugs later, the dog did.

Millard rolled around on the ground, holding his crotch with both hands, swearing and moaning. JD went for his throat, but Letti called him back.

“JD, sit! I got this one.”

It took Letti a minute to find a suitable rock. Big enough to do the job, but not so big she couldn’t lift it one-handed. Once she made her selection, she stood over Millard, whose red eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

“Eat dirt?” Letti asked. “Eat this.”

She smashed the rock down onto Millard’s screaming face. Over and over and over.

After the tenth or eleventh blow, his head split like a cleaved watermelon.

Letti dropped the bloody rock and spat on his corpse.

JD limped over to her. She could see a gash in his leg. It looked pretty ugly, but Letti vowed right there to get him the best vet in the country.

“Good dog,” Letti said, patting his head. “You are one really good dog.

He wagged his tail and licked her face. Then his ears pricked up, and he bounded off into the woods.

“JD!” she yelled.

“Mom!”

Kelly!

Letti hurried after the dog, and found him running circles around her daughter. Kelly hurried over to Letti, embracing her, and Letti hugged her back despite her broken arm. Love was the best pain reliever in the world.

“I followed your footsteps, Mom! That’s how I found you!”

“I love you, Kelly. I love you so, so much.”

Kelly buried her face in Letti’s neck. “I love you too, Mom. Where’s Grandma?”

Letti gripped her daughter tighter. “Grandma didn’t make it, honey.”

Kelly pulled away. She looked older. Much older. And Letti saw a glimpse of what her mother told her. Of the amazing woman Kelly would grow up to become.

“She saved me, Mom,” Kelly said. “Grandma saved my life.”

Letti blinked back the tears. Tears of pain. Tears of loss. But mostly, tears of pride. Pride in her daughter, and pride in her mother.

“She saved us all, baby. Your Grandma saved us all.”

# # #

Hanging from the banister, Maria heard the shotgun blast. And she knew whom Eleanor had shot.

Felix. My Felix.

He came for me.

And she killed him.

The anger in Maria took over, like a monster invaded her body. It worked into every pore, every cell, filling her with such all-encompassing rage that Maria felt like she could put her fist through a brick wall.

Maria hooked a leg up on the bottom of the railing, pulling herself onto the third floor. Eleanor swung the gun around, but Maria was already running at her, the chain wrapped tight around her fist.

She punched Eleanor in the nose again, doing even more damage this time. Eleanor moaned, and Maria tore the double barrel shotgun from the old woman’s hands. She aimed at the bitch’s diseased head and pulled both triggers.

Nothing happened. The gun was empty.

Changing her grip, Maria brought the gun back like a baseball bat, swinging with everything she had, cracking Eleanor across the head so hard it could be heard in neighboring states. Eleanor collapsed, but Maria’s attention was already on Felix, the blood spreading across his chest.

Maria tore at the buckles on her wrist cuffs, using her teeth, pulled her hands free. She patted down Eleanor’s body and found a packet of QuikClot. Hurrying to Felix, she lifted up his blood-soaked shirt, dumping the powder on him, pressing it into the jagged buckshot wounds on his chest and shoulder.

“Please,” she said. “I’ve waited so long for you. Please don’t leave me, Felix.”

She put her fingers on his neck, trying to find a pulse, but her hands were shaking too badly.

“You can’t die, honey. You can’t. Not now. Not after all of this.”

She put her ear to his chest, couldn’t hear a damn thing. Not knowing what else to do, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing his cheek to hers, rocking him back and forth.

“I love you, Felix. I love you so much.”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to end. After all of this, it’s supposed to end happily.

A whole year I dreamed, prayed, for this moment.

This can’t be the end.

And then Felix mumbled something.

“Felix? Oh my god, Felix? What did you say?

“I love you too, babe,” he said. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. You think you can get me an aspirin?”

Maria began to laugh so hard she wept.

# # #

Deb splayed out her arms, trying to palm the sheer face of the rock, but she kept sliding. The metal spikes of her prosthetics skipped across the surface of the shelf, not any better at traction than the climbing shoes she wore years ago when she was in this very same situation.

Above her, the cougar watched her slow descent with narrow, evil eyes, swishing his broken tail back and forth.

It’s happening again. I’m reliving my worst nightmare.

And Deb knew, from past experience, that she only had six seconds left. Then she’d be over the edge, and even Mal with all of his good intentions wouldn’t be able to catch her when she fell.

Strangely, mixed in with the terror was a bit of melancholy.

Is this what I was meant to do in life? Make the same mistakes?

“Use your leg!” Mal yelled up at her.

I can’t use my leg, you moron. They keep slipping. What I need is longer arms to grab onto that outcropping just out of my reach.

Oh, son of a bitch!

Suddenly understanding Mal’s advice, Deb reached down and hit the button on her right stump cup. The air hissed out, breaking the suction, and she tugged off her leg.

Only a few seconds left! I only have one shot!

She stretched, using her leg like a climbing pick, holding onto the cup and swinging the foot upward at the outcropping.

It caught!

Deb stopped sliding. She hung there, gripping her prosthetic, the metal barbs in the toe hooked around the protruding rock.

Okay. Now I just need to get to it.

There were no other handholds or footholds, so Deb had to slowly chin herself up. Her prosthetic wasn’t secure enough to hang from, but it was enough to hold her on this incline. She raised herself gradually, bit by bit, until she was able to get her fingers on the outcropping.

From there, it was only a few inches to the seam. Once she had a solid grip, she put her leg back on, pressing the button for suction.

This route was trickier than the other one. Steeper. Fewer decent holds. But this route didn’t have a cougar waiting for her, so Deb followed the seam, keeping away from the shelf where the creature perched.

After five minutes, she found her rhythm. Hand hold. Toe hold. Hand hold. Toe hold.

After ten minutes, the lookout station was in sight. Deb kept her emotions in check, but she was secretly astonished that she was actually going to make it.

“Deb!” Mal yelled.

Deb looked down. The cougar was a few feet below her, legs splayed out, clinging to the rock face. It thrust its entire body upward, its massive claws batting her artificial leg.

Of course it can climb. That’s why they’re called mountain lions.

Deb stuck her hand deep in a crevice, gripping the stone inside, waiting for the next lunge.

The lion jumped again, coming up another two feet, its fierce jaws locking around Deb’s stump cup.

Deb quickly reached down, hitting the release. Her leg came off.

The cougar, losing its balance, fell from the rock face. It landed a few feet below, on the angled, sheer face where Deb had slid off all those years ago.

Like Deb, the cougar couldn’t get a grip on the sheer rock. It spread out all four legs, claws scraping against stone, but couldn’t stop its inevitable slide.

“How do you like it?” Deb shouted at the lion.

It roared once—an angry, futile roar—and then the monster that had haunted Deb’s dreams for so long slipped right off the edge of the mountain, falling thirty long feet, smashing to the unforgiving ground below in a brilliant explosion of blood.

And it felt pretty goddamn good.

“You okay!” Mal called to her.

“Yeah! Are you!”

“I am! But it’s raining cats and dogs down here!”

Deb smiled.

Next time I have a chance, I’m going to kiss that guy.

The rest of the climb, even with only one leg, was uneventful. Maria made it to the shelf, and crawled to the lookout post. It was unoccupied, but the rangers were kind enough to leave a door open for her, and a fully charged radio.

“Hello, hello? This is Deb Novachek. I’m with Mal Deiter. We called earlier, and there’s a helicopter looking for us. Can anyone hear me?”

“This is ranger base three. We read you, Deb. Over.”

Deb practically wept.

“I’m at a lookout station. The number on the radio is six-four-eight-seven-two.”

“Roger that. We’ll send the chopper your way.”

Deb found a stash of water bottles next to the radio. She twisted the top off one, drank the whole thing in a few gulps, and let out the biggest sigh of her life.

Then she closed her eyes and waited to be rescued.

# # #

Eleanor Roosevelt’s head hurt. She felt someone patting her cheek, and she opened her eyes, ready to tell whichever son it was to leave her alone.

But it wasn’t one of her sons.

“I’m thinking of a number from one to ten,” Maria said, staring at her. “Guess what it is?”

Eleanor looked at her wrists. The strappado cuffs were on her.

No. Not this.

I’m royalty. I have presidential blood in my veins.

They can’t do this to me.

“The answer,” Maria said, “Is fuck you.”

Then the man, Felix, kicked Eleanor in the face.

Eleanor fell backwards, through the gate, off the edge.

The next thing she knew, her head was hurting again.

She looked around, saw she was on the first floor.

Those fools. They must not have put the chains on correctly.

My head still hurts. But other than that, I’m perfectly fine.

Eleanor reached up a hand to rub her temple.

It didn’t work, for some reason.

She tried with the other hand, and that didn’t work either.

Then she felt something drip onto her face.

Looking up, Eleanor saw Maria and Felix, staring down at her. She also saw the two lengths of chain.

Each chain had an arm attached to it. Each arm trailed veins and arteries and tendons and torn muscles that stretched down and were still tenuously attached to the torn sockets of Eleanor’s shoulders.

Oh, lordy. Those are my arms.

Then there was pain. There was amazing, excruciating, unbearable pain.

Eleanor screamed through the pain for the entire four and a half minutes it took her to bleed to death. But to her it felt a lot longer.

# # #

Felix pulled his eyes away from Eleanor’s death throes and turned to look at Maria, but she was gone. Before he had a chance to panic, she walked out of one of the bedrooms, a baby in her arms.

“Her parents are dead,” Maria said. For someone who had been through hell, she looked positively radiant. “I want to keep her.”

The baby was adorable. And Maria was beaming.

But this isn’t right.

Felix shook his head sadly. “Don’t you think we need to do something else first?”

Maria’s smile vanished. “What do you mean?”

Felix took her hand, which hurt like hell for him. Using his thumb and pinky, he placed Maria’s pear-shaped engagement ring on her finger, the one he took off of Eleanor when he was cuffing her wrists.

“There,” he said. “Now we’re ready to start a family.”

They kissed, lightly because they were both so injured. Then the three of them held each other until the helicopter arrived.